Thursday, March 16, 2006
When I was in CT, at one point, I used to drive to Greenwich to pay a FORTUNE (I shudder to think of it now) to have my hair cut at "Hopscotch" salon by Hisal (hee-SAL), a gay straight man who owned the place. Gay Straight as in seemingly gay but definitely straight. His salon had the right address and was very chic. The people working there were thin and chic. The staff would run out and get you lunch if you wanted...etc...etc. But, you ask, how was the haircut? It was okay. Okay, that is all. I pretended that it was just perfect because when you spend that much, you have to think so. But with my ultra short do, how badly or how well can one cut it? The range is fairly narrow, I think. Truth be told, I probably just felt oh-so with-it to get my hair cut there. After a while, though, I got tired of the drive and shelling out the cash and I found someone in Westport who was less than half the price and started going to her.
Her name was Ann Marie and she did a great job and didn't charge an arm and a leg...a little less than half of what Hisal charged. I actually thought she was a bargain. (That was my perspective at the time but now I can't imagine paying that much...funny how moving to the midwest changes that viewpoint.)
When we moved here, I took the advice of all the doctor wife types and went to Mira and paid a third of Hisal's price and initially thought it was a steal. The haircuts were okay but not great. Over time, just by living here, my perspective on the cost of things changed and I decided that Mira's prices were way too much. So, I started going to a barber.
Harry the barber cut my hair three times. The hair cuts weren't bad and with a little hair product, I could make it look quite good. His price was ten bucks and he wouldn't take a tip. How can you beat that? Plus, you didn't have to make an appointment. Perfect. But after a while, I got tired of having the flat head thing that barbers can't seem to help but do, so I tried a new hairdresser.
I went to the muh (that's the mall for my newer readers...I refuse to dignify that place with "mall") and went to Regis, the walk in place. Now, when I lived in CT, I wouldn't have considered getting my hair cut in a walk in place in the mall, but here, at the muh, it seemed like the right thing to do. The beautician I got was Becky, a fat, middle aged woman with HUGE glasses and a wildly dyed shock of hair on her head. As you can imagine, there was enough of the CT girl left in me to cause me to take pause at what I had undertaken. Right before she cut my hair, I noticed she had a little tremor in her hands (I am not making this up.) Becky wears these big ballooney sleeves and when she washes your hair, the sleeves sort of slap you in the face in a rhythmic way. It cancels out any relaxation you usually get when you get your hair shampooed. Swap, swap, swap...Then, when she does the temple massage thing. she really leans her weight into is so you think that your neck might break on the sink. Also, not so pleasant. But, loyal readers, I have to say (and I have been back there for three haircuts) that Miss Becky with the tremor, the face slapping sleeves and the neck-breaking hair wash gives the most precise perfect short hair cut I have had in a long, long while. Her price? In relative terms, a quarter of Hisal's, half of Ann Marie's, two thirds of Mira's but alas, three times Harry. Who knew?
In other ramblings, I went to see Failure to Launch tonight. (It was this girls night out thing...not my usual movie choice.) It was a silly, shameless Hollywood movie but it was worth seeing for one thing. Terry Bradshaw does a nude scene (not full frontal, but full back) and it is a riot. I wanted to cheer, GOOD FOR YOU! It was so refreshing to see someone that age being shown in an age appropriate way on the big screen. So different than the rediculous perfection we are always being force fed. Bravo for you Mr. Bradshaw.
Off to bed. MUST finish W&P so I can start Peyton Place.