I Love You

May 31st, 2006

I have great hair. I’m mostly indifferent about my appearance – not because I think it’s particularly ugly or beautiful in one direction or the other, but because mostly, I’m not appearance-driven. I look fine most days, and am lazy as all get out when it comes to actually doing anything about what I look like. I would *so* rather sleep than put on eye makeup. Or any make up for that matter, and as a result, I don’t usually wear it. And really, I look okay. Not great, but okay.

ButI take my time with my hair. And damn, I have great hair. And I know bad hair more than you can possibly imagine.

I cannot take credit for this fabulous hair. I have the best hairdresser I’ve ever had here in this sleepy little town, and GOD, if that isn’t worth its weight in alligators, I don’t know what is. He came recommended by my mother-in-law, she of strawlike, white-blond Carmela Soprano hair, but her recommendation was spot-on. Squiggy is amazing. But next week, I’m getting my haircut, and I am dreading it like I’m getting a colonoscopy, which is so unlike me. I love having my hair cut and colored, but GAH, I don’t want to go to see him.

Squiggy is a gay hairdresser in the most stereotypically, Birdcage-esque way you could possibly imagine, which I find totally endearing. In his mid-50s, I’ve never seen him wear anything but black polyester cut to the navel, and he sports a pompadour in an earnest, un-ironic way, along with a handlebar moustache. He’s been married to John, the cutest little salon receptionist you’d ever meet, for 25 years, and he’s nice, if a little justifiably arrogant (“I am the best hairdresser in the entire state.”), but gawd, I dread going there.

He overshares. And people, you KNOW I overshare. It’s not the oversharing that kills me. It’s the drama. The neverending DRAMA! And stories for shock value! And talk of bodily fluids and parts! And penises! And vaginas! And the neverending use of the word ‘cock!’ And pychic episodes! that I can’t handle. I might add that he does not do this to my mother-in-law. This behavior is, apparently, saved special for me. Let’s examine some examples:

– The first time I met him he asked me the question, “If you could be or do anything with your life, what would you do?” When I answered that of course, I’d be a writer, he seemed crushed, as apparently I should have loftier goals like his, as he would spend his life healing people through the power of “psychic movement.” He then proceeded to explain to me – in excruciating detail, full of pregnant pauses, how his sole mission in life is to read minds – which he is quite adept at – and “take pain away from people.” He paused to get on one knee and cry no fewer than three times during the course of this conversation, like a strange, possessed Elvis impersonator sans white sequin jumpsuit. I had to help him up on the third try, as his knee gave out, and he fell, near-weeping, into my arms.

– At the end of our first meeting, he explained to me how he knew we were ‘destined’ to be together, and that he loved me already. I thought that ‘love’ was used the same way I say, “I love that sweater on you!” but I think maybe I was wrong. I’m still not sure. He then proceeded to kiss me on the mouth, hug me dangerously closely, and then kiss me again, three more times. Because I am an idiot, and also, had the best hair of my entire life, I just stood there, helpless.

– Once, during a conversation about the somewhat recent death of his mother, he had to walk away, mid-haircut, to ‘collect himself,’ as he was too overwhelmed to continue and my GOD, he didn’t want to mess up my hair. Twenty minutes later, panicked, I found him in the fetal position on the floor next to a stack of White Sand hair product, rocking back and forth and heaving with sobs. After I plucked him off the floor, he told me, yet again, that he loved me, and he ever had to, he would ‘take my pain away.’ He said this in the most oddly ominous tone you can imagine, and seriously, I was a little scared, but not really. I mean, he weighs 11 pounds and has a pompadour. Not exactly serious material.

– On a happier day, we started chatting about some of the oddest things clients had done/said/gifted him with. He proceeded to describe, in excruciating detail, the number of lonely, male, married clients who had presented their penises to him in manner of surrender, and demanded that they be serviced as part of the hair cut and color right then and there. This alone would be amusing, were it not for the extreme detail of said penises (the word ‘veiney’ came up), and the perpetual use of the word ‘cock,’ which, as you know, I hate, and the terrifying hand gestures and pelvic thrusts. One pelvic thrust actually tossed the entire bowl of my hair color to the floor, splattering us all with Goldwell Level 7 lightener. He then started weeping – WEEPING – an apology and showered my foiled head with kisses.

I called him today to find out when my appointment is because I can’t read my own handwriting. He called me back and left me such a heartfelt message that Adam was torn between laughter and concern when he listened to it.

“DARLING! Oh, I missed you. I mean, I really, really missed you. I’m so glad you’re coming in next week – June 7, darling, at 7 p.m. for a cut and foil. I can’t wait to see you. I love you very, very much! SO MUCH! I HAVE SO MUCH TO TELL YOU!!! *smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch*”

Yes, I’m dreading my appointment next week. But sadly, the great hair is all worth it.

If he touches my mother, I shall destroy him with Nylabones* and alien-eye laser beams!

*Or, as Kris observantly noted, Booda Velvets!

**Sarah McLachlan.

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15 Comments Add your own

  • 1. winterwheat  |  May 31st, 2006 at 9:59 pm

    Nylabones? That looks more like a Booda Velvet.

    It’s amazing what we’ll put up with to look good, isn’t it? Hang in there, he sounds like he’s worth it. At least he’s good blog material. (I assume you haven’t invited him to come see yours.)

  • 2. jonniker  |  June 1st, 2006 at 5:35 am

    It’s TOTALLY a Booda Velvet. That’s hilarious that you noticed that, because I just glanced at it, saw that it was yellow (her chicken-flavored Nylabone is yellow) and called it a day.

    For some reason, though she doesn’t really care, I prefer the Booda Velvet Bimple. Something about the bumps.

  • 3. GuinnessGirl  |  June 1st, 2006 at 8:18 am

    Seriously? I would die. DIE. That being said…a good hairdresser is hard to find. Even if he does say “veiny” (EW!), it might be worth it. Egad.

  • 4. Jamie  |  June 1st, 2006 at 9:01 am

    Beauty school dropout, don’t keep your feeble hopes alive
    Beauty school dropout (DROP-out), you’ve got the dream but not the drive

    Sorry, that post sent me back to my favorite scene from the movie Grease, which then of course lead me to believe that Lennie looks much like a oily version of Frankie Avalon. Which, as long as you don’t end up looking like Frenchie, is pretty funny at the end of the day.

  • 5. winterwheat  |  June 1st, 2006 at 9:02 am

    Have you discovered Greenies yet? Most dogs adore them (though Cowgirl has lost interest, go figure).

    My first dog Mulligan was a Nylabone NUT. She would lose her mind whenever I bought her a new one. It’s fun bringing home toys for your pooch, isn’t it? Their excitement is exhilarating!

  • 6. Claire  |  June 1st, 2006 at 10:36 am

    that is -HYSTERICAL-. i couldn’t imagine having to find ways to respond to any of that. but, GuinnessGirl is right. I good hairdresser is really hard to find.

    OH the DRAMA!

  • 7. jes  |  June 1st, 2006 at 11:07 am

    My stylist is also gay. Stereotypically gay. But nothing like Lennie. WOW.

    The “smooch smooch smooch smooch smooch” part. Was he actually saying the word, or making kissing noises into the phone? The latter option intensely annoys me.

  • 8. Whinger  |  June 1st, 2006 at 11:48 am

    OMG, Oh my God!
    Well, I hate to alarm you, but y’know if you don’t go in, he might off himself.

    Always helping.

  • 9. Christine  |  June 1st, 2006 at 1:31 pm

    OH my goodness!

    Thank you so much for that post. It brightened up an otherwise completely craptastic day.

    How far of a drive is Naples from Orlando? Probably not worth the trip the next time I’m in town…damnit!

  • 10. Kathryn  |  June 2nd, 2006 at 6:36 am

    I think that I’m going back to Sanibel later this year. Even though he sounds like a nut, can I get his number? I do not know where to turn for a good cut and color. I’ve been all over Orlando…it just sucks here. I’ve completely alienated every single bitch cuttress in the salon that I’ve been going to for four years. I can’t go back there.


  • 11. jonniker  |  June 2nd, 2006 at 1:16 pm

    Kath, I’ll totally give you his number. He’s really wonky when it comes to new clients in the off-season, though, so it totally depends on when you’re coming. But what I’ll do is tell him on Wednesday when I see him, if you email me and let me know when you’re coming. That way he’ll remember it and hopefully, will do something about it. I can ask Joe, too, to hook a sister up.

    Kris, YES to Greenies, despite all the warnings of death and destruction. Because, honestly, she takes three days to eat even half of one, so she’s not going to get a blockage. What does Cowgirl like instead? OH! And by the way, we quit obedience and she’s being homeschooled. 😀

  • 12. Amybobamy  |  June 3rd, 2006 at 6:15 am

    Really, I love it sometimes when people overshare LOL… but… maybe not SOOOO much. For the record, you DO have great hair.

  • 13. mireille  |  June 6th, 2006 at 12:21 pm

    Veiny. Why’d he have to ruin it with veiny. I feel a little queasy now. But thanks for the picture of the pup. It makes me feel marginally better. xoxo

  • 14. Jonniker. » For a D&hellip  |  April 3rd, 2007 at 8:36 pm

    […] My completely batshit insane hairdresser now thinks I’m even more insane than he is, and I’m kicking myself for giving him the upper hand. First, I completely (and completely accidentally) blew off an appointment last week, leaving him irate and with the thinly-veiled promise to “get me back later” accompanied by an ominous, hollow laugh. He then rescheduled me for this evening at 9:30 p.m. (I know), which I dashed off to at the last possible second, leaving a lovely evening with Carol – one of my favorite people – and her utterly charming dad (I am in love with him. In love!). When I arrived, Squiggs looked at me with utter confusion, because my appointment – the one he’d rescheduled me for after last week’s no-show – was actually on Friday night at 11 p.m. […]

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