|
2002-04-07 || 11:46 a.m. || nice to meet you. i am delphine's hairdresser. || the funniest thing happened yesterday. and i was scared about it, all nervy and angles while driving over the bridge, what are we going to talk about? and what if she thinks i am boring? and what if i wreck her hair and she sues me on one of those tele court shows and i pee my pants on camera from the absolute televised mortification (like the second grade spelling bee, although televised, no)? we met at a coffee shop in potrero hill. she hugged me like we were life-long friends and i hugged her back, very grateful and relieved for some reason. we sat on the patio and talked and talked and i hemmed and hawed only a little (clammy hands clutching iced coffee). she is a funny version of me i think, if she doesn't mind my sayin, freckly and wearin sassy coulottes and black eyeliner. but wavy-haired. but french. but a postdoc in biochem. and we walked to the beauty supply store to buy haircolor ('i want it like yours? orangey like that?' pointing to my head.) we went to her house, a marvy house on the top of potrero hill, and i cut her hair in the kitchen. just like mine. her roommate walked in. 'what would you call that style?' he said. 'mod?' and i blushed and said 'em. self-cut chic i guess' and stammered and kept cuttin. we talked and talked and i pretended to understand the parts that were especially frenchy. an hour and twelve minutes later (oh. could not cut it (ha!) as a real hairdresser) we were sweeping all the hair off the floor and she was running back and forth between mirrors and me saying she liked it. she asked if i wanted to go to a barbeque. me and the french wavy-haired version of me, walking down florida, talking like life long friends. she rolls cigarettes while walking and shivering in san francisco cold. i say silly things, emphasize syllables too loudly. we get to the barbecue and i am introduced again and again as 'delphine's hairdresser' and we giggle and sneak out to the spectacular backyard. we talk shit about the other people at the party. we smoke to kingdom come. she tells me about france and chromosomes and fruitfly brains, painting and the funny translations of french expressions. we decide to blow the party and walk to the bus in the dark. she shoves forty dollars at me for the haircut (whaaaaat? forty dollars!) and i am refusing but the bus is coming and somehow she wins. back at her house she dyes her hair my color and after the allotted twenty-five minutes we are drinking tea and watching television, sitting on the couch. me and the french version of me, my haircut (but a little better, the back part is very hard to get right when you do it on your own head) and my color, but with a french accent, but with wavy parts. and i get tired and she walks me down to my car and we both stammer at the same time that we are so glad we met, let's be friends, yes? yay. i made a new friend, everybody! guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |