If you follow me anywhere on social media besides here, you’ve probably seen this goofy photo of me making the “OMG” face with straight hair; the photo on the left was taken in unrelated circumstances less than a week earlier, to show how perfectly round my hair was that day, and there it is on the right wavy, smooth and totes glam. (You will also notice I upgraded to an iPhone 5 after an unfortunate Water Bottle Incident in my handbag with the 4).
There’s a new, amazing salon in Oakland called Spruce. Elizabeth was invited to their grand opening and I was able to tag along to the party that included a sign up sheet for free spa services. I put myself down for a massage, and while sipping champagne and admiring their new space, Hillary, the owner, approached me.
“You only signed up for ONE free service! Not ok. What else can we do for you?”
I shrugged, because let’s be real. “Free massage” is just about the best thing you can say to this big-boobed migraine sufferer. But she insisted, and when I didn’t know what else to do, she figured she had just enough time to give me a blow out.
“Ok, but I don’t think it’ll work. My hair is too curly!” I said.
As a late teen I chemically relaxed my hair for a while, until it felt like a burden. It was the late 90′s, and hair care companies had started to make products specifically for bi-racial women like me, making it that much easier to give in to my natural hair texture. It’s been curly since, and I didn’t think anything would work without a bunch of chemicals in my hair.
But Oh. It worked. When she finished, I felt like a curvier, freckled Olivia Pope, and got kind of teary eyed at how pretty I felt. It was amazing. While I’m all about accepting who you are and rocking what you have, this was an amazing, sexy change, and one I plan on employing again when I need a jaw-dropping look for a special occasion.
Elizabeth opted for a massage and a makeup application, and then we were literally all dressed up (and wonderfully relaxed) with no where to go. We considered going to dinner or to a bar, but ultimately opted to go back to her house, sit on the patio, and open a bottle of champagne. We gave her new outdoor party lights a test run, and I snapped a these photos of her in the soft glow.
I have pretty friends.
After, with Jen, who also donated about a foot of hair.
“don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?”
There is something that happens to me when I’m really sick that I’m calling the “puke-awesome” effect. I feel terrible, and then I throw up, and suddenly there is this miraculous window of time, about ten minutes, where I feel just fine. It fades away quickly and I’m back to the misery I was in before, but those ten minutes are awesome. I can’t explain why it happens. Does this happen to other people, or is it one of those weird “Only Amber” things that makes everyone think I’m from another planet?
It totally is, isn’t it? Aw man. Now I’m embarrassed.
Anyway, Saturday I took my first antibiotic pill, which said “Can be taken on an empty stomach”, but it was lying. I ended up on my knees with my arms wrapped around the can, and when I sat up I realized I suddenly felt ok. I knew it wouldn’t last, so I started slamming around the bathroom trying to clean up before the rotten feeling came back. I flipped on the shower and hopped in with my toothbrush in one hand and a razor in the other. I hadn’t shaved my legs at this point in about a week, and it was making me about as miserable as the illness itself. I knew I probably wouldn’t have time to comb out my hair even though it needed it, but I got it wet anyway, which felt nice.
Since my hair hasn’t been properly combed in ages, and I went back to bed with it wet, this is what I’m rocking. Rob can’t look at me with a straight face. I’d put on a hat, but none fit over the fro.
It’ll be hell to comb out when the time comes, but in the meantime, it’s a good source of amusement.
You may laugh.