Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Hair!

It doesn't make any sense, but I have a lot of anxiety about my hair looking nice. I shouldn't, of course, because I kind of hate the concept of hair. I mean, sure it's "warm" and "signifies you don't have cancer" and "attracts mating partners" and "makes you look 20 pounds thinner worn down" (what?), but I find those things outweighed by the hassle of having to maintain it. The fact of the matter is that I hardly even BRUSH my hair, let alone style it. And only recently have I been able to perfect the banana clip and become handy with the hot rollers and struck the perfect balance of Salon Selectives hairspray. But my total ineptitude is more or less the reason I obsess over a good haircut. Because a good hair cut can overcome anything I do (or, you know, DON'T do) to it. This is why moving to Texas has put me in a tailspin about finding a new stylist. The girl I'd been seeing in New York had been cutting and coloring my hair for about ten years. She made me black, red, blonde, brunette, and this one time, a little bit of each. Almost.  She cut my hair short...long...

Right, you get it. She did my fucking hair.

Anyway, looking for someone down here has been daunting. In fact, I've been overdue for a haircut by...ohhhh...three months, all because I've been putting it off. Of course, this is freakin' TEXAS, so there's a salon next to every Starbucks, practically, but none so far seem to be the right fit. And by that, I mean, none of them contain my Jennifer from New York.

::puts wrist to forehead dramatically and falls on fainting couch::

I mean, what if I come home with a shade of brown that's SLIGHTLY REDDISH?! JENNIFER KNOWS MY NEUROSIS ABOUT RED GODDAMN HAIR. (No offense, gingers. You're more orange anyway. There, I said it.)

And if I come home looking--different--what will my children think of me?! The cats?! My husband! He might actually notice that my hair has been altered under such circumstances!

I've been taking this search very seriously, is what I'm saying here. So, after looking for a few weeks, I was able to compile a list of salons in a spreadsheet, cross-referenced with reviews and ratings from Yahoo, Yelp, and the chatty cashier at the grocery store.

Salon #1

Owner: Gay male from New York
Receptionist: Older woman with a 24K gold-coated Texas drawl
Website: Offers discounts on wigs and hair transplants
Cost: Over $200 for a cut and color
Thoughts: Old money types scare the shit out of me. Also BIG! HAIR! nightmares.

Salon #2

Owner: Woman with thick Asian accent
Receptionist: Also the owner. Clearly frustrated that she has to do EVERYTHING AROUND HERE.
Website: No
Cost: "What you normal pay in New York salon?"
Thoughts: Shady

Salon #3

Owner: No idea
Receptionist: Answering machine
Website: Facebook page with lots of pictures of girls at prom
Cost: No one called me back
Thoughts: I'm guessing their window displays a sign reading "Saddlebags need not apply"

Salon #4

Owner: Hispanic male with FLAIR
Receptionist: Polite young girl who was happy to give me an estimate. And promote some sort of bizarre zen-enhancing massage.
Website: Lots of puffy clouds and some serenity music that didn't make me feel serene.
Cost: $133 if I want to risk it with a newbie or $163 if I want the dude with FLAIR
Thoughts: This is a lot of pressure and I want to go home. I think I need the zen-enhancing massage.

Salon #5

Owner: Trendy, angry-looking, pierced hipster with a threatening gaze
Receptionist: I don't think the person who answered the phone actually works there. I can only assume he was a drug dealer.
Website: the URL is something like haircutsuck.com and contains only a picture of the threatening, angry owner.
Cost: I'm trying not to be dramatic here, but I think it's something like MY LIFE
Thoughts: I'm calling the police.

Salon #6

Owner: My sister-in-law in Georgia
Receptionist: Okay, so she doesn't really own a shop.
Website: But I'm just saying, airfare is almost the same price
Cost: And then I'd get a baby sitter out of the deal.
Thoughts: Can you be here tomorrow, Nell?

Fuck it. Maybe I'll just go to the store and get a bottle of peroxide.  And maybe some vodka.