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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary


Il faut souffrir pour etre belle... and how!

Old man #1: Who wants to live to be 100?

Old Man #2: The guy who’s 99!

We overheard this a week or so ago at a little diner near our place.

Over the weekend we went to a bbq at one of TA’s colleagues’ houses. Our first Connecticut invitation! It was fun, but it was weird. The burgers and dogs were taken out of the freezer and placed directly on the grill. Cheese was American or Swiss in those little plastic sleeves. Salads were premade from the grocery store. There were 6 of us total (3 couples), but we still ate off paper plates and drank out of plastic cups. We saw fireflies for the very first time ever. I had no idea that they turn on and off like sequins flashing in the light. We drank coffee unironically made in a percolator.

Things I learned:

- “I says” is not just the province of cartoons and gangster movies. People really do speak that way. In Connecticut. In the provinces?

- In this part of the country, people don’t say “Latino/a.” They say “Spanish.” Rice and beans are “Spanish” food.

- there are clearly defined classes.

On Saturday we went to Manhattan for a friend’s birthday. We drank too much and took swings at a Bush piñata. Sunday we slept, watched movies, and had burgers at a drive-in nearby, then Monday we got cones at an ice creamery down the road. The ice cream was pretty good--I preferred Terence’s flavor (vanilla cherry) to mine (espresso ripple chip.)

We didn’t stray too far from our apartment the entire time (except for the Manhattan part.) It gave us an opportunity to explore our new locale and take it easy. A relaxing weekend indeed.

Remember how excited I was about my wax on Friday? Well, I should have better managed my expectations because it was possibly on of the worst waxing experiences I’ve ever had (making this one look like a trip to Canyon Ranch.) The aesthetician was friendly enough, and adept enough in her technique, but the room. THE ROOM! was filthy, the walls covered in wax splatters, and the floors sticky too. The wax pots were bubbling and sputtering all over the place, and I was very nearly scalded twice. Then, THEN!, the muslin strips for ripping the wax off? They weren’t muslin! They were torn pieces of old pillow cases or something! OHMYGOD! They looked stained and gray! I was being waxed with RAGS I wouldn’t even use for cleaning my house!

When she asked me if I needed anything else, I practically screamed, “Nooooooooo!” as I peeled my clothes off the chair. I could not wait to get out of there. When I was paying, the aesthetician mentioned that the treatment rooms were going to be updated in a few months, and all I could think of was “Updated? They need a hell of a lot more than just “updating”! How about you doze the whole thing and start from scratch?”

I’ve been trying to support local businesses, but I’m done now. The “Think Globally, Act Locally” is bullshit when it comes to beauty and grooming. I’ve had three mediocre experiences so far (horrid and perfunctory waxing, middling facial, adequate brow shaping) and one positive one (my hair stylist who rock rock planet rocks the scissors. But she works at the only place in all of NH with a modicum of funk.)

Anyway, looks like I’m going to have to travel to Westport or Greenwich or even as far as Manhattan to get all of my grooming needs met. Because while the women of this little hamlet might be satisfied with the quality of their salons, I am not.

I have standards.

9:46 a.m. - 2004-07-07



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