sarahntastic

It was torture.  To find a new stylist.  Because my last stylist turned out to be a racist.  Here’s a small bit of my last time with Old Hair Stylist:

Me:  how was your vacay to Mexico?

OHS: oh my god!  by day 2, you know?  I was sooo over all the Mexicans!  you know?

Me:  choke, choke, choke

OHS:  we went to a shanty town, right?  to check out the jewelry, you know?  and this one bracelet I wanted, the guy tells me $750.  And I was like, what?  this is a shanty town!  in Mexico, you know?  jewelry is supposed to be cheap there, you know?

Me:  choke, faint, revive, choke, faint

OHS:  and then, on the plane home, oh my god, there were these noisy kids, you know?  and the parents didn’t do anything.  and you know what?  of course the kids were BLACK, you know what I mean?  and LOUD, you know?  but what was weird was the dad was white and the mom was black, and you KNOW that doesn’t happen!  know what I mean?

OHS:  so do you want a blow out?

Me:  silence, shook head no, wrote my check, ran the fuck out

So I found a new stylist, just in time because my hair was yuck.  And now it’s fantastic.  And the new girl is very nice.

I just want to know what hints I gave OHS to make her think this kind of talk is acceptable to me?  Was it the way I read my book every time I was there, barely uttering a hello?  Was it the way I dozed in the chair while she foiled away my roots?  Stupid cunt.  There’s more.  She told more sick stories that I just can’t bear to spend the energy writing out.

So, Tallie at 5 Color Cowboy, you asked my friend where I’ve been?  Staying the fuck away from you, you racist jackass.

The new stylist charges way more, too.  Apparently a non-racist rant hair appointment is worth more.

Dear 36,

I can’t stand you. I hate you. You make me depressed, angry, and sad. But I’ll keep you. Because worse than you is 37, and I want nothing to do with that. So 36 it is.

Fuck you, 37.

Bitterly, Defensively yours,
Sarah