My hair! My hair!

Am going to keep this short, in the middle of doing some research for an interview I'm doing Friday--will tell more later

Yesterday, I went with Ivan to keep him company while he got his hair cut. I'd promised him an ice cream cone AND a lollipop for afters. He's had long hair for a zillion years, and decided to cut it. But, and I repeat, but not too short.

We went to this place in SOHO, he'd heard some good things about it, sat down in the chair, talked to the stylist, showed the pic, the whole 9 yards. She said she got it--layers, kinda long, kinda short, but enough length so he could wear a pony tail if he wanted to. I sat there and watched. In the beginning all went well, She started making layers, locks of hair went flying about the place, it started to look like it was getting shaped, but long...and then, and then, and then, and then, and then---we think she went a bit nutty and PHOOM! It's short Okay, the back skims his shoulders, but the hair really isn't layered at all, and it's waaay shorter than he wanted.

I think she heard the word band, and gave him an alt.rock boy look regardless of what he said. Ivan wasn't happy.

You should have seen the two of us careening around SOHO afterwards. Every few seconds Ivan would stop ranting, raise his head to the sky and scream. Me, I'm running after him on my short legs, saying, "Dude...dude...dude...."

WHen he started in on how he wanted to punch out a wall until his hands bled, I put up my palms and said, "punch this, you're not gonna hurt yuor hands."

So, he starts laughing and I said, "Excuse me, I played ice hockey, I'm tough."

We walked/ran through SOHO back to the West Village. I promised him that there's stuff on the market that will make his hair look good. I reminded him that it will grow back, and then I bought him a beer. He does look good, but he's miserable without his locks. Roxanne, his girlfriend is also really upset.

Too bad you can't glue on the hair that falls on the floor.

Boy do I know how he feels. I've got long hair and getting your hair cut, even in NYC, is a crapshoot. I went to one place, I was supposed to get layers, I got a mullet. It was a couple of months wearing barrettes before I stopped looking like a reject from the 80's.

Why do stylists pretend they're listening to you? Why do they have their own agenda in mind and not their clients? We should get together and steal their scissors. Hide them where they can never find them.