I went and saw my dear friend K.C. Ellis yesterday, for the first time since... April? Who knows. K.C. has been my hair-man for 6 YEARS. That's more commitment to any one thing that I've managed in my whole life, as of yet. I can't even stay with one brand of soap for that long. I guess that means I'm not old yet (Jesse has never NOT used the same brand of toothpaste. OLD!!!)
Firstly, before I admit to my never-ending vanity, let me say that my dear K.C. has never looked so well, nor I think has ever been doing so well. Who, on this earth, has ever moved TO Los Angeles and stopped doing drugs? Methinks no one, before this man. When I last saw K, he was pasty and pale, round of face, lank hair with too much gel trying futilely for the appearance of not-lank, quite poochy in the belly, and smoking like a very nervous chimney with shifty eyes. As I walked in this weekend, I barely recognized him for he was cloaked in a calm demeanor. This, I had never seen.
Turns out, he stopped smoking (everything that could be smoked, if you know what I mean), he'd stopped being skeezy, he'd stopped all the various other illegal substances, and has started hiking 4 times a week because he is actually a Northern Californian at heart, and too much cement feels like jail. I'm so proud of him - Margaret remarks that I sound like a mother when I speak of this. He was just so pink-cheeked and glowing and skinnier, looking like the picture of tattooed health and vitality. And he can complete a full sentence now. w00t!
One thing he can NOT do, however, is cut my hair long. K loves short haired girls, and I have always been one, and one I am again. Not that I didn't ask for it, but it's such a shock going from my boring-yet-occasionally-elegant long(er) locks to my above-the-chin bob that makes me look like I am from the 40's. Which is not the "edgy" that I asked for, but I wouldn't keep going to K.C. if he didn't improve on everything I asked for to make it not AT ALL what I asked for, but still better. Something I might have asked for if I'd been able to imagine it in the first place.
It's a shock waking up in the morning looking like a dandelion puff in fall, when I used to wake up looking like a hobo. It was also a shock that the amount of shampoo and conditioner I put in my hand this morning could have washed a toy poodle and ran down my neck. And that when I look in the mirror, my first reaction is "Wah?", and my second reaction is "What have I done!" and my third reaction is "Hm... maybe if I actually put some 'product' in this, I wouldn't look like a Q-tip that's been sitting in a makeup bag for a year..."
Anyway, if you're in the LA area, stop by his walk-in super-cool barbershop. It's the least pretentious salon I've been to, with the exception of the last barbershop he worked at where there was a dead iguana, a sign that said "I killed a 6-pack just to watch it die," and they passed out Jack Daniel's and beers to their regulars. Rudy's Barbershop, in Silverlake, is like a big'ol high-ceilinged warehouse of joy. I loved it. I love K.C. I will love my hair. Just let the shock wear off.
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