A Clichéd Night

I should be doing homework but instead I’m choosing to update my blog. The reason I’m doing this is twofold: one, I have a bit of a headache and don’t want to hurt my head more by thinking, and two: Cassie read my last blog entry aloud to a couple members of our FHE family and made me feel really ridiculous.

So I’m updating.

I thought I’d recount the events of this last Wednesday when I went to the straw maze as part of a ward activity. When I first heard about the activity, I was adamant about not going—I don’t do scary. But when I heard that the maze was only haunted on the weekends, I decided what the heck, being social would be a good thing.

We met and separated into groups to carpool down to the maze. I tagged along with my only roommate who was going, Brianne, and her fiancé, Christopher. We got a ride with one of the counselors in the Bishopric and his wife. On the ride, the wife turned around and asked us our names. Brianne and Christopher introduced themselves and then the question came about how they were associated. They explained they were getting married, and a myriad of questions ensued: when’s the wedding? How did he propose? Can I see the ring? And so on until we arrived, completely skipping over my introduction.

Of course, I can’t blame her. I mean, nothing in my life can top getting married. “Hey, I just totally aced my test” doesn’t even come close to “I met the man who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”

When we arrived the night was nice and dark, with a perfect full moon. We paid, and Brianne, Christopher, and I went into the maze, trying to get ourselves as lost as we could. And after returning by accident to the beginning a few times, we did in fact loose ourselves. After walking around a bit, accompanied by Christopher’s ridiculous humor (“Hay, this is the final straw”), we decided it was time to find the exit.

We walked around a bit to no avail. Christopher and Brianne would stop every once in a while to share a smooch. When I pointed out how cliché this all was, with the full moon, and of course the tragic couple. Brianne and Christopher then kissed, this time in the light of the full moon, all passionately, commenting “I want you to know that I love you.” All they needed was a background orchestra of violins with a sad and dramatic melody and they would have been set.

Christopher went on about how we were in the wrong quadrant, that most mazes are built in quadrants and if we could get to the right quadrant, we could find our way out. However this didn’t work. Because you can’t use math to solve your problems, HA! In fact this may have made us even more lost than we were before.

Then we looked up, and like an angel in the moonlight, we saw Cassie snapping pictures from atop the straw.

She then proceeded to show us the way out, which Christopher wasn’t too keen on. I can picture Brianne and Christopher a few years from now—“Honey, pull over and ask for directions,” “No, I’m going to figure this out.”—But alas, with Cassie’s help, we found are way out and were surprised to discover that we were some of the last people out of the maze.

We took a few group pictures and doughnuts and lukewarm hot chocolate was served. I don’t like doughnuts. I know, a lot of people can’t fathom such a disliking.

I had a fun time and enjoyed hanging out with the people from the ward. I guess when people talk about how college is all about having fun (and getting an education, of course), this is what they mean. Oh yeah, and clichés do happen, and they start with scary mazes and full moons.  

Lessons learned at the Salon

Well, to tell you the truth, I’m in the mood to write. But I don’t know what to write about. So I guess I’ll focus on my favorite topic: myself.

I know that sounds arrogant of me, but really I think I’m the easiest person to write about. I know myself better than I know other people. I live my life, so I can write about it accurately.

I guess I’ll start with today. I went and got my haircut with a coupon package deal of $45 for everything—cut, pedicure, tan, highlights. Even though I’m in college and tight on cash, I couldn’t pass up a deal THAT good. My roommate, Shannon, also bought the package and we agreed to go together today, her for a pedicure, and I for my cut.

The coupon is printed on glossy cardstock—with the name “Reflections” written in curvy script across the top. Each of the parts of the package is arranged into visits. Under “Visit A,” the hair care visit, it reads “Scalp Massage, Designer Cut, Shampoo & Conditioning treatment, Product Knowledge & Prescription.” I know. It’s oozing with luxury, masked in elegant prose. Needless to say, I had high standards.

I went in and they did the whole sit you down, put a shower curtain-turned-poncho over you so that if you lean your head too far you’ll strangle yourself. The woman doing my hair (she didn’t introduce herself so she’s nameless. We’ll call her Debby. Yeah, Debby. The perfect stereotypical name for all hairstylists) discussed a cut with me (I didn’t know what I wanted) and she led me over to wash my hair.

Ok, first of all, I hate the sinks they wash your hair in. It’s so uncomfortable on your neck that you can barely—if at all—enjoy the warm water on your scalp. Debby ran her fingers along my head and a few minutes later she was leading me back to the hair cutting seats that look more like a sci-fi torture chair.

Wait, what? You said “scalp massage.” When I imagine any form of massage I imagine pain that feels good. All that felt like was my hair getting washed. I could have given myself a “scalp massage” and saved money.

She went with the cut, and then decided that I was worth talking to, since we’d been silent this whole time. She asked me if I was going to school here like the majority of the people in this town and I answered yes. Asked me where I was from, what’s my major, the whole shin dig. She cut away and when she finished, she explained it was $8 extra to blow dry my hair. Eight bucks, are you joking? Heck no. It cost me $8 to get my eyebrows waxed back home. And they want to charge me $8 to dry off my hair when I can let the sun do that for free? Come on.

Needless to say, I declined her offer. Then last on the list was “Product Knowledge and Prescription.” I know, it sounds so medical. Like they’re going to give me pills for glossier hair. She put some sort of stuff in my hair, can’t even remember now, saying it would help with the volume and whatever. Honestly, I kind of tuned her out here. No offense to her, but I wasn’t going to buy the product, so what was the point? And if they’re charging $8 for a blow dry, then I don’t even want to ask about how much the product’s going to cost.

Shannon was done before me so we went off together to get hot chocolate which was the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had in my life. So good and creamy. Wow. Fantastic stuff. She also felt jipped. Moral of the story? That when someone offers you a deal that’s too good to be true, IT IS. When was the last time you were satisfied with your floam, knives, or anti-gravity hover discs that you bought after seeing an infomercial? Buy now for just ten dollars! It’s because it’s worth the ten bucks, and ten years from now, won’t be worth anything. Just like this was worth the 45.