He was more important.
It's for the best.
No, really, it is.
Smoothie in a pink-rimmed mug pierced by a hot pink straw. Breakfast in a glass and out the door.
Juggled wallet and umbrella and pink berry sludge in the rain while waiting for the right bus to take me away. I was last aboard due to the wrestling of items.
The up and down game of "Is He Old Enough to Give Up my Seat" was played. I lost.
A woman stood stoically in a going out silky, tight skirt. She wore going out makeup, three shades of shadow and slick lips and fake lashes.
A young man with blonde stubble in a NY ballcap in the colors blue and orange. I couldn't tell if he likes the Mets or the Yankees. Probably not both.
The driver screeched at the next stop for us all to move to the back! No one budged. She barked her orders to push back yet again, when riders responded, "No room!"
"I can see room," she said.
"For how many people?," someone shouted back. Not wanting to quibble semantics, she drives onward.
Two women could not get bus window open. They grunted and pushed and pulled, and nothing.
The cupcake place was dark.
A man carried reused manilla envelopes with little strings tied around little discs, a closing tactic I like very much.
Puma, Jack Spade, Timbuk2, Jansport in my face. Bags are big business in San Francisco. They carry your everything.
Relief at 3rd and Market as the suited people climbed off in waves. I sat in wet for the last two block.
Me: Is this 24 Hour Fitness in Pacific Heights?
Her: Yes, it is.
Me: Okay, hi. I went to your website to see the class schedule for Saturday and it isn't there. Do you have classes there?
Her: Yes, we do. Give me a minute to pull up the website of classes.
Her: What class do you want to go to?
Me: I don't know. That is why I want to see a schedule?
Her: What class would you like?
Me: I don't know, just one for Saturday. I wanted to know the schedule.
Her: Which facility will you be coming to?
Me: Pacific Heights.
Her: Can I get your name?
Me: Brittney Gilbert (usual rigamorole about spelling)
Her: Okay, can I get your zip code?
Me: *sigh* Sure: 94118
Her: Okay. You want classes?
Her: Okay, give me a minute to pull that up. We are updating our website, so I can get you that info.
Her: Will you be joining group x?
Me: What is that?
Her: It is where people who are members in a group take a class.
Me: I just want to know what classes you have.
Her: Give me a minute, I am going to pull that up for you. Do you know what kind of class you want to take?
Well, thank you.
After many years of styling curly hair, I think I have narrowed down a solid process. It is as follows:
1) Suds-free shampoo
Buy the expensive stuff (Deva products) or the cheap stuff (Loreal EverPure Non-Sulfate line). The sudsing agent is most shampoos is detergent. Detergent dries out curls. Most curls need plenty of moisture.
Also, DO NOT WASH YOUR HAIR DAILY. I repeat, DO NOT WASH YOUR HAIR DAILY. I wash my hair twice a week. You can clean your scalp with friction: fingertips and a little conditioner is all you need on non-shampoo days.
2) Use conditioner, but not a lot. Do not use your hands to rinse. Just let it all run out.
3) Dry your hair with a paper towel or t-shirt. The nubby fabric of towels makes hair frizzy. Blot your hair with paper or cotton.
4) Immediately put in product. Slap gel on when it is drenched wet. Apply the gel by scrunching, then get out of there. Friction is the number one enemy of curls.
5) DO NOT TOUCH IT. This means once you've put in gel, keep your hands out. I'm serious. Hands off.
6) Slide some clips into your hair at the crown to give it lift while it is air drying. (If using a blow dryer, a diffuser is not optional. Buy one.) This will allow you to avoid dreaded mushroom head.
7) DON'T TOUCH IT. All day. This bears repeating.
8) Get a really good cut from someone who specializes in cutting curly hair. It makes a huge difference.