Oh, HELL No!

June brings end of the year events such as recitals, award presentations, plays, dances, proms, graduations and a plethora of happenings parents of school-aged children attend, which are just too vast to mention all of them. Some of us parents, and by some it seems nowadays only a few, actually enjoy watching the yearly accomplishments of their children with pride and politeness.

Yes, politeness, was included above, because in my nightly ritual to some school event or another over the past few weeks (and there are many-I have four sons), I have encountered the rudest of rude individuals who have not only refused to follow the rules as dictated by the venue, i.e. no flash photography, no video taping, turn cell phones to vibrate and arriving on time, but they have also ignored basic general decency such as respecting others around them and the children performing who have worked so diligently all year.

That’s right Miss Ghetto Thing, you and your obnoxious husband and screaming kid should have had your rude asses escorted right out of the 6th grade play last night. You came late, ignored the principal when he asked for cell phones to be turned to vibrate, your child whined the whole play and you must have had a lot of catching up to do with your husband, because “Damn Gurl” you both had a lot to say.

Glances your way weren’t enough to shut your big fat mouths. And when a polite “excuse me” was uttered, your pathetic street self wanted to fight in front of children in an elementary school? Really?

So what if your daughter didn’t have but two minutes on stage. It was obvious she didn’t want to be there with her incessant on stage laughing and her hand on her hip. Wonder where she gets the attitude? There were parents in attendance, such as myself who were beaming with pride. Not just at our own kids, but at the kids we have watched grow up in OUR community since kindergarten. It is people like you and your lack of communal value that are pushing people like us out.

But this beast of a human was not the only ignorant person reeking havoc and creating noise. There were countless young children, toddlers and babies crying throughout the entire production. I have four children and have watched an abundance of shows with them, while babies, throughout the years. If we couldn’t calm them within seconds, we would walk into the hallway until they were quiet, and then return. I would never think about intruding my child upon another.

And this behavior is not just relegated to a lower-economic class of society, which is what Valley Hood is turning into, despite the rhetoric of the blind. During two separate dance recitals, where the audience was comprised of a more affluent group, one mother thought it just fine for the two pre-teen boys in her company to make fun of the dancers, talk throughout the entire showcase and continually kick the chair in front of them. (Only I have the coincidence to manage to always sit in front of these ignoramuses).

The next day, another woman took approximately ten thousand flash photos of the same showcase, (of course after being told not to) until my left eyeball fell out.

I don’t expect everyone to be perfect like me; Lord knows it is very hard to keep up with myself. I am just kidding! Sort of, ;) I am not perfect by any means, however, respect, a word that was tossed at me a lot as a kid, has taken on a new meaning as I am seeing a lack of it within society. And what I am trying to teach my boys, more than anything else, is respect: Respect themselves, respect their bodies, respect their parents, respect their siblings, respect their family, respect their neighbors, respect their teachers, respect their employers, respect authority, respect the rules, respect the law, respect for community, respect freedom, respect the United States of America, and by all means and never ever forget, respect Jesus.

Life Lessons from a 14-Year-Old

I have neglected my blog lately. Been busy writing for money, rather than love. Like a favorite pair of shoes in the closet that has yet to adorn the perfect outfit, so is this blog waiting patiently for the perfect story. And now, as is generally the case, one of my children has inspired me to send a little love into cyberspace.

As many of you who follow me are aware, my children are my life. They also happen to be quite talented in various forms of the arts. At this moment however, I am choosing to focus on Michael, number two son and my angel baby.

Normally the context would be surrounding his unbelievable talent; his stellar dance performance at this past dance competition or his landing the lead in the school play, or his beautiful voice that always brings me to tears. What are bypassed many times are his graciousness, kindness, humor and humility. Sure, they are noticed and lauded by his teachers and advisors: “What a great kid, he is so helpful, very funny, fits right in, popular, intelligent” and so on. However, Michael is locally famous for his dancing, singing and acting and rightfully so. He has mega talent and will be a triple threat superstar some day. (Mom has no doubt)

This past weekend, Michael taught adults how to act accordingly in the face of adversity. He displayed a level of maturity that seasoned and wise individuals only wish they had. At the dance competition, he cheered on his former dance mates from his previous dance school as vigorously as his new one. He congratulated them with a warm embrace and praise, while his previous dance teachers glared at their toes. He greeted every one of the alumni and senior company of dancers with a smile while a few of them jeered his pictures on Facebook or talked behind his back.

Michael is a force to be reckoned with, but not because of his natural God-given gifts. He is a leader amongst men, a true gentleman, a kind and warm-hearted human being with the love and grace of Jesus Christ within him. He is my son, my hero and I am so proud! I love you Michael!

And life goes on

From the moment they are born they take our breath away and we spend every minute protecting them. Through smiles of encouragement we facilitate their growth. We teach them how to talk, walk, and interact with others to be the best possible person they can be. We support all of their talents and endeavors from baseball to dancing, cheer them on when they soar and wipe their tears when they fall. Our hearts break when theirs do and burst at the smallest of fêtes. They are our children and what feed our souls.

Every waking moment is a memory that buries itself somewhere within to be tapped into later. Time really is fleeting because all of it is wasted cooking, cleaning, shopping, and working which takes away from so many more memories that could have been made to help fill that void when they leave. The efforts to make sure they could read, do well in school, and reinforce their talents are valiant ones when the search for colleges begins and lead to amazing prospects. 18 years of preparing, 18 years of cementing their future, and you would think pride would be enough to keep a mom from breaking down.

Sure, half of the tears are for how proud you are of them; proud of how he was such a gentleman offering his hand to shake those of his new roommates and their parents; proud of the few tears he was man enough to shed on the ride in; proud that he is going to an amazing university, proud that he knew so many people already upon his arrival, but the other half is letting go; letting go of the tiny little hand you used to hold on the way to Kindergarten that he held so tight; letting go of the tears you wiped away before he went into class; letting go of the hysterical belly laughs from blowing farts on his tummy; letting go of bedtime rituals such as story time, book time, prayer time and song time; letting go of waking up everyday to the most beautiful smile you had ever seen and letting them fly with the skills you have worked 18 years to provide them with.

Those memories do come flooding back in moments of emotional strain. All of them, even the ones that you wished you could do over are pushed to the front of the brain and wham, he is standing there with his little back pack and pouting face and your heart is melting fast. No one prepares a mother for this. We hear about it, but are not ready for the emotions that come. We all never really finish growing up. Even though a child may be away at school, or married with their own children, they never stop needing the unconditional love, support and guidance of a parent.

I am very thankful for my husband, children, friends and Facebook friends for the support I have received through this time of growth. They have been extremely helpful. Those of us whom appear tough are really the ones who are the weakest inside. Most of all, I am Proud of my son and cannot wait to hear all about this new phase of his life and all of the memories he is creating. I love you Frankie!

 

©Deirdre Haggerty, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this blog may be reproduced without prior written permission and consent from the author.

For more from the author, click subscribe or follow Deirdre on Twitter, like her on Facebook, check out her other Examiner work on Hair Care, Long Island Beauty Lookbook, Long Island Spa Treatments, Long Island Hair Care, or Long Island Catholic or email her any comments or questions to DeirdreAHaggerty@gmail.com.

From my heart...to my first born son

For my first son!

To understand the man you are, you need to embrace the boy you were.

Since I was a little girl, my favorite Disney movie has and will always be Cinderella, so it is more than fitting that two of the lullabies I sang to my first beautiful baby boy came from that. You chose the third because you loved Lady and the Tramp and would ask us to sing La La Lu every night before bed along with a book, a story and prayers, anything to milk the time, earning the title the “milk man”.

The only thing in life I have ever wanted was to be loved and to be married with beautiful children and the dream that I wished came true. So this is for you my baby boy, my miracle that I was dreaming of!

“A Dream is a wish your heart makes, when you’re fast asleep! In dreams you will lose your heartaches, whatever you wish for you keep. Have faith in your dreams and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving! If you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true!”

Compared to now, I was a baby myself when you were conceived, but even at 25, I knew in my bones how badly I wanted and needed you. The stick turned a pink + on my birthday solidifying how special you would be. People would always ask if I felt gypped as my birthday was so near to Christmas, but on the contrary, I felt so blessed to celebrate with the baby Jesus. Special doesn’t even begin to describe you.

“So this is love, hmmm, mmm mmm mmm, so this is love? So this is what makes love alive? I’m all-aglow, hmmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, and now I know, the key to all heaven is mine. My heart has wings, hmmm mmm, mmm, mmm and I can fly, I’ll touch every star in the sky. So this is the miracle that I’ve been dreaming of, hmmm mmm, mmm, mmm….So this is love!”

So this is love! The tiny fetus growing inside of me was YOU! My body was changing fast and I wanted to be the perfect house to carry, protect and nurture you. From my first sonogram of you I began to call you my Baby Boobah! I sang to you, played music for you and talked to you constantly. The most amazing feeling was being able to hold your feet as you stretched out your legs. When you moved around as if you were uneasy I would rub your little backside that you would stick up out of my belly, which fit in my hand, and you would calm down. I will never forget how you felt growing inside of me!

You made an entrance on the day you were born as only a Haggerty can do. Because you were too big for me (or I was too small), Dr. Noodlehead (Nodleman) had to break your collarbone to extract you and since a Haggerty takes no crap from anyone, you showed him and pooped on his arm.

At 8lbs 8oz and 22 inches long, I couldn’t believe I gave birth to you. Everything about you was perfect; you constantly nursed and gained weight so fast you looked like Buddah, your beautiful smile was and still is infectious, you were alert and responded to all types of stimuli and you were COLIC! At first I was devastated; I thought I did something wrong. You are a Haggerty and had to be perfect! I did everything, read everything, changed my diet because I thought my breast milk was bad even though you were HUGE, but you were still colic. Dad paced with you, drove you everywhere, we vacuumed, ran the tap (which eventually broke), kept you swinging hours at a time (till I tore off a leg and broke the swing) BUT YOU WOULD NEVER SLEEP. My mother watched in amazement as I held you, cuddled you, waiting for my patience to give and it never did. You were my baby and I wanted you to not feel any pain. You went from colic to teething and I couldn’t tell the difference-you always cried (still do-lol) and then one day (I don’t exactly remember when) I realized there was nothing wrong with you-you were the perfect baby I wanted, you were you, ultra sensitive to the world around you and that is your greatest gift. There is no such thing as perfect; perfect is a concept of images we hold in our heads of how others think things should be, but perfection is acceptance; accepting all of God’s creatures with everything they bring and only the Lord can do that. All we can do is strive to understand and accept others as they are.

I could go on and on regarding how intelligent and talented and musically gifted you are, but what makes me proudest is your kindness. Your ultra sensitivity has given you an immense heart to want to love and help others at any cost, to be totally aware of your surroundings and do what needs to be done. Your colic and our response has made you a master manipulator, not in the bad sense (although it does rear its head at times) but in a way to maneuver things and situations to make them work for you while attaining far reaching goals with an immeasurable work ethic. You believe in what you stand for and fight for what you know is right. You are a true leader with true integrity. What you have accomplished at 17, most grown adults haven’t. I have pushed you hard because I know how much potential you have within.

As a toddler, small boy and pre-teen, the perfection you strived for sometimes turned to deep frustration and outbursts until one day as an older teen, back in November of your senior year in high school when you were once again frazzled over school work, cult and picking a major I saw the baby who needed his mom again in your eyes and I believe at that point you realized it would all work out okay.

You paved the way for your brothers because unfortunately for you, you were my test run. I learned more from being your mother in 17 years than I have in the other 26 years of my life. Because of you I wanted more and more and more children. For three years and nine months it was just you and I. We did everything and went everywhere together. I lived and breathed Frankie—and I still do, although now you don’t want me to, but you are in my every waking thought and I just gush with pride when I look at you. I knew eventually you would need a playmate and we gave you three more. You have become an amazing brother and caregiver to them and the only person other than your father that I truly trust with their care.

Life hasn’t been a cakewalk, but it never is. Those who say it is hide their pain. Life is what you make of it, so enjoy every waking moment: smell the flowers, watch the sunrise, feel the breeze on your face, listen to the birds sing, hold the hand of the one you love and always speak the truth. We haven’t been able to give you much, but we have given you all the love in our hearts. What was stripped from us was replaced with the knowledge of how important we are to each other. Nothing is more vital to life than being surrounded by people who truly love you. I am so proud to release you into this world as a loving and responsible man even though you will forever be my Baby Boobah. You have the world at your feet and YOU WILL OWN IT!

I love you Frankie Haggerty with every inch of my being and couldn’t be prouder!  At night when you are fast asleep, I will ride over to your dorm, climb through the window and if my big boy is really asleep, I will rock you and sing “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be!” Then I will sing our songs, which will be forever in my heart with you!

“La la lu  la la lu oh my little star sweeper, I’ll sweep the star dust for you, la la lu, la la lu little soft fluffy sleeper, here comes a blue cloud for you, la la lu, la la lu little wandering angel, hold up your wings close your eyes, la la lu la la lu and may love be your keeper, la la lu, la la lu la la lu!”

"I love you all the way to the moon and back" again and back again and back again and back again and back again…

Living in terror has become the norm...

Whirl A Style (Jumbo Medium, Black)

My first celebrity interview had me more excited after the fact than before. I was invited by a PR group to a promotional event to cover a new product and service: http://www.examiner.com/hair-care-in-long-island/marina-sirtis-promotes-whirl-a-style-herald-square-review (shameless plug) and had to choose one of four Duane Reade stores in the city to cover each with different celebrities. I chose the one with Marina Sirtis, not because of my love of all things Star Trek, on the contrary, I am not a Trekkie (I'm sure I will get banged for that one) and the only things I enjoy about the series are Captain Kirk jokes and William Shatner's roast on Comedy Central a few years back. My mother had asked me to devote some of my hair care writing to older women and since Marina is by no means old, but in her late fifties, I felt this was a prime opportunity to appease mia madre and we'd have more in common than the other celebrity promoters such as Angelina from The Jersey Shore (castaway), Maria Kanellis from The Biggest Loser, I mean Celebrity Apprentice (my small B cup will have nothing to say to her silicone Ds), or Jessie and Gwen from The Bachelor (Who? Would last names even matter? Being a hard up husband seeker makes you a celebrity?). What has happened to the mind of television viewers? Why or how does reality TV make people "stars"? Anyway, Marina seemed more authentic as a real actor than a wannabe. I did some basic research on her and the product. I needed to figure out how to tie it all together since my title is on hair care, is localized to Long Island and the product is a hairstyle aid, therefore, my excitement was slightly curtailed. The Duane Reade in Herald Square, where this presentation was being conducted, is closer to Penn Station as well making cab or subway fare obsolete, therefore solidifying my decision.

I was thrilled that my husband agreed to tag along as my photographer. Besides giving me security from not knowing what to expect, he offered to treat me to lunch, which I jumped at since he'd be starting a new job Monday and there would be no more afternoon delights. My DH felt riding the train off peak was the best and most affordable way in even though two days prior it was discovered that Bin Laden plotted to derail the trains around the USA and we were once again on high alert.  Ironically, we renewed our life insurance policies the evening before, so I jested on Facebook while traveling in hoping there wouldn't be any explosions.

We arrived early (as was advised by my contact), so to kill time I asked, as any woman would, if I could use the facilities, of which I was denied! OK, beautiful day in the city, slightly chilly, so we sat at a table in the middle of Herald Square and watched the loons walk by. The city is the best place to realize your own mental state without the hundreds paid for a therapist. After a brief period of people watching, we headed back to the boutique on the second floor of Duane Reade (who knew!) and were greeted by Brittney of Fashion-on-the-Go who whipped up a cute little style on me using the Whirl-a-Style hair tool. As she was finishing me up, Marina walked in. There weren't many people on hand as I had been warned there might be, so I had the lovely actress all to myself. Lovely and inviting she was, making my first interaction of this sort a pleasurable experience. I focused my questions only on hair as I was doing the piece on the product and didn't want to come across stars truck either. Fact is, I wasn't and that made it easier for me to feel relaxed and enjoy the warmth of Marina's personality. Frank took tons of wonderful pics, we said our adieus and we were off to lunch.

Unfortunately, we had to pick the closest eatery because my bladder was ready to explode and it was more of a diner than the grill it claimed to be. We ate outside and ten times we could have skipped out on the check; that's how much attention the wait staff paid to us.

We had more than enough time to catch our 12:38 train and weaved our way back to Penn where I was disappointed to find Dunkin Donuts had been replaced by some Canadian coffee chain: Tim Horton's. The latte was OK; I just needed to drown away the aftertaste of the lunch I had just eaten. As we waited for the track to be assigned for our train, we noticed the four soldiers in fatigues in one area and six or seven MTA police at their desk in helmets and shields. High alert in NYC again: nothing-unusual here. There is even an odd sense of security knowing they are all around, on guard. In a split second, just as track 19 posted for Valley Stream, a soldier to my right hurried past, being summoned by one of the four and as fast as a blink of an eye all of the soldiers and police scurried to the tracks to the left of my train. None of the passengers saw them, or if they did, they paid no attention. They were focused on the train posting and all ran to it like feeding time at the zoo as soon as the number hit. My husband wanted to follow the authorities and I wanted to get the hell out of there. Really, I just renewed my life insurance, was the universe playing some type of bizarre joke? My heart was pounding and I begged my husband to leave the station. He agreed and we walked to one of the staircases that led outside and stood there for a chance to breathe and think. I wanted to be as close to an exit if this place blew, but DH felt if they were looking for something, they may evacuate and we would never get home to pick the kids up from school on time. We waited until the last possible second, mustered some type of bizarre strength and made our way back down to the train where we boarded the very last car. The entire walk to the train felt like an eternity as the hair on my neck stood on end. It was even more ominous that none of the authorities returned to their posts. Seconds ticked like hours during the two minutes before the train pulled out as I held my breath. I wasn't calm until we left the tunnel and saw daylight and relief set in as we deboarded. Nothing was mentioned on the news, so we assumed it was a routine drill or perhaps something was suspect, which thankfully turned into nothing. Never, had I ever feared dying like I did at that moment. And now the term terrorism and terrorist took on a whole new meaning to me. They succeeded. For a brief moment in my life, I allowed those desert animals to instill the worst possible fear within and I was terrorized. Even after the death of one of history's darkest villians, we still live in fear and probably always will.

I wasn't about to let this put a damper on one terrific day and hopefully a turning point in my career. I had a great afternoon upon our return home, took a catnap and wrote my article. After publishing, I received many emails from new people all night regarding future prospects adding to my euphoria. My articles allow for commenting and a reader and diehard Trekkie informed me of an apparent offense I made regarding Marina's age and character's "proper" title of Lt. Commander to full Commander. Oooooops! Sorry. But, thanks for the chuckle anyway!

The bi-polar inebriated dragon lady

For me, it was about taking care of my family. When her insanity reared its crazy head, it was about proving something to myself. How much abuse can one person take, especially me, who old me would have told her to shove it the first sign of loony, but I needed to believe I had grown into a better person, so for four months I let Marion insult me, humiliate me, degrade me, belittle me and bark orders at me all for $10 an hour.

In this economy, with soaring fuel costs, the money wasn't much. I was lucky if I brought home $200 a week at times since she always changed my hours. Some week's tips were generous and other times it was scant. But with four sons, the peanuts I did make helped to feed them. I logged in somewhere between 18 to 22 hours a week, a part-time schedule that afforded me time to write, and be a mother. The salon was very near to my home, so travel time was nothing and in an emergency I could be home in seconds. It was also extremely bearable since she only worked with me on Saturdays, not at all on Wednesdays and for minutes on Thursdays and Fridays. My at home customers were starting to build again, but it wasn't enough to meet the same salary, therefore on Sundays, Mondays and Tuesdays I was working out of the house as well.

We all hate our bosses, or seriously dislike them. I've had a few whom I've remained friends with. I also know it is not easy being a boss, especially of a small business. When I owned my children's party place, I stressed intensely over this. On the one hand you are an owner and all needs to run properly for the business to be successful, thrive and make money. My business was one of my babies and I treated it as such, nurturing it and defending it at all costs. I've had wonderful employees and some not so much. Being a sensitive woman (lol), I often worried over whether or not they thought I was a fair employer. As the events at Abracadabra unfolded from day one, I started to question my ten years as a boss and thought I did something to deserve this treatment.

I believed that being a former business owner would make for an outstanding employee. I knew what to do, when to do it, and hate doing nothing. I was right, or at least I thought I was. Her clients always told me how lucky she was to have found me. I did her shampoos, cleaned her salon from top to bottom, and cleaned up after her. A few years back, in the middle of turmoil within my own business, I took a part time job on Thursdays and Fridays in a local hair salon that was associated with friends of mine. The owner was an opinionated Christian woman. Although, personally, she is not someone I would associate with, the salon was a haven of gossip and we may not have seen eye to eye at times, she was a good boss and helped me through a challenging time. Because of this, I would not take any clients with me when I did leave, even though some asked or called and even came to my store asking me to do their hair. It was during my time there that I had learned about Marion and how strange she was.

As I noted earlier, that salon was a henhouse of chickens cackling about someone, so I took what I heard with a grain of salt. Turns out these town criers were correct! Not only did they call the situation with my former business landlord, but also everything they mentioned about my new boss was on target. I remembered what I had heard, specifically how Marion accused my former boss and her employees of bringing roaches into her salon. I wasn't sure it was the same place, so to be certain, I asked my new boss on my first day and my interest piqued when she confirmed that yes, the crew of Shear Dimensions had rented space at Abracadabra while they waited for renovations to be completed after a fire destroyed their salon. I knew at once the old girls were right because Abracadabra was filthy and there was no way roaches were brought in, but however resided there in an ultimate roach heaven. It was a 30-year-old salon that looked like it still had the same decor from the 1980's. There was dust inches thick all over the black lacquer and glass shelves. The posters on the walls were of styles I had worn in the 80's and of guys dressed like men from Saturday Night Fever. The wood in the drawers and hampers were crumbling, rust and color clumped all over the slop sink, half smoked cigarettes were left under the desk, ashes on the floor, and a dirty toilet. That salon needed more than magic tricks, it needed a time machine bringing it into the new millennium. Even her clients’ hairdos were screaming: “hello, it’s 1986, I want my hair back!” My first impression on my first day was one of disgust; therefore, as any normal bug-a-phobe would do, I cleaned everything and dried it in a hot dryer to kill any of the cooties I may have brought home. From then on, I never brought my pocket book, but instead used a recycling food bag for my belongings. At the end of my first day, Marion gave me a key (totally bizarre-she didn't know me from a hole in the wall) and asked if I'd be ok being alone on my next workday. Sure, I was fine with it! It didn't bother me at all that a few years back a dead body was found in the dumpster behind her store!

My first Wednesday alone was slow and chock full of omens. I quickly discovered that she left the back door unlocked, a mistake I learned happened every Tuesday evening after she left. I told her the first time I noticed, however, couldn't be bothered after that because I knew she would keep doing it. Thankfully, my husband took me to work every day and on Wednesday mornings, he came in with me to make sure a homeless person or worse wasn't lying in the back. I cleaned her shelves and never got a thank you. As a matter of fact, I came in to a list of chores every Wednesday, which I completed, busy or not. I cleaned her mirrors (which had stains dripping down from the ceiling), sorted magazines, cleaned the stations and the sinks, folded the towels, straightened out the storage room, alphabetized her color catalog, filled shampoos, peroxides, changed barbicides, cleaned capes and always followed her around picking up her towels, caps, foils, cotton, hair, coffee cups and cleaning the color off of the chairs and floors that she dripped everywhere. While answering her phone, I met Maria, a client of the salon who called because Debbie, one of Marion's stylists had called her at home to follow her as she was planning on quitting. Maria asked if I would please give Marion the message, which I did and Debbie was immediately fired leaving me as her only employee. She does have a gentleman who only works on Sundays now, and was on medical leave at that time. Whenever Debbie's clients asked about her, Marion insisted I not tell them what really happened. I now know it is because countless girls have done that to her the past 20 years that she has owned the salon which was double the size because of the way Marion treats her employees and her clients.

Warnings now shot at me from every direction. My friend and client refused to go to the shop and give her a dime of her money. She despised the way Marion treated her old stylist who also left. "Her MO" as Sima put it "was to humiliate anyone in front of the clients she felt jealous of once they began to get busy with "her clients" and therefore sabotage her own business." Another friend relayed similar information to me about another stylist who left her. Now Marion is breathing down my neck for my clients to come to her salon with a comment of "You really don't have any following do you?" Some came, but the worse she treated me the more reluctant I was to give her any of my money. Any clients of "hers" that I did, she would always question me like a teenage girl who liked a boy who didn't like her back. She left the salon without toilet paper or paper towels, washed her personal effects with the towels and left bottles of Heineken under the bathroom sink.

I saw an online review while searching her address to give to clients that was basically bull regarding selling hair, but the comment of how the owner treated them penetrated as now I began witnessing her yelling at old women or when a sweet hard of hearing woman tried to whisper to me how she hated her. This woman had to take out her hearing aid for me to do her hair, and she told me she wouldn't be able to hear me. While I was putting on her color, according to Marion's specifications, I was yelled at across the salon to hurry up. She then came over and said "you need to talk to the clients, they like that". First of all you dumb ass, my client is deaf and since you insisted she wanted you to do her hair (which she didn't) and you "gave" her to me, if you knew her at all you would've known this, and secondly, I am 43! I think I'm aware that client's like to converse, you fool. This type of bi-polar behavior was evident every Saturday I worked with her. She often yelled at me, interfered with what I was working on, offered her two cents or more, checked my work and would tell me how and what to do with their hair all in front of the clients. I learned to ignore her, to which was met with, "are you listening to me?, can you hear me?" After laughing to myself, I played stupid, "oh, sorry, had my head in the clouds or , didn't get much sleep last night" all while I imagined smacking her upside her dumb blonde head.

Wednesdays at work was a day of solace, until one Wednesday when I walked in to an open door and saw her shampooing my first client. She barked at me, "hurry up and unpack, you're late!" I looked at my phone and it was 11:01 AM. I replied, "oh sorry" then looked at her clock which is five minutes fast and said I start at 11, I am one minute late." I got stuck at the train that is right in front of her store and if she looked up she would have seen that. From that day on, I would stress to make sure I arrived  at least fifteen minutes early every work day. A few Wednesdays after that, again she made a surprise appearance and when I greeted her with a friendly, "good morning, what brings you in on your day off", she growled, "MONEY!" I had to leave five minutes late every day because her clock was fast and was tense every morning leaving to make sure I wasn't later than fifteen minutes early.

Three months in, my husband was now telling me to quit. I couldn't until I was sure he had a job lined up or I had seen strides within my writing. As fate would have it, the planets aligned last week and all fell into place at once. I received my first writing paycheck and was now receiving free products, and invitations to press outings. At the same time I was assigned to cover the royal wedding, http://www.examiner.com/hair-care-in-long-island/princess-kate-s-royal-wedding-style. The day before I prepped and researched. I worked at the salon the night before on a friend and her daughter who have learning disabilities and on state assistance. At home, I charge her pennies, but needed to up the price slightly at the salon, but still gave her a discount. I basically charged her for her hi-lights and gave her the cut and blow, my service for free. I didn't think Marion would have an issue with it since I still charged her a slightly higher price for the highlights. I could have done her hair at home, pocketed the money and got paid for sitting at her shop doing nothing. After I cleaned up, so much so, that her daughter commented, "Deirdre, why are you cleaning so much?" and began helping me.

The next morning I awoke at 4:00 AM along with the rest of the east coast to watch the wedding, however, I was working, typing writing, and creating slideshows. I published at 8:00 AM, took the kiddies to school at 8:15 AM, walked with my husband, came home and edited the article again, sent it out to social networks and tried to sleep because I had to work from 3:00 PM to 8:00 PM, and I am a cranky camper on a few hours of sleep. Just as I was dozing my cell phone rings blaring "Like a G6" in my ear. I look and it's my boss, so I reluctantly answer. "Did you do hi-lights last night?" she accused in her sardonic of tones. "What, no" was my answer still in a dreamy exhausted stupor, "why?" "Because there was foil in the garbage and bleach on the sink and caps all over", she bellowed. I said goodbye, wiped my eyes and was stunned. That place was spotless, but she searched the garbage and the foils were underneath old magazines I had thrown out. I was floored. I would have told her I did them, but she was so awful and accusatory, I didn't want to tell her anything except go to hell, so I called her back to apologize. When she answered she yelled at me, "YOUR NUMBER COMES UP PRIVATE", I apologized for being groggy and explained why I was asleep to which she replied, "SO, I GOT UP THAT EARLY TOO" and now I couldn't tell her the truth, so I made up a ridiculous story about how my friend's daughter is in beauty school and she tried to do foils, but messed it up and she came in with them in her hair. She didn't see a mess, she saw I was in until 7:30 and went rummaging through the garbage. I was wounded. Maybe other girls screwed her over, stole from her or took her clients, but I worked my ass off, never got a thank you and was treated terribly consistently. I have a difficult time lying, but she didn't deserve the truth.

I went in a few hours later, arrived fifteen minutes early because I knew I had a 3:00 customer to a days worth of hair piled at my station. I tidied up her mess to prepare for my first appointment. I ignored her snide comments, especially the ones about me sleeping, although I did respond one time that I wasn't enjoying the wedding, I was covering it.

Saturday morning I checked my page views on my royal wedding coverage and was astounded. I reached record clicks and said to my husband, "I have the confidence today to face whatever she brings".  My first client was someone who needed her color fixed. It happens, but Marion compounded the circumstances that led to me screwing this one’s hair up When I first did this woman's hair, on a Wednesday, without the glaring eye and mouth of my boss, it came out stunning. She came back for her touch up on a Saturday, so between my nerves of Marion yelling at me to move it along, and the woman's unwillingness to sit still, not touch her hair of foils led to a feathering effect of the darker color along some of the blonde hair pieces. I had no problem fixing it, but had to watch carefully as to not over process her already over processed hair. My next appointment was Maria and her husband who was late. After Marion TOLD me how to do her hair, she then yelled at me again to "SHUT UP and HURRY UP, Maria's husband was next". Maria's husband wasn't even there yet, and she had now gotten her tentacles in my "hair fix" and was blowing it out. I stopped and finally yelled back, "DO YOU WANT ME TO HURRY IT UP OR DO A GOOD JOB AND DO ALL THE THINGS YOU JUST TOLD ME TO DO! MAKE UP YOUR MIND!" Now it's on bitch and I am done. Maria looks up at me and tells me not to worry, her husband isn't there yet and how every time she calls for an appointment, she prays that I am still working there. She then tells me how Marion likes me and I'm the longest employee she has ever had.

Maria leaves, looks fabulous and the dragon lady seems to be quieting down and trying to be civil. I now am doing my next client who is a hi-light that I recommended come back to have it done. She has a few gray hairs among gorgeous, natural ginger colored hair and I feel a high lift honey blonde would look stunning. But, I have to ask the drunk, and as she runs her fingers through her hair insists I use bleach. This appointment had enough time blocked for the color, but the cut and blow was written over a prom trial that I blocked an hour for. When the young girl for the trial first came to me, she was in Marion's column, but the mother asked if I could do it. Marion didn't like that. When the teen's mother then called for the trial, Marion thought she wanted her again...awkward! The mother said up-do on the phone and the girl wanted long curls, but didn't bring a picture, even though I asked her to, so we had a little miscommunication happening, but it was a friendly and funny banter as we were trying to figure out how to do her hair. That is why we do trial appointments. Now Marion is twitching and asking me, "oh, you're doing the whole head?" I am ignoring her now, so she saunters over, runs her fingers through the curls I'm creating and begins to tell me again what to do and I stopped, and said, "you better walk away right now". She said, "I better go in my corner now" and I quit, told her to shove the job up her ass, finished my hi-lights after the poor woman just had surgery and was now waiting in pain, told her I wanted to do a different color, packed up my bags and waited for my pay.

Now she is waving the money in my face and is telling me off. I took it because I just wanted to get paid and didn't want to get arrested. I was handed my money, walked out and turned right back around to let this bitch have it. As I was blasting her a new asshole, she threatened to call the police and I told her to go ahead, she has so many violations, OSHA will shut her down in seconds and she'll get closed in a heartbeat and arrested for selling, illegal, knock-off designer bags. She backed down and I walked out, frustrated that I let her get to me, relieved to be done with her and excited to be heading to my son's recital shortly.

The End? Not really! Monday, my husband got a job offer and I have been busy writing and working on my own clients. Although I ripped her up pretty good at the end, those of you who know me well know how hard it was for me to take that and not to lash out or even worse, strike out.

This is what makes me happy:

A Bucket List

I don't really have one; a bucket list that is. Maybe I'm too young in the grand scheme of things to think about it or maybe I'm just really content. I don't know, but lately it has been brought up quite a bit and the concept has me curious.

I saw the movie with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson and was somewhat touched, however, they are my parent's age and I am not terminally ill, terminally insane possibly, but overall healthy. On a recent ladies night while out with my muffs the term body shot was used (by me of course) and it was advised that I should put it on my bucket list. Another friend asked whom I had in mind, and I looked around the restaurant, didn't see my husband (who is the only person I want licking salt off of my belly and sucking a lime out of my mouth) and answered no one here.

On another evening with a different set of friends we set out to watch an old friend try his hand at comedy for the first time at a comedian graduation at The Brokerage Comedy Club in Bellmore. It was very amusing as all the new graduates took the stage. You could feel their stress and nerves, some more than others. When an older woman took the stage, she was a clear favorite with terrific delivery and she began by stating that she was setting out to do what was on her bucket list. She kicked it! (The show, not the bucket and there is more to that urban slang that I cannot write here) By the way, our friend Wayne was great! His stage name is Wayne Jude, so keep an ear out.

The whole bucket list concept is a tad creepy and too final. Things that have to be done before we kick the bucket? If you are living life, every day needs to be treated as the last. At least that is my opinion. Just because I haven't done it doesn't mean I want to. I have no inclination to jump out of a plane, eat bugs or run with the bulls! There are things I would still like to accomplish, places I would like to see and people I would like to hear the truth or tell to go eff off, but they aren't on a list waiting to be checked off before I die. Maybe I will get to it and maybe I won’t. I think I can be confident when I do finally kick the bucket that I wouldn't have any regrets. Would you?