A Girl Can Do What She Wants To Do and That's What I'm Gonna Do

Finally saved up enough nerve to get a decent real hair cut from an actual salon.  It was to be a real step up from free home trimming.  Actually I already spent real money on a cut a couple of weeks prior at a salon down the street called Soon.  But the junior stylist treated my hair like it was on fire, barely touching it and brushing just the outside edges.  It was very peculiar and I didn't even want to consider her reasoning behind that.  I was so happy to finally be in the chair, ready for a change, eager to follow her recommendations and chat about silly fun topics. She was young and looked like Madonna in Papa Don't Preach mode, super cute.  But how it played out was a silent cut void of any merriment.  After I explained what I wanted, she told me it was best to just clean up my existing non existent cut and be done with it.  Cutting too much would look like I had two hair cuts.  But I had pictures!  Look, a long shag lives on the internet, I pleaded! She took a glance but didn't change lanes.   After about 3 minutes, she was done.  She took an extensive amount of time to wash and blow out my hair.  Good Lord, I'm not going to the prom! I clearly did not make myself clear. I told her I want this natural, modern, air dried look that is in this season but that also fell on deaf ears.  And it didn't look different in the end.  She tried, I told myself but in my heart I know she didn't.  She was not personable nor did she give me a good cut.  Such a bummer.  And a blow to the wallet.  P walked me home and had that nervous laugh that he gets when he doesn't want to encourage negative thinking.  But I know him so well.  He knew I got gypped. He knew it wasn't worth what I laid down. He saw her mock combing it.   He knew all of it and I saw it in his eyes the minute I got up from that chair.

Asparagus over red rice and sausage.  Easy and not complicated.  Like things should be. A little crumbled bleu cheese on the side to add a punch of flavor.

And isn't it a cruel fact that your hair can look really fabulous the day you finally get the balls to trim that lifeless mop?  I don't recall it having this flow any day this week or in previous months.

So I arrive at Badlands Salon and the receptionist puts on a great Petty song, offers me a drink and the best experience begins.  My stylist is seasoned, super friendly, lived in San Francisco around the same time, lives in Brooklyn near me now, was able to really dial in what I wanted and talk to me about it like a real person before doing her thing.  She got her hands all up in my scalp and ran her fingers through the strands and layers a bunch of times before ever touching the scissors. Watching her, I realized immediately she was great at what she did.  She made it effortless and so enjoyable.  She loved the natural texture of my hair and understood right away the desire to put down the straightening iron.  I couldn't have been more satisfied.  I actually teared up at the end because life is so hard sometimes and this chick got me. I never do this kind of thing and I just wanted to feel good about myself for one miserable day.  Because of the previous venture too it became like a flood of relief.  Before I rode home I stopped to acknowledge that everything isn't shitty and broken.  Cool people are still out there, and even having similar experiences with New York, Brooklyn, finances, creative outlets, aging and everything in between.