What a cut

9 03 2011

(Yeah, I know – I think I could even hear Therese’s thought bubble from the West Coast – where are the food posts?  I’m having serious backlog.  So this is what my planners call a backlog.  Hahaha!  I have a lot that I have put on the back burner.  I’m going to get around posting them here before I pack and leave this coming weekend.  For now, a quick post about my haircut!)

Ready for an almost-closeup in a 199-peso surplus shop top, deconstructed Levi's jeans from my brother, a pair of low-cut Chucks, and a red Technomarine.

MY KOREAN hairstylist didn’t have earphones on, and clearly, he wasn’t moving to the beat of what was blasting from the speakers.  It was Trisha Yearwood’s “How Do I Live?”  (Had my stylist been imbibing the powerful vocals from this country singer’s pipes, the horror of how my haircut would’ve turned out turned me into the whitest shade of pale right there in my seat.  I don’t think I’d be able to get away with cupcake bangs.  Hahaha!)

Thankfully, I could tell that he, my Korean hairstylist, was moving to the beat in his head.  As if exhibiting his adeptness with a pistol, he would swivel the two crossed pivoting blades in his hands and make artistic, almost rhythmic cuts here and there.  A step back, a microsecond of stare and thought, another cut.  I would close my eyes when I feared the blades would make contact with my cornea.

But I came out of it unscathed.  And so happy – I mean, so “beyond” – over my shorter, sleeker-kinda-disheveled look.

That's Iron Man behind me.

 

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