I unexpectedly upgraded my iphone recently. It seemed I was feeling particularly confident, perhaps cocky even, that I could handle a nice new thing. In the past I have paid for all the Apple care I could afford and asked them to not hand me the phone until there was a case on it that would protect this little device from potential slips out of my hand. This was different. I waived all forms of protection and didn’t even get a case on the spot because “they weren’t cute.” So when I walked into our new store in Toronto to work a shift a few days later and was already feeling extremely nervous about running a store I had never been, I was not surprised by the fact that my phone randomly fell out of my jacket pocket and power smashed on the cement floor. It was just one of those moments where you want to start talking to yourself in the manner Gil would in the Simpsons, “come on Gil, I need this. Shut up Gil, close the deal.” etc. I immediately texted my financial advisor (boyfriend), while getting tiny shards of glass in my finger, that I needed an emergency quote on getting an iPhone 7 screen fixed…for a friend…

When I returned to Ottawa I waited until payday to find a dodgy little cell phone repair place that would fix my phone on the spot. And dodgy place I found. Oddly enough about 250 feet from my house. It’s a place on Bronson that I have probably passed a million times and never, ever seen. I walked into a little shop where I was greeted by a Bulgarian (no idea) man who quoted me $200 because it was the 7. I said Apple would do it for cheaper, my financial advisor (boyfriend) told me. He went back and googled and said I was right. He would do it for the same price. He took my phone and the first sound I heard was that of a hair dryer and I felt like I had just handed my life to a couple of Lithuanian brothers (no idea) who, judging by the 3 cameras in this tiny shit hole, were running drugs and then when some moron like me came in with an actual phone, they melted it with a hair dryer and then would try to hack it back together. I was looking at the cases they had on the wall. The ones near the window, the Justin Bieber and One Direction covers were completely sun bleached. I went to check out the other side of the room and was accosted by a puff of those automatic air freshener machines that I would spend the next 20 minutes trying desperately to avoid. I heard the sound of breaking glass and I thought, what the fuck have I done. I should have just walked in, seen all the cameras and asked these nice Romanian guys (no idea) for cocaine and left. The best part was when I heard one of them ask the other one rather loudly “where the really important phone was” which was obviously a show for me because up until this point, they had not been communicating to each other in English. I didn’t know how long I’d been there. I’m of the generation that wears no watch and of course the clock on the wall wasn’t working. Then out of nowhere a man appeared with my phone, looking good as new. Relief. Sweet, sweet, first world relief.

I went back to the gym today for the first time in months. I have been off the wagon. I am trying to get back on. Eating better, drinking less (ish), going to the gym, biking. I am trying. I watched intervention at the gym which is a great way to make you put your problems in perspective. Here I am wrestling with the fact all my clothes fit me like a sausage case and here is this guy who does 15 hits or heroine a day. Perspective. Although he seemed in good shape, so maybe the answer is do more heroine? No, no. Intervention is not a place to get fitness tips…

Overheard in a Glebe coffee shop –

Customer lady: Do you just sell regular pop here?

Guy behind the counter: Yes we do, it’s kombucha pop.

Me: Nope they don’t.

I am, once again, on the search for a hair dresser. The lady I loved previously moved to a new salon where an old Italian man watches everything you do from the corner. My most recent hairstylist spends her time talking about where I work and not in the most positive fashion. The first time I went to get a hair cut there I only did it because I heard you get a first cut discount and normally I could not afford this place. We had nice conversation but she continually felt the need to bring up why she tended to not shop there. It’s totally fine. I shop all over too. It’s all good, feedback is great. So when I went back the second time and she started telling me what was so great about the other places she shopped at and I realized I had a choice in sitting here. Sure the cut was good but every time I left I felt frustrated. I want a hair cut to be relaxing, me time, not defending my honour time. So I have decided not to return there and am once again on the hunt for a hair stylist. I think it’s insane to spend $85 on a hair cut as my hair is pretty long and straight forward and have someone passively aggressively take shots at the place you obviously work. 

The most expensive (and worst) haircut I ever received was in England. I had been cutting my own short, spiky (purple or red or black) hair most of the time I was traveling so I splurged on a nice salon in town. The chatting with the hairstylist was wonderful but the problem was were chatting too much. He was so excited to learn more about Canada and I love making huge sweeping statements about people and countries that people lovingly accept as gospel (and then I feel guilty later that I may not have been totally accurate). By the end of the cut my hair was so short, I resembled a young boy. I was so mortified. I left thinking I was going to have to show the guy I was seeing (don’t even remember who it was) and that if he hated it, I understood and if he liked it, he may like little boys. But on top of all this the hair cut cost 60 pounds I believe. Which is over $100. For the rest of my trip I never got another hair cut, just let random people I was living with take their turn with scissors if it needed it. Maybe I need to go back to that. Any takers?

I went to the spa yesterday and one of the saunas was called a Russian sauna. Every time one of my coworkers came out of the sauna I said, is a Russian sauna just a regular sauna but with projected pictures of Putin wrestling bears on the walls? I thought it was clever. Every time a coworker came out I added a piece, like Putin, shirtless, riding a horse while wrestling bears etc. It was a pretty fun game. When I tried to relive it at dinner that night, I aggressively said the sauna projected pictures of Putin wrestling Trump, but like sexy mud wrestling or something. I’m sure after the couple cocktails I had it was slightly more vulgar. What? Me? No way.