If you have had the pleasure of reading my first blog post and you don’t know me personally you were probably left wondering “What the hell can this bitch possibly do for a living?” and “Why hasn’t she posted another gripping autobiographical excerpt?”

I don’t have a normal 9-5. I can not have a normal job I can’t with my 500mph brain. I somehow made it through the long year of hair school. I was born into this world, my mom is a hairdresser. I am an hairess (I know, clever af). Every meal I ate growing up, every piece of clothing I had, it all came from someone’s head.

I don’t work in a salon however. Too many rules. Too many different elements. I can not conform to a normal schedule.

During the week I am at home fighting for my life with our two toddlers and two teenagers while being a semi decent house wife. My husband doesn’t complain because I allow him to see me naked every day. We have four girls. “Aww your poor husband” No bitch, I will be meticulously basing all of their spousal draft picks off of their personal ability to retrieve heavy things from around the house for me. He’ll never have to mow our lawn or change an air filter again once we start marrying them off. Plus, again, he gets to see me naked so he’s fine.

The weekends are where the magic happens. I do hair for weddings. It’s considered one of the most high risk jobs you can have in the hair world. Most hairdressers ward weddings off with rosaries and holy water. Not me. I’m like a firefighter running into a burning apartment building to save the last little old lady on the top floor who probably only had a few months to live anyway and her grandchildren stopped visiting her after she called the police on them for getting into her pills.

My job is like a different party every day of the weekend. Different people every time, champagne is flowing. Adderal and Xanax are being alternated every 4-6 hours, the music is bumping and the family dynamics of the bride and groom unfold before your very eyes. I can tell how much devastation the soon to be mother in law will cause in my bride’s life just within the time it takes me to do her hair. On a more heartfelt note, being a part of a day so important in someone’s life is also an amazing feeling.

I would say 9 times out of 10 I can let loose and allow the majority of my insane intrusive thoughts spew out of my mouth during weddings. They’re usually a big hit when the bridesmaids have a nice morning buzz going. The thoughts that I keep trapped inside however, those blue ribbon winners are saved for the ritualistic after call to my makeup artist. These calls are sacred only to be shared with fellow beauty artists because we are all mentally ill. My husband also gets these debriefing calls as my safe space and as a qualified hairdresser’s spouse.

Then I retreat back to my laundry mountain pile chaos filled home to recharge my energy while being a mediocre at best house wife with crippling anxiety with our amazing annoying kids who’s husband has her chipotle order stored on his app for easy access to ordering on his way home from his 12 hour blue collar shift.