Well I’m unemployed, as I’ve stated. Things like haircuts are sort of a luxury, so when I saw a deal for a haircut, conditioning treatment etc for $29 at a salon that’s near me and that has clients I know, I thought fuck it – Imma do that! and do it I did.
My hair began to really annoy me today, so I called up and they said no problem, come on over at one and we’ll get you taken care of.
I’ve worked in salons so I do know how something like this works. You’ll usually get a stylist that’s fresh onto the floor from assisting. For me, that’s okay. My hair grows like a friggin weed and it’s curly enough to hide most mistakes. So I hit the salon and I was told that Tiger was going to do my hair. This made me inordinately happy. He came out and walked right up to me.
I went back in time, which I often do, but this destination was an unusual and happy one. I was back in 1981 / 1982, traveling into the city and heading downtown for an exotic punk haircut from a place that advertised in The Village Voice. Hair Power. That was where I met Andre, my first mature gay friend. I adored him utterly. He treated me like I was his little sister, and even took me once to the Bronx to meet his family. He had told me he was French and Spanish so I chuckled to myself at the dinner table surrounded by the biggest, loudest and most loving Puerto Rican family I ever wanted to move in with. Later he took me into his home in the East Village for a time after my mother tossed me out the house. Waking up and finding a man who desperately needed a shave, had curlers in his hair and a cigarette in his lips was part of my morning routine. He tried to take care of me by becoming a mother to me. I’ll always love him for that.
Tiger reminded me of Andre. F words were bandied around freely. Product bottles were shown and tossed and described as cute, like a penis. Tiger cut all my hair off as I laughed and had such a great time. By the end, we loved each other and voiced it. My hair looks awesome and it was…a great day!