Posts Tagged ‘hair model’

Pampered

May 19, 2014

Spoiled.

Taken care of.

Two cappuccino’s later.

New highlights.

New color.

Love.

Not going to show the world yet though, there are still two more sessions of hair goodness coming down the pike from Solid Gold Salon.

Today, subtle and not so subtle.

The subtle?

The lowlights in my roots that completely masked the few grey hairs I have.  Blessed with some awesome genetic markers on my genome, at the age of 41 years, I have perhaps five grey hairs on my head.  But, I don’t need to see them and they got covered up today.

The not so subtle?

More blonde.

Lots of blonde.

In fact, the colorist and I discussed pulling it up even further the next time we meet.  It’s not a traditional ombre, it’s what is called a bilayage, which is a much more subtle, “natural” if you will, way to color the hair so that I won’t have weirdo roots when it grows out.

That’s the thing for me.

I love going to the salon, but I don’t care to spend a lot of time on my own hair in the mornings.

I have more important things to do, eat, pray, make bed, write.

Then muss about with my hair, aside from throwing a flower dipped in glitter into it, I have no desire to spend time styling it.

So, going into the salon is a super huge treat and I have not had this much goodness in my hair in a long time.

It’s not a splurge per se, as the new colorist is getting her chops on my head, but I happily accept.

I know my friend is not hiring hacks at his business, I am grateful to allow them practice on my hair, and if it doesn’t turn out, they will fix it.

But man, it turned out.

No photos yet though.

We have decided to wait to do the big reveal.

I still have two more services to go.

Another round of color–pink and violet in a pastel tones–and more blonde.

Then the Brazilian Blow out.

After that photos.

I was relaxing this afternoon in the back yard with a book after having made up my food for the week–homemade pinto beans with olive oil and diced carrots, onions, garlic, sea salt, black pepper, brown rice, chicken with roasted white corn and garlic sautéed kale–just relaxing in the sun, reading my library book, drinking some tea, listening to the smash of the waves on the shore and realizing, for the umpteenth time, how lucky I am.

I was also grateful to not be in the wild crush of Bay to Breakers, which I had a small taste of taking the N-Judah down town at 2:30p.m. this afternoon.

I had thought that it would be done and over, but even heading back this evening at 7:45p.m. I see a gaggle of girls crossing the street, tipsy, in knee-high red athletic socks and red panties.

It’s like Burning Man.

Except obnoxious.

And with no art.

And running shoes.

Girls, please, put some pants on, the event is long done.

Go home.

Tomorrow, it’s Monday, that hang over’s gonna suck a bag bad.

Oh well.

I stayed out of the fray.

I heard a lot of it, garbled shouts and noise and ruckus, but didn’t see much of it, I stayed at home, cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, then reading in the back.

Perfect Sunday for me.

Add to that going to the hair salon and I feel like a god damn princess.

I forget that I am allowed to do things like this.

There is still a large part of me that thinks I need to suffer to get ahead or I won’t get ahead.

Note to self.

There is nowhere to go.

Here is just fine.

In fact, it’s pretty god damn sweet.

Why wait until I am retired to sit in the sun and read a book?

Why not let myself get pampered and have my hair done and revel in a scalp massage.

Note to any future boyfriend out there, want my number, give me a cranial massage.

I swear, it’s the best, a washing of the hair and a face and scalp massage.

Sigh.

It’s near sexual.

It’s over the top sensual.

One of the loveliest things.

I need to allow myself lovely things.

I saw a pretty dress in a shop today and I thought, I should go back and get that.

And I actually believe I will.

Not this month though.

My spending plan allotment for clothes got eaten up by my hair.

I hadn’t even thought about doing all this stuff with my hair, but then when it all happened the way it did, I was all in and booked the time.

Plus, well, you know, Burning Man is like in less than 100 days and I, uh, like to have some fun hair for the event.

Shit.

I like fun hair any old-time.

My friend who owns the salon was telling one of his clients about a hair style he had done for me, hot pink, faux hawk, shaved up the back, like shaved to the skin, and the client could not picture it.

Sometimes I can’t either.

But I remember well sitting in the kitchen of his place while he mixed his dyes and compared notes and directions.

He’s come a damn long way and it’s been really fun to see that too.

From sitting in his kitchen to sitting in his salon.

Grateful for that perspective too.

He’s seen me through some rough transitions.

From taking me out to a steak dinner the night I said good-bye to Shadrach at the hospital and then driving me over the bridge to Treasure Island to see the city sparkle and shine in the black water of the bar and letting me cry on his shoulder with the loss.

To letting me crash on his couch for two months when I lost my place in Nob Hill and transitioned to working at the bike shop.

To now, 9 years later, still close friends, giving each other shit, talking smack, coloring my hair, teaching me how to ride a vintage Vespa scooter, and being my friend, through it all.

Pink hair to purple to magenta to blue and back again.

I have amazing friends.

You.

My friends.

Are AMAZING.

Just know that.

I love you.

I do.

All The Old Familiar Places

September 8, 2013

The streets of San Francisco were all a bustle today.

No fog.

No chill.

Just sunshine and ice cream cones.

And lines at the ice cream shops.

Bi-Rite, it still amazes me that anyone will wait that long for an ice cream cone.

The last time I was there, years ago, was on my birthday.

As my birthday is in December, there was no line.

I rode the 33 bus to the Mission today after a very slow start to my day.

I am staying at the family’s home for the weekend.  The thought of getting myself to East Oakland brought tears to my eyes this afternoon when I was trying to figure out what and where I was going to go and when I was going to do it.

I decided to take the family up on their invitation to let me stay as long as I need.

I need until tomorrow night.

I spoke with my friend on the phone earlier and the in-law is looking great, but it is not quite done.  A few more touches here and there, another coat of primer on the cabinets in the kitchen and another of paint.

Unless I want to sleep in some fumes, she recommended that I wait to move in until Monday.  I can do that.  I don’t want to huff paint fumes my first night in the new place.

She’s going to loan me some furniture until I get myself set up, so I won’t be moving into a barren room.  And she is, schedule depending, probably going to help me move my stuff from East Oakland out to the in-law on Monday as well.

This will be great as I can also catch up with her.

I missed my friends.

That was very evident to me as I made some phone calls and caught up with some fellows and made plans to meet up with some ladies in Noe Valley today.

Thus the being on the 33 bus and the sight line on Bi-Rite ice creamery.

I decided after a bit of out and about–one trip to the phone place to fix the phone–$50 later, but so much better than buying a new one completely–and one trip to Whole Foods to get a few groceries for the next couple of days, that I did not have it in me to navigate the city on my bicycle.  I wanted to take it slow.

I had breakfast at Crepes on Cole while the phone was getting repaired and wrote my morning pages in the middle of their bustling brunch crowd.

It was not as surreal as I thought to be returning, but my brain does not yet seem to be firing on all pistons.

And I found myself getting mad at a hippie caravan of dust bowl campers.

“Motherfuckers, you’ve been back over a week, clean that shit up, you asshats,” I thought to myself as I walked into the parking lot of Whole Foods at the end of Haight Street.

I mean, I got in two loads of laundry last night and another two this morning–one more of mine mixed with some of the baby’s things–I wanted to make sure that he got his little Pedro Bunny clean and his Kitty Cat for nap times.

Plus, I, oh there I am getting all indignant and I know better than you how to burn.

I don’t, but the hippies did rub my fur the wrong way or maybe it was the tourists who were taking photos of the dusty hippie camper.

“What’s the difference between a burner and a hippie?”

“A ticket.”

There, all out of my system.

Part of it is just being in the Haight neighborhood, the little Hippie Hill in Golden Gate park, the number of dirty trustafarians hustling “dank nugs” on the street, and “sweet smoke” and the grime of it all.

Trust me, I am not into grime, dirt, or dust right now.

I was more than happy to wash the playa out of my clothes, and hair.

Speaking of hair, say bye-bye to it.

I am going short again.

And I am going crazy color again.

I was asked to be the hair model for my friend’s salon who is being featured in a 7×7 shoot on upcoming fall hair trends.

What?!

I got the message and of course my response was that I would happily be their model.

Are you kidding me?

I know the cut is going to be edgy and modern and forward and their will be bright colors and probably weird crazy makeup.

Come on, I just got back from Burning Man, bring on the funky crazy cool cut.

I am down.

Plus I get to be in a photo shoot.

Hello.

My ego got all puffed up and excited.

Yes please.

Now I can say that I have been published in Paris–The Bastille, I have the song writing credits as well as lyrics for an album–Belle Ame Electronique, I am in a movie–Spark, A Burning Man story, and I get to be featured as a hair model in 7×7 magazine.

Awesome.

I am sort of famous you know, mostly in my own mind, but maybe just a tiny bit out there too.

I am excited.

Although, I have to say, the long hair has been lovely and it feels pretty right now and I talked with the Mister today, he who left me a message, and we are going to see each other next week, and I like being pretty and feminine, I do.

But, come September 18th, the hair will be radical.

That’s ok though, if I recall, he’s seen me with some far out there hair.

I mean when we were dating before I moved to Paris, it was blue.

I think he can handle it.

It was good to talk to him and I stated pretty much up front that I wanted to see more of him.  This getting together every other month or so is nuts.

As it turns out he just moved to the Richmond and I being on my way to the Sunset, will be putting us in much closer approximation.  I foresee more of him in my future.

Foreseeing some beach walking action I am.

Oh gush.

Hand holding on the beach?

Really?

Sure, I might have a mohawk for it though.

Inside, however, will still beat the drum of an old school romantic.

You can tattoo the girl, you can dye her hair magenta, but you can’t scrub that heart off her sleeve.

You can even cover it up with a fine layer of dust.

But wipe gently and you will see it, just there.

Just so.

Just so ready to love.

And be loved.

I left my heart in San Francisco.

And I am here to pick it back up.


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