...or at least, I've received a haircut that recalls such sexpotted-ness. I realized this morning that oops, I had a hair appointment at the Aveda Training Institute in Chinatown (which my brother some time ago noted has no Chinese people). I can't leave work early enough to go home, park my car, and get on the Metro, so I have to pay for a garage. Strike one, they don't validate. Who cares.
In case you've been living under a rock (hopefully near a Metro) or are still patronizing tired Chreky, Aveda lets its trainees loose on your head and you don't have to pay a lot of money. Plus, as the article I linked to above noted, they're green-friendly and at a minimum, conscious of how many chemicals go into the average woman's do. Downside? Not many - the trainees are supervised and pretty much every move is checked over. A girl I know ended up with some supa-blond locks - which was not her intention when she arrived - but that can happen anywhere. I'm 3 for 3 in Aveda visits (1 of which was for a facial).
So today my guy was Juan who is graduating and heading to a salon in Old Town. This guy is the real deal, so much so that I'm thinking of ignoring everything I wrote and following him there, even though on my despise-o-meter, Old Town is even above Capitol Hill....he is what girls dream of, he's messing with your hair to get a feel for texture and how it falls, asking lots of questions to determine what you mean by "creative" or "funky" haircuts (and I found out my definition of "willing to try anything" is actually a lot more conservative than most people - I was mortified to be outed as only a psuedo-risk-taker) and the guy knows his stuff. For example, in my infinite ignorance on all things hair-related, I thought that if one wants to change one's color, highlights or full head are the options. WRONG. He was talking about these really interesting techniques and I wish I'd known about them before we started foiling.
So I give the guy a few reference points (certain celebrity color, although her name I will not mention - I don't like her awful music or even worse movies but I would kill for that mane; plus my usual warning that I really don't like "intern hair" - which needs no explanation in Washington) and he's off. Three hours later, I've got subtle highlights that I can deny later ("no, this is just fabulous me") but are warmer than my natural-but-always-changing-color-in-the-sun-so-I-can't-count-on-it hair and I have sideswept bangs and big round layers. I can jump into a movie with Pierce Brosnan. I could be shooting craps in an evening gown at a Monaco casino. I could be in all leather scaling the side of a building. I should be on a bloody date at least. But no, I am on my way home so my LSAT books can appreciate this phenomenal look that will last, oh, another 8 hours until I sleep on it.
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