Piece out

While at a hair appointment today I noticed a lot of people getting hair strands/extensions. Some were purple, some were pink, some were feathers. My stylist, Smokonut, informed me, “Everybody comes in telling us they want to look like Kim Kardashian. And I’m like, OK, become Iranian, lose 75 pounds, and then we’ll talk.”

I wasn’t interested in looking like Kim Kardashian, but I was toying with changing my hair a bit. I decided to take some length off and was considering bangs. “I think you should go with sexy and swoopy, ” Smokonut suggested. When I left the salon I realized that I, like the strands/extension peeps, had a brush with fame when it came to my mane, I had been Biebered.

OregganO stopped by and I was sharing this experience with her. I told her about how they styled my hair with the sexy, swoopy just hanging over my right eye. “Seriously,” I told her, “I couldn’t even see out of that eye.” “That’s how they teach us to do it in hair school,” she told me. “Keep one eye covered.”

Both of OregganO’s eyes were uncovered and wide open earlier in the evening when she and her neighbors were outside chatting and a man jumped over the neighbor’s fence, ran toward OregganO’s house, down her driveway, through her backyard, jumped on her swamp cooler (which was on the ground – he wasn’t Superman), and over her fence.

Instead of calling the police, OregganO stuck to her original plan and came to my house for dinner. A few hours into dinner, we decided to file a police report. As a result, we had to go to her house, in case they needed to get a footprint. “This is exciting,” OregganO said while grabbing her keys and running to the door. “This is blogworthy!”

Once at her house we were talking about police response time and, based on past experiences, we felt we had enough time to go outside and take a look at the footprints. “Do you have a flashlight?” I asked. “I’ve got something better,” OregganO said as she came out of the back room with a head lamp on. She went straight to the front door, opened it, and quickly shut it. “Oh shit,” she exclaimed while taking the head lamp off as quickly as possible. “They’re here.”

They were ‘here,’ but luckily they were at the wrong house and didn’t get to see OregganO in all of her crime solving beauty. We got their attention and pointed them in the right direction – OregganO’s backyard. She was relaying the story to them when they asked if she spoke with him at all. “Well, yes, we had words,” OregganO mumbled. “I said something like, ‘What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck out of my yard.’ He turned around, looked right at me and said, ‘Fuck off bitch.'” “Did he have an accent?” asked the officer. OregganO looked confused by the question, “So little was said, it would be hard to tell.” “Pretty sure he was French,” I added.

Once the police left, Cream of Tartar phoned with concerns for OregganO’s safety. He was providing her safety tips and suggested she take the ‘piece out.’ In addition, he wanted her to show me how to use it.  After some time, I decided to head home – leaving OregganO alone. It had been a long day for her and I had a feeling she was ready for a little ‘piece’ and quiet.