So yesterday I was finally enlightened as to the meaning of what a "bad haircut" is. I always thought it would be impossible to give someone with long hair (who asked for a trim) a bad haircut but apparently it's not only possible, it's probable if you're at Jon Giacomo Hair Design in the Newport Mall. Yes, I realize now that it was stupid for me to think I would get a decent haircut at the Newport Mall. But hindsight is 20-20. The spawn of Satan masquerading as a hair stylist who cut my hair last night can only be described as even more inept than a blind, deaf, one-handed barber. Her supposed layering technique consisted of making every hair on my head completely random lengths and then she proceeded to fry the ends when she blew dry my hair. SMOKE was coming out of the dryer and I had to yank my hair forcibly from her vile hands, sacrificing a few strands for the sake of escape.
When I went to go pay for the haircut I asked the snotty chick at the counter if the place was a school (meaning their stylists were so incompetent they must still be in training) and her mouth fell open. By the way, can someone please explain to me why she was so snotty?? I should have said "Um, yeah...You don't even work at the salon as a stylist, because at most salons that requires some semblance of talent. Your job is to ask people what time they want their appointment, consult your little book and write them in if there's a blank spot. A well-trained orangutan could do your job and you're treating ME like shit??" I swear to God the world is a crazy, crazy place.
Well I guess that's what I get for trying to get my hair done. I seem to have bad luck with hair salons. I wanted a perm when I was 11 so my aunt gave me an Ogilvie home perm and I ended up looking like Michael Jackson in the "Beat It" video. Then I wanted to lighten my hair but my Dad said I was too young so I used "Sun-In" on it which turned it a very bizarre rusty shade. Freshman year in college I wanted a complete change so I cut my hair from my waist to my chin and hated it from the moment I felt air on the back of my nexk. Short hair is just so....bleeeehhhhh on women.
So then I tried to dye my hair again Junior year...I requested deep burgandy and apparently what she heard was "bright orange" because that's how it came out. Two years ago my friend Mike took me to his cousin's hair salon in Sutton Place where I could get an expensive haircut at a discount. The haircut was beautiful, but the "discount" price turned out to be $135.00 (for a fucking haircut??? I'm in the wrong business.) So later on I finally found the perfect hair stylist at a wonderful price. This guy was amazing and it only cost $30 for a shampoo, cut and dry. But it was in the World Trade Center and . I should probably just give up and let my hair grow until I can wrap it around my ankles and not worry about it anymore. Maybe all these mishaps (HAIR STYLES not WTC) are God's way of telling me that I'm like Samson and all my bitchiness lies in the length of my hair, so I should stop fucking with it.