adventures in the salon

Because we get this extra hour for free tonight, I figured you'd want to know all about this:

I went back to Studio 97 to get my hair cut today. You may remember one of the previous times I'd been there, when I got potentially eastern European lesbian boob in my face. Today, to ratchet the service up a notch, I showed up for a 2:30 appointment and wasn't seen until 3. (Which would have been fine if I hadn't left a date to get there on time.) The coup de grace, piece de resistance or croissant du jour (whatever you prefer) was that this time, the receptionist washed my hair. She sat me in the broken chair, tipped my head into the coldest porcelain this side of a witch's tit and after freezing my scalp, accumulating half of it under her fingernails and then scorching the rest of it off, she told me all about my name.

"Katya is big name in Russia."

"Really? I think I've heard that somewhere."

After getting shampoo in my eye, water in both ears (followed by wet fingers trying to get said water out of my ears) and another round of freezing and flaying, she led me to the cutting floor... where I stood for a good five minutes without anyone telling me which chair to sit in.

Finally Ambiguously Gay Alex came in, plopped me down in a chair and then left for another five minutes to put coins in the meter. Now, the lighting in this salon is tinted with a fine layer of ugly so the extra five minutes of examining my pallid complexion was doing nothing for my self-esteem. I was toying with going short again, but then I remembered what Ambiguously Gay Alex did to it last time he got his shears near my head (mushroom head anyone?) So I opted for half long, half short. (His brother is the better stylist.)

Anyway, long story short, I got a nice haircut. See?

(I also thought that the flavor of the soap in the bathroom was Fresh Pickled Peach, but that's neither here nor there.)