Today I got a haircut

This is not a post about the kids, the house or a project.  This is a post about my hair.  If you could care less about my hair, skip this one and come back tomorrow (or the next day).

Today I got my haircut.  This was not, however, any ordinary haircut.  First, I felt like I was cheating on my hairdresser.  Do you ever feel like this?  When you try out a new salon and you just know that your old hairdresser will come walking by right in time to see you sitting in the wrong seat.  And then there would be that awkward conversation, my cheeks would burn red and it would be mortifying.  That's how I felt today. There is nothing wrong with Jessica, and I will go back to her again soon, but you see....I am obsessed with this thing called Groupon.  I can not stop checking that site every single morning and I am just finally able to contain my sudden urge to purchase each and everyone one of them (I've only bought 4 honey...love you!)  So when the Groupon for Fada Salon came up a few months back, I hopped on it.   A new salon, a great price, I'm sold!  Fast forward to today.....

Sometimes, I hate driving into Portland.  I know the city isn't big and that it really should be such a big deal but honestly.  My minivan was not meant for city driving.  I feel like a suburban soccer mom totally out of place and ready to hit the first pedestrian that I don't see crossing.  Not to mention the train, the MAX, and the freaking buses everywhere.  Do we not have enough damn public transportation in the city!  Why is everyone still driving cars (i found out the reason to that when I walked by the Galleria and noticed the um....diverse group of people waiting for the MAX.  Only there can the convergence of student, business professional and drug addict combine so eloquently.)  After taking 35 minutes to park in the correct Smart Park that the salon would validate-because I refuse to pay for parking, and just about the time that I was thinking how nice the suburbs really are, I stumbled upon a unnoticeable door with an elevator to the 4th floor.  Late, I rushed up.  I felt like I was in another world.  I had no idea they put hair salons on the 4th floor of buildings.  For whatever reason, this struck me as odd.  Next, the people that worked there looked like a modern day circus. Why can haridressers pull off the wildest outfits as trendy.  No joke one gal looked like a 1950s pin up girl, another a cowgirl - with the hat, and a man dressed in the most ridiculously tight pant suit you could ever imagine.  Funny thing, they all looked great.  There was something odd about the place to begin with that I just couldn't put my finger on and then it hit me-there were a LOT of people working there.

I get seated with Caroline and find out very quickly that she just does color.  That's it-only color.  I also find out that she has a man who is her "4th hand" whose only job is to shuttle clients back and forth and wash hair.  And when I ask about her "3rd hand" she points to another gal washing out the weird shaped bowls with color product in them.  Hmmm.  Caroline works with two haircutters who I will see later.  Hmmm.  I am then quickly put to work folding over those sheets of tinfoil they use.  There are no mirrors anywhere in this part of the salon so I have no idea what is going on nor can I spy on any other folks.  Besides, I have work to do and Caroline is serious (come to find out she's also real good at her job-the color looks great!).

Fast forward, the kitchen timer goes off (yeah- the white kind in your grandma's kitchen) and we have completion on hair color.  Nothing happens.  All of those people...they are gone.  Except for one girl in the corner who apparently does not work for Caroline and thus does nothing.  She actually did not do anything the whole time I was there but I digress.  Then 4th hand comes and wisks me away to the washing area.  In his moment to shine, he washes my hair like its nobody's business.  If Rob had hands like that we'd have 12 children because damn it felt good!  Ladies, this is what the rich people pay for, head massages that rival anything at your local Massage Envy.  Upon completing, and further inspection by Caroline, I get marched over to the cutting area.  Since Groupon is huge, something like 950 people bought the one for this salon, I imagine that there were some people in the salon today that may not have otherwise been there (like me).  One girl in particular sticks out because she was asking, very loudly, to the man cutting her hair, what it was like for men to be hair dresser.  "does it feel different" she asks.  "do you think you do as good of a job as the girls" she continues.  uh...lady...the guy has scissors close to your hair.  shut up and smile and hope to god you don't walk out here looking like a crazy person.  Who asks those types of questions with their hair on the line?!

Monica saves me from crazy customer obsessed with men hairdressers.  I sit in her chair and realize that Monica is very serious.  Very, very serious.  She is French, although I thought she was Russian.  She asks me in an accent that I can not duplicate "What do you want?!"  Her questions are like statements though and I am not sure how to respond.  Nonetheless, I say "just a trim"  (I'm trying to grow my hair out).  "That is it!  a trim?!"  she says to me and I swear she stamped her foot at the same time.  So I falter and say, keep the length at my shoulders and do whatever you want.  Satisfied with my answer Monica, who is wearing a top hat, skinny jeans, stripper heals, and a blazer, examines my hair from every angle.  I can not put into words just how she stared at my hair.  It appeared to be disapprovingly and yet thoughtful all at the same time.  I watched her in the mirror (thank god for mirrors on this side of the wall) but did not DARE to move a muscle.  When Monica had had taken the awe of my hair completely in (i know awe right?), she walks to a table gets some spray stuf and sprays like crazy.  She then proceeds to blow dry my hair with such force.  I tried just once to move the hair from mouth and she quickly blew it right back in place and it was then that I understood that Monica meant business.  I literally froze and just watched.  She cut, shaped, cut, shaped, blew my hair some more, did some crazy cutting thing, and then stood back and again, examined my hair.  In this time I realized that she was also a smoker.  How fitting for Monica to be a smoker.  I imagined her at the lounge down the street after working taking long drags from her cigarette.  She coughed a few times, a smoker's cough, and I think she found joy in it.  I should also mention that Monica had a particular spin to her scissors like nothing I have ever seen.  I tried to show Rob tonight and the scissors almost cut my foot.  It was that good.  I then sit there in front of the mirror with a new cut, new color and hair washed so nicely that I'm afraid to use my Head & Shoulders on it and Monica smiles.  "I LOVE it" she says..with real joy in her voice.  Real joy.  And it is at this moment that I love her and wish that I could go back to this odd place every time I need a cut and color.  But alas, even though it was a Groupon, my color costs more than groceries for a week and so I'm resigned to Jessica (who I do love).  The opportunity has however, left me with a new love French hairdressers who appear to be Russian, a reminder of why I don't like to drive in to Portland during the lunchtime hour, and an appreciate for that just cut, colored, and styled hair do that you don't want to mess up.