Posts Tagged 'The Kitchen Salon'

What a Poor Actress Must Endure To Get Her Hair Cut

As an actress, I have to keep groomed. I have the curse of Irish/Italian hair, so I really have to have it trimmed every six weeks to keep it from looking too bush-woman. So I am always looking for a bargain. But I want a REALLY GOOD HAIRCUT. No Super Cuts, thanks.
The best bargain, is when you can get hooked up with a hairdresser who will cut your hair at their house on their days off. Like a guy from one of the Madison Avenue salons.
It’s great. But is very no frills. You’re in some guy’s kitchen. It’s his day off. It feels personal, but you just wanna get your hair cut and get out of there.
The first time I did this, I went to a guy’s apartment and he was having a huge gay boy party at the same time I was having my haircut. The wine was flowing. My do came out kinda asymmetrical and I still don’t know if it was on purpose. That was the first and last time for him.
Then sometimes you are alone with them and there in no blasting music like in the salon and all the other people, and you have to make conversation. I can talk my head off, but when I feel I have to, I hate it. Once you get past vacations and movies the going gets tough.
Except with the last guy I went to see. I think he had a substance abuse problem. He was very SPEEDY. His hands shook He washed my hair in the kitchen sink with the dirty dishes. There was stuff everywhere. He was a riot. I never had to say anything though, because he talked non-stopped.

He loved to talk about his clients at his salon and then he would segue into what was wrong with his partner.
Here is a sample of his conversation:
“These women have no shame. You do their hair, they tell you everything. I’ve seen some sights, honey. There was Rhonda Ackerman. Ewwwww…… ANOREXIC! She used to go to the gym from six am to ten am every day. I swear on my mother. Every fucking day honey. And all she ate was oats. OATS, that’s it. Nothing else. She was like this (holds up his pinkie finger). I used to see her at the gym on this horrible climbing machine. Climbing, climbing. The sweat poring offa her. Just oats and nothing else. It was a sickness. Of course she’s blown up now.
Oh, oh, oh, last week I had a woman in my chair who said; “Oy, honey, I’m not feeling so great. I just had my period.” She must’ve been 80, I swear. My other client took one look at her and said, “ Period? She wishes! Humpph! Who is she kidding?” “Can you believe that?

“You know what I hate? I hate when the fat ones come in and they plop themselves in the chair and they send out a PUFF OF ASS SMELL.”

“Honey, no one should have a SMELLY ASS. Including MY BOYFRIEND. He takes a shower every four days. I told him; “if you’re so depressed why don’t you get a gun and shoot yourself?”

“I’m not letting him drag me down. Oh no honey. Let him be depressed all he wants. Staring at the computer all day. At the computer! What is he a mongoloid or something? There’s something wrong with him, I swear.”

“No sex in a year? Whattya kidding? I get mine, believe me. But I’m not going anywhere. Oh no. I like the apartment. I love the neighborhood. No way I’m going back to Jersey City, sweetheart. Oh no, I like this neighborhood. It’s beautiful. I sleep in my nice comfortable futon in the living room. “

“Who’d wanna get in bed with him anyway? It’s full of crumbs. He eats in bed, that fat thing. It’s disgusting. My mother would never have allowed that. I make him dinner and that’s that.”

“All he does is sit in that room and stare at computer screens. He has a few of them going at once. And he watches “Chicago” over and over again. How many times can you watch a movie? Huh? Huh? How many times? There’s something wrong with him. He’s some kind of genius weirdo or something. He was so cute when I met him. Here, look, look at the picture. Handsome, right? And look how skinny he was.”

“Hah, I was talking about my clients. Oh my god! How did I get on this? How, will you tell me? Huh? Ok, clients. CLIENTS… Well, one thing I can tell you, they’re all happy when their husbands die. Oh yes they are sweetie. All of them. Even my own mother. My mother didn’t cry. Oh no! She hated my father. Yes she did! The only time they want a man is if they don’t have any money. They have money; they’re thrilled the husband’s gone. THRILLED. My father hated everyone. He only liked animals. Oh, the way he was with animals! People, forget it. I told myself when I was young if I ever ended up like that shoot me.
“Do you have a gun? Hahahahaha!!” He bends over laughing.

I am creative, but I couldn’t make this shit up.

Whenever I left him, I always felt paranoid because I wondered what he told everyone about me.


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March 2023

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