1. WHY COSMETOLOGY?

On January 11, 2010, I embarked on my new career. You might think it strange that at the age of 53 I decided to return to school (night school) to start a totally new profession. It wasn't due to the economy, or not making enough money, or any of the reasons that seem so common these days. It came from a place deep in my soul that I needed to find a career where I could use my artistic abilities, make a living, perhaps have my own business, and have some sense of satisfaction at the end of the day.

Let me say that I never envisioned being a cosmetologist. I guess this is the catch-all phrase used now instead of hairdresser. I will use hairdresser. I never pictured myself as one. To sound perfectly snotty, I always kind of looked down on hairdressers as not being too smart and how hard could it be to cut hair? And my mother, the epitome of snottihood (is this a word?), would have killed me if I even considered it as a career. She would have died of embarrassment in front of her friends having a daughter who was a hairdresser! But I digress.

I started out studying art. I am a die-hard New Yorker living in South Florida. And yes, I do like it here after 15 years. I got tired of having pneumonia every winter. I went to the High School of Art and Design in mid Manhattan and majored in sculpture. I then, at the age of 16, got into Parson's School of Design. Being totally ignorant, naiive, stupid, what have you, and having absolutely no support from my parents, I took getting into Parson's for granted.

My father was a self-taught artist who started painting, I think to find something else to occupy his free time to get away from my never-happy always nagging mother. He painted mainly scenes from his childhood home town as he remembered it before the nazi's (yes I know it should be capitalized but I won't justify the assholes) destroyed all he remembered and had. His style was almost primitive, but full of the emotion that he was unable to express or show. So when I followed in his footsteps, my mother did all she could to dicourage me from becoming like him, and stupid naiive me, wanting her to at least like me, let her convince me that nursing would be the profession for me, just as it had been for her and her mother after the war.

I hated nursing. I hated it in school. I hated it when I graduated with a Bachelor's in Science and an RN. I have always hated it. Everyday was an effort to go to work and calling in sick a lot became a way of life for me.

I won't bore you any further with the details of my early life. Suffice it to say that I basically was stuck. I got married very young to get away from my crazy mother and maternal grandmother to a man that continued the craziness in my life (hey, what did I know? It felt familiar and so I thought it "normal"). So going back to school to study art was out of the question since I had to earn a living.

Fast forward a number of years, and the trend of faux painting was just beginning. I jumped on the bandwagon. I worked as a nurse in the home care aspect of nursing during the week, and painted my heart out on weekends, all while maintaining a home, 2 kids and an unsupportive, miserable husband. I developed a thriving business for almost 10 years. I was in heaven. I loved going to work, loved the independence, loved the satisfaction of creating something that made myself and the customer so happy.

Then every Tom, Dick and Harry jumped on the bandwagon as well and everyone you met was a faux painter. It became difficult finding work unless you worked through a decorator. Most of them were so flaky and nutty that I knew it wouldn't work for me, so I returned to my old profession because I needed to support myself, having gotten divorced after 23 years of marriage.

I worked numerous jobs. My resume is so long that I shorten it to 2 pages to what could easily be 6 if I was honest enough to put down every where that I have worked. I kept thinking that if I found the right environment, I'd be happy in nursing. The money was okay, I was pretty independent, and maybe I could make this work. I tried teaching, working in a cancer center, working in the ER, working in an infusion office, working for almost every home care company in the county, working for a plastic surgeon ( if I had stayed I could have had any surgery I wanted for free-I was the only woman in the office with natural breasts). The list is endless. I finally realized it wasn't the environment. It was the lack of doing something artistic on a daily basis.

So I started my own company making pretty cool handbags that are cruelty free and designed for not putting any pressure on your back or neck (http://www.thecitybag.com/). I thought I could make this into a full time job, so I started doing art fairs, set up a website, sold quite a bit, but not to the point that I could support myself on what I made. The art fairs were my bread and butter, and I even tried (with my husband of 3 years after being single for 7, who is absolutely supportive) doing shows up north, but the amount of work schlepping everything and driving was just ridiculous, plus we have a house full of cats (8) and 2 dogs, and leaving them and getting someone trustworthy to watch them became an effort. I still make the bags, love making them and hearing people rave about them and re-order them, do the local art fairs, but I still needed a full time job.

My husband and I love the show Tabatha's Salon Takeover. We've been faithful fans this season, and a light bulb went off in my head. I googled schools in the area that offered courses to become a hairdresser, and low and behold, there was one 5.2 miles from my home. I discussed my going back to school with my husband, who would have to fend for himself 4 nights/week plus the time apart, but he was as enthusiastic as I was. I then called the school on a Tuesday, went in to talk to them on a Wednesday, signed up on Thursday, and started school on Monday, January 11, 2010. So began my new journey.