Epic battles with the Asian 'fro...
Big news of the day is twofold: I finally got my hair cut (it was probably two or three weeks overdue) and finally got Laura's package sent out (it was probably two or three weeks overdue). And oh yeah, a neighbor asked me to help her and her hottie (possibly underage, in retrospect, but my memory's kinda shitty, so more research is called for) daughter, Zoey, to move a table this afternoon.
I have a classic dysfunctional love/hate relationship with my hair. It can be anything from a trouble-free joy to coexist with, to an almost hypnotic must-touch conversation piece for white girls, to an absolute maddening tool of the devil, to something I'd gladly take a match and lighter fluid to if I wasn't such a wuss for pain and permanent disfigurement. I tend to get many more compliments on it when it's a shortish, somewhat modified crewish cut with the added Asian gel twist thrown in, but when it starts to get longer, I unfailingly get this notion that "hey, we live in a technologically wonderous time, and CERTAINLY they make a gel or other fixative product that will tangle with (no pun) the 'fro and make me irresistible to women (and be safe for the environment and not give anyone who comes into even the remotest contact with it cancer or diabetes or something), at the same time, mustn't they? With over a billion potential customers moving from the third-world to the second-world, and needing a healthy dose of style and urban chic, surely the collective braintrusts of Vidal Sassoon, Paul Mitchell, that one hair guy in the AmEx commercial, and all those other hair professionals should be learning Chinese and putting their heads together to create the green-tea-infused holy grail of the Asian hairdresser's wet dream? I mean for chrissakes, here's a quarter of the world's population, the male half of whom so desperately long for hair styling options that the men go out and get perms. For whose of you who don't know of the horrors of the Asian male perm, let me tell you, perhaps the only thing stylistically more frightening than the mullet on anyone, the stereotypical bull dyke blunt cuts, and even corn rows and/or dredlocks on white guys, is Asian guys with permed hair. Observe:
OK, my cursory search for any photos of Asian guys with perms on google yields no results, but suffice it to say that it's scary. I'll try to find some later...
All that being said, I came to the realization a couple weeks ago that I was overdue for a haircut. Calling the salon where my stylist "A" works, I was mortified to learn that she'd left the salon. Knowing full well that asking where a former employee had moved on to was a question that would only get you a quicker and more favorable response as compared to, say, a bomb threat, and faced with the possibility of having my hair systematically butchered by who knows how many well-meaning stylists, over untold months, possibly years, my only choice was to ask anyway. Much to my surprise, there were forthright with the information, and I called over there, where I happily found her, but unfortunately, she couldn't take me that Friday. Part of what drew me to getting my hair cut by A in the first place, and facilitating my return month after month, in addition to the least-possible-damage factor, was that that invariably, while I was there either waiting to have my hair cut, or actually getting my hair cut, we'd end up chatting with this friend of hers who occupied the next booth over. Now here's a girl who's apparently from here (I say "apparently", but I have no idea or indications of this other than that it's convenient for me to think it of her), probably a year or two older/younger than me, plus/minus a few, not drop-dead gorgeous by any measure, but very pretty, great demeanor, just a hint of an endearing southern accent and accompanying mannerisms, great figure, and oh yeah, I've never seen her working on a customer (that might appeal to my inner slacker) in all the times I've been there. Yet something about this woman just compels me to think terrible, terrible filthy thoughts, things that would ensure me a horrific afterlife in any, even the most forgiving and/or lax religions. Let's call her "B" (mainly because if I said her name was "BJ", I'd get comments saying things like "you're not writing to Penthouse Forum here, you know, pig!" And invariably, it'd just be thought that I lacked imagination (all except for ham of course, who would just say that I'm "full of creative shit" (still need to get to the bottom of that, there's got to be a dig buried in there somewhere)). Anyway, for a brief moment, I considered going in anyway and having B cut my hair, damn the torpedoes, I don't care how bad it turns out, I can stare at her in the mirror and pretend I'm concentrating on how my hair's being cut. Fortunately, better judgement won out, once I thought about how much my insufferably vain (yet shy) self would hate life if I had a butchered head for the next six months or whatever. Anyway, I made my peace with never being able to ogle B again, and went on about my life.
My procrastinative nature being what it is, my next opportunity to call A was today, and lo and behold, she was able to work me in. Upon arrival, I immediately notice that the place is a bit nicer than the last place, and the guy on the machine sounded gay, so you know they don't mess around with the hair. Anyway, imagine my surprise when after A gets started, who should walk by but B, on her way outside for a smoke break. And she looked fabulous! I have to ask A if that was B who just walked by, I barely even recognized her. She replied that yes, and that they were both dressed down because it was "Casual Friday", but both had makeup on, and this was a much nicer place with a dress code and better clientele, yadda yadda yadda. Once she came back in and I'd gotten my hair cut, the three of us got to talking, where the subject of my brother came up (she's been cutting his whole family's hair, and was originally recommended to me by him), and both expressed extreme shock that not only was I not the younger brother as they'd thought, but they both thought that I was in my early-to-mid twenties, WTF? Now I get the "you-look-younger-than-your-years" talk a lot from random people, but very very rarely from any kind of Asian people/person. Both seemed shocked by how irresponsible I am for an Asian eldest brother, how different my brother and I are (except, I'm told, for our shared "midwestern accent" in terms of where we are in our lives, emotionally, mentally, financially, socially, spiritually, and/or any number of factors out there.) We got to talking about the Asian 'fro phenomenon, (when B chimed in that I still looked great when I came in despite my overlong hair,) how glad I was and how cute it was that they'd both switched salons together (conspicuously omitting the part where I still get to fantasize about her while I get my monthly hair cut.) Anyway, to make a long story slightly less long, I got to get my flirt on a little today, and I have to say, it felt damnably refreshing...[sigh] (AND I didn't even get decked!) Life is good!
Wow, that got to be quite an extensive account. I'll wrap it up here, as it's coming up on 4:30, and my bed is calling. Other than that, like I said, got Laura's stuff shipped, and I'm just a little perturbed at them possibly screwing me on the bill. How can a two pound box of about 22 or so lineal inches, going from Charlotte to Irvine, California, cost over a quarter of what a twelve pound box of about 46 lineal inches, going from Charlotte to London, England?! There's something very wrong the system.
Anyway I think it's time for bed, have a fabulous weekend to those partying, I'll need to run a couple dozen typos here out in the morning, I'm sure. My complete lack of coherence now is leading to weirder and weirder interpretations of even my own words.
That'll do it for now, possible revision tomorrw if I get up at a decent hour.
Ciao and goodnight to the beautiful beautiful babies...
I have a classic dysfunctional love/hate relationship with my hair. It can be anything from a trouble-free joy to coexist with, to an almost hypnotic must-touch conversation piece for white girls, to an absolute maddening tool of the devil, to something I'd gladly take a match and lighter fluid to if I wasn't such a wuss for pain and permanent disfigurement. I tend to get many more compliments on it when it's a shortish, somewhat modified crewish cut with the added Asian gel twist thrown in, but when it starts to get longer, I unfailingly get this notion that "hey, we live in a technologically wonderous time, and CERTAINLY they make a gel or other fixative product that will tangle with (no pun) the 'fro and make me irresistible to women (and be safe for the environment and not give anyone who comes into even the remotest contact with it cancer or diabetes or something), at the same time, mustn't they? With over a billion potential customers moving from the third-world to the second-world, and needing a healthy dose of style and urban chic, surely the collective braintrusts of Vidal Sassoon, Paul Mitchell, that one hair guy in the AmEx commercial, and all those other hair professionals should be learning Chinese and putting their heads together to create the green-tea-infused holy grail of the Asian hairdresser's wet dream? I mean for chrissakes, here's a quarter of the world's population, the male half of whom so desperately long for hair styling options that the men go out and get perms. For whose of you who don't know of the horrors of the Asian male perm, let me tell you, perhaps the only thing stylistically more frightening than the mullet on anyone, the stereotypical bull dyke blunt cuts, and even corn rows and/or dredlocks on white guys, is Asian guys with permed hair. Observe:
OK, my cursory search for any photos of Asian guys with perms on google yields no results, but suffice it to say that it's scary. I'll try to find some later...
All that being said, I came to the realization a couple weeks ago that I was overdue for a haircut. Calling the salon where my stylist "A" works, I was mortified to learn that she'd left the salon. Knowing full well that asking where a former employee had moved on to was a question that would only get you a quicker and more favorable response as compared to, say, a bomb threat, and faced with the possibility of having my hair systematically butchered by who knows how many well-meaning stylists, over untold months, possibly years, my only choice was to ask anyway. Much to my surprise, there were forthright with the information, and I called over there, where I happily found her, but unfortunately, she couldn't take me that Friday. Part of what drew me to getting my hair cut by A in the first place, and facilitating my return month after month, in addition to the least-possible-damage factor, was that that invariably, while I was there either waiting to have my hair cut, or actually getting my hair cut, we'd end up chatting with this friend of hers who occupied the next booth over. Now here's a girl who's apparently from here (I say "apparently", but I have no idea or indications of this other than that it's convenient for me to think it of her), probably a year or two older/younger than me, plus/minus a few, not drop-dead gorgeous by any measure, but very pretty, great demeanor, just a hint of an endearing southern accent and accompanying mannerisms, great figure, and oh yeah, I've never seen her working on a customer (that might appeal to my inner slacker) in all the times I've been there. Yet something about this woman just compels me to think terrible, terrible filthy thoughts, things that would ensure me a horrific afterlife in any, even the most forgiving and/or lax religions. Let's call her "B" (mainly because if I said her name was "BJ", I'd get comments saying things like "you're not writing to Penthouse Forum here, you know, pig!" And invariably, it'd just be thought that I lacked imagination (all except for ham of course, who would just say that I'm "full of creative shit" (still need to get to the bottom of that, there's got to be a dig buried in there somewhere)). Anyway, for a brief moment, I considered going in anyway and having B cut my hair, damn the torpedoes, I don't care how bad it turns out, I can stare at her in the mirror and pretend I'm concentrating on how my hair's being cut. Fortunately, better judgement won out, once I thought about how much my insufferably vain (yet shy) self would hate life if I had a butchered head for the next six months or whatever. Anyway, I made my peace with never being able to ogle B again, and went on about my life.
My procrastinative nature being what it is, my next opportunity to call A was today, and lo and behold, she was able to work me in. Upon arrival, I immediately notice that the place is a bit nicer than the last place, and the guy on the machine sounded gay, so you know they don't mess around with the hair. Anyway, imagine my surprise when after A gets started, who should walk by but B, on her way outside for a smoke break. And she looked fabulous! I have to ask A if that was B who just walked by, I barely even recognized her. She replied that yes, and that they were both dressed down because it was "Casual Friday", but both had makeup on, and this was a much nicer place with a dress code and better clientele, yadda yadda yadda. Once she came back in and I'd gotten my hair cut, the three of us got to talking, where the subject of my brother came up (she's been cutting his whole family's hair, and was originally recommended to me by him), and both expressed extreme shock that not only was I not the younger brother as they'd thought, but they both thought that I was in my early-to-mid twenties, WTF? Now I get the "you-look-younger-than-your-years" talk a lot from random people, but very very rarely from any kind of Asian people/person. Both seemed shocked by how irresponsible I am for an Asian eldest brother, how different my brother and I are (except, I'm told, for our shared "midwestern accent" in terms of where we are in our lives, emotionally, mentally, financially, socially, spiritually, and/or any number of factors out there.) We got to talking about the Asian 'fro phenomenon, (when B chimed in that I still looked great when I came in despite my overlong hair,) how glad I was and how cute it was that they'd both switched salons together (conspicuously omitting the part where I still get to fantasize about her while I get my monthly hair cut.) Anyway, to make a long story slightly less long, I got to get my flirt on a little today, and I have to say, it felt damnably refreshing...[sigh] (AND I didn't even get decked!) Life is good!
Wow, that got to be quite an extensive account. I'll wrap it up here, as it's coming up on 4:30, and my bed is calling. Other than that, like I said, got Laura's stuff shipped, and I'm just a little perturbed at them possibly screwing me on the bill. How can a two pound box of about 22 or so lineal inches, going from Charlotte to Irvine, California, cost over a quarter of what a twelve pound box of about 46 lineal inches, going from Charlotte to London, England?! There's something very wrong the system.
Anyway I think it's time for bed, have a fabulous weekend to those partying, I'll need to run a couple dozen typos here out in the morning, I'm sure. My complete lack of coherence now is leading to weirder and weirder interpretations of even my own words.
That'll do it for now, possible revision tomorrw if I get up at a decent hour.
Ciao and goodnight to the beautiful beautiful babies...
posted by Gene at 4:42 AM
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