Źoja, Januvari 8, 2009

I leave for Los Angeles in just two days and goddamn am I looking forward to being out of this town. Business has picked up a bit since the holidays ended but it is still nowhere near what I am accustomed to earning and for some reason the clientelle have all gone down the drain as far as personalities are concerned. But none of that matters at the moment because I got to spend the afternoon at the salon and I looks fantastic. Sex talk in the next post. For the moment I feel like talking about cosmetic excitement.

Now in the past I have never had much luck with hair salons. There is still that irredeemable part of me that carries itself like some sort of butchie tom or something. In the past this meant that the hair folk gave me masculine cut after masculine cut. In some cases this was intentional but once I started growing it all out the trend become obnoxious. The result of all this is that I stopped going to hair salons and started sporting pony tails all the time. I even keep the tail when I am working! But this adventure was different because the stylist was homosexual.

No. Homosexual stylists are not superior to heterosexual stylist although this particular gentleman is awe inspiring when it comes to being fabulous. The reason his sexual proclivities were relevant is because he understood the score. He made no mention of me being trans and he assumed the feminine side of the haircut spectrum. He even knew right off the bat that I am dramatic and so he factored that in as well when it came time for the brow waxing. It was remarkable and not the sort of treatment to which I am accustomed. He understood the entire alphabet of issues which often lead me into the well laid traps of talentless hair hackers. In fact it seemed as though he understood a bit too much.

During the conversation he asked me what sort of work I perform. I stumbled over the question for the first time in month and months. I regained composure and told him that I work in database management for this telephone research operation. I think he bought it but it still got more and more strange. It started with him mentioning that I would be excellent at being one of those phone sex operators. I was a bit startled that he would go right to the quick of adult entertainment but I laughed and continued drilling holes into the mirror which was in front of me. It just got more and more strange because he then proceeded to tell me all about the prostitutes he used to live with. I believe the conversation went like this...

Him: Now I'm not making any sort of allusions as to you but...
Me: Eh?
Him: I used to live with ... (he mouths into the mirror all quiet) ... prostitutes.
Me: EH!?
Him: Oh god, I know, right? Oh but not to suggest that you would, oh, not at all.
Me: Eh heh... heh heh... eh...

It went something like that no matter the case. I have to admit that it startled me at first. I wondered if he had known and somehow figured it all out. I wondered if mother had her suspicions and had enlisted the aid of Mister Fabulous to plumb the information out of me. I wondered if I was that obvious and just screamed hooker or something. But then the appointment continued on as though it were just the most normal conversation in the whole world. Well as normal as one could be when involving a fantastic homosexual hairstylist and an undercover transsexual escort. But all good things come to an end and when he was done having his way with me I handed him the cash and left. He mentioned that he does not accept gratuities and I told him that I do not accept them either. I looked great and as I got into the car I pulled out an elastic band and tied it all up into the tail once more. I am nothing if not consistent.