Not much planning went on today, although I did lug a verrrrrry heavy bag of rolled coins to the bank for deposit. $102Cdn worth, to be exact. We've been saving them since we decided to take this trip, so finally time to cash 'em in. Miss Ninja counted out the piles and then she and I rolled them. I didn't weigh them, but let's just say I was seriously worried about the handles on my (double) bag breaking and causing me to chase rolling coin rolls down the streets of Halifax (some of which are quite steep!) My friend/coworker Jane accompanied me to the bank (hey, those Brinks guys always travel in pairs, shouldn't I do the same?!)
We reach the bank and wind our way around the strange things going on...in the lobby is a camera setup with a big F_RST sign as a backdrop. We think they are interviewing customers so we turn away and go around the back entrance (turns out they are just photographing people). In the main banking area is one of those indoor putting greens, with people trying their hand (or club as it were) at a hole in one. There's no way to go around, so we zip through, heads down in a "don't bug us" kind of way. In the lineup, I meet my friend Doug (for the second time in a week - hadn't seen him for 5 years prior to that and then twice in a week...odd coincidences go on in this world). We'd reconnected and exchanged new email addresses etc a few days ago (and discovered that we work only a block away from each other), so this time just chatted for a moment until a teller was free and I hauled my sack of coin over for deposit.
The woman at the bank didn't seem very impressed with my form of currency.
"Put them here in piles of the same denomination, please", she says shortly.
I obediently begin taking the rolls from the bag and grouping them together on the counter. Apparently I'm not moving fast enough...
"Just take them out of the bag and I will sort them", she says abruptly.
I guess my pile wasn't as unmanageable as she initially though because she is soon chatting in a friendly manner and not seeming so annoyed about my coins.
We leave the bank, forgetting about the camera set up and suddenly realize we're walking right through it. Oops, we quicken our pace to make a hasty exit. "Wait, it's free...", the RBC staff call after us. Well duh, of course it's free, we'd be providing them with new fodder for their TV commercials! (I recognize that backdrop after all.)
My steps are much lighter on the way back to work!
After work, TG and I have appointments at the hairstylist. TG's just getting her layers refreshed and split ends nipped off. I'm getting foils. MN had her hair cut last weekend, and got white-blonde streaks down either side of her face. It looks sweet. We'd all wanted to have a fresh "do" for our trip.
TG's hair is cut, dried and styled in less than an hour. She laughs at me because I still have chunks of my hair wrapped in tinfoil. Under the dryer I go. It's SO hot under the dryer, I can feel my face turning beet red. Geri comes to check me...uh oh, she says, this blonde looks terrible. Within all the blonde foil packets, half the hair has turned blonde but the other half is still brown. She's never seen anything like it. Trust me, these are not the words one wants to hear while sitting under the dryer at the beauty salon! I have visions of the horror-story bowl cut I once had as a young teen...am I in for the same traumatic experience, except this time with colour-gone-bad instead of cut???!
She puts me back under the dryer, but nothing changes. She then resorts to bleach on those strands. She calls the other stylist over. Am I taking any medications? they ask and explain that this can affect how hair reacts to chemicals. No, I say, just the odd pill for a headache. They both marvel at this bizarre occurence and discuss how they are going to bring it up at their next colouring seminar. Ahhhhh, I'm a freak! Oh no, Geri says, you're just unique. Yeah well, sometimes being unique just isn't all it's cracked up to be...
Eventually, the bleach bleached and she washes out my hair (all the while expressing great concern at the handfuls of strands that shed from my head - I assure her this is normal and that Dave constantly gathers huge hairballs from the shower drain and wonders how it is that I have any hair left in my head...) Back to the stylist chair I go. Oh this yellow is horribly brassy, she decides (I agree) so she gets some toner and fixes me up some more.
Hooray, the toner works so now I have pretty pretty copper-red and blonde streaks in my hair. As soon as I figure out how to insert photos into my blog, I'll show off my new colours!