I had decided to just incorporate it into my errands and stop there on the way to Safeway. I didn’t bother calling to make sure he would be there because he is ALWAYS there. I have been there every day of the week, in the mornings, in the afternoons and he has NEVER not been there. He may not be an eyelash perming wizard but his work ethic kicks ass.
So I walked in and he rushed right up to me (“Hi, honey!”) and asked me how I was and I said, “Fine but…(taking off my sunglasses)…my eyelashes didn’t really turn out so well.” So he came closer to get a good look and I slowly blinked my eyes a few times and turned my head to give him the full effect. He looked me over for a while and then said “they curled up but…” and he trailed off and I picked up the dropped sentence with “…but they turned out kind of crooked and clumpy” and he nodded and explained how hard it was to get them to all lay exactly in the right position in the glue (which I had already figured out). He suggested I could use conditioner to loosen up the perm.
I nodded and rattled of my list from the last post of all the things I’d tried (conditioner included) to dejackify them and that they’d actually looked worse last week and he said, “S’okay, honey, next time they’ll look better, right, next time?” and I said, “Oh please like I would ever let you touch my eyes again you freak.” Okay, I only said that in my HEAD. Actually I said, “Okay” because, well, it isn’t like I already had another appointment to let him try again, I just won’t ever mention it again and if he asks me about it I’ll claim I don’t have time but “maybe next time” and hopefully he will leave it at that.
I really hope so, because I like going there and jacked eyelashes are SO not worth doing or saying anything that would impede my ability to walk in whenever I want and get a mani-pedi and brow wax. Especially since finding someone who you trust to DO your brows isn’t easy (let’s just say I’m lucky, as I’m one of the women whose hair always grows back and leave it at that), and I keep losing my brow girls!
I made the mistake of fixing up my first regular brow girl (excuse me, “aesthetician”) with a friend and when it turned out she was an insane drunken bitch it kind of ruined both their romantic relationship and our professional one (having someone yanking hair out of your face while they rant about how pissed off they are is not an experience for the faint of heart). My second brow girl (who was like a brow ARTIST) moved away to Oregon. And my last one I lost when I threw an actual HUGE SALON HISSY FIT at the owner of the salon she worked at.
Jacked-up eyelashes? No biggie. Only the women I showed could even tell anything was wrong with them. Both Joel and John just looked at them after I told the story and were like “We’re boys. We have no idea what your eyelashes looked like before this.”
HOWEVER, hacking off my beautiful bra-strap length hair into two horrible poofy layers (one at my shoulders, one at my ears -- see above photo) because you were so busy staring at your boyfriend’s ASS as he shampooed people that you forgot what you were doing? That WAS worth of a full scale public meltdown. So there were tears, recriminations, defensive retorts, angry e-mails exchanged and, well, whenever I walk by there (which I have to do on a fairly regular basis because he’s on the same block as my dry cleaner and my post office) I subtly flip the place off because it took the better part of a YEAR to grow that shit out. So obviously I couldn’t really keep going back and getting my brows done in his salon*. My brow girl was actually there the day of the great hair meltdown of 2006 and her saying, “No really, it looks cute… you know…different and perky” didn’t endear her to me either. Not that she had a choice since it was her BOSS who had hacked all my hair off and he was standing right next to her.
So anyway, after I got done lying to the salon manager this afternoon that, yes, my lashes would look better the next time he did them I said, “oh, and I also need a polish change” and he said “Okay, honey, I give you discount today because”. Apparently there was no need to elaborate, or even speak of it again.
So they removed the black nail polish I’d applied myself last weekend while getting ready to go out with Joel (shut up, it cost a dollar at Claire’s and yes I know I am too old for Claire’s and black nail polish, but it was fun and looked great with my combat boots and heavy black eyeliner) and applied my “Meringue” polish (a subtle metallic gold I’m wearing a lot this summer) and I paid them $10 instead of $20 and went on my merry way to Safeway. Where there were men working the refrigerated glass doors where the MILK usually is. But that’s a different story.
*while I fled back to my old hairdresser in Sacramento who is a genius and a bargain (three color process and cut: $75) John, who dislikes change, has continued to get his hair cut by that guy. John makes the appointments himself, no one mentions my name, he gets his hair cut, pays and leaves. It seems to work – he hasn’t come back with his hair butchered yet.
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