Cut Here

I consider getting a haircut an event, since a) it gets me out of the house and b) it's practically an annual thing. "But Kim, your hair becomes so unkempt, damaged, and long. Why on earth don't you maintain it?!" I'll tell you why. Because for almost three years, I was dating a man who'd freak out at the mention of me cutting it. So every time I planned on going, even for a desperately needed trim, B would exclaim, "What? No! Please! Your hair looks fine! I like it long!" Naturally, my laziness would overcome my annoyance, and I'd just let it stay unruly.

Yes, this is the "after" shot. Jerks!

Anyway, the other day, Giz took one look at my locks and immediately urged me to tag along and see her stylist. It's only because she volunteered to pick me up that I agreed to attend. The man works in Alhambra! (Or Monterey Park. One of those. And after last weekend's excursion there, which should be in another blog, I'm so over that area!) That's way too far for haircut--I don't care how gay good the guy is! But after today's one-hour session with Kevin, I'm hooked. He's awesome! He took his time, and gave me the exact bangs I wanted, which I haven't had since Christine from The Cut in Santa Monica, who quit and disappeared into stylist purgatory. He gave me the best advice on how to coif my 'do. And he amused me with a story about how his friend was manhandled in Amsterdam's red-light district by two exasperated prostitutes. (Unfortunately, Kevin couldn't find any he-bitch man-whores, and went home without experiencing any hooky-nooky.)

The bangs hide my forehead zits! F'realz!

Anyway, I can't find any info online about the place, or else I'd link it in case someone lives in the area. The cost was $40, I tipped him $10, and I still feel like I underpaid. As for the pics, in my defense, my hair is so super slick and straight that you can't ever really tell when anything's happening to it. However, if you saw my hair before this, with the three inches of old ass orange dye at the dead ends, you'd be impressed. I don't think anything has looked this healthy on my body since before 1998, when puberty hit! Also, I really do hate having pictures taken of me, let alone self-portraits. But I need to start logging this stuff, because I can honestly feel the impending inevitability of old age, and I don't want to be decrepit and wondering what the hell I used to look like before gravity and wrinkles took their course.