Mini HaHawk
Thanks to a ten-day run at work, a couple of Gay Pride weekends and various scheduling conflicts, I was a bit overdue for a haircut. Yesterday I caught up with Clairissa and, as usual, it was a blast.
I love how she schedules a two-hour block to give me a ten-minute haircut. Sometimes folks in need get worked into the mix, but most of the time it turns into a leisurely visit, with time for horseplay, mabye a fast lunch, or I supervise while she has a couple of beers. She’s cut my hair when we’ve both been slobbering drunk, and only had one iffy experience. (That was because I couldn’t shut up or quit moving, coupled with the fact that her clippers broke on my head.) So when she said she wanted to get some beer from around the corner, I offered to mule for her.
The phone was ringing when we returned. She picked up while I popped open a can of PBR, stuck a straw in it for her, and put the rest in the mini-fridge. Daddy, the 80-pound bulldog with the 50-pound head, allowed me back onto the futon after being bribed with a pepperoni stick. (He thinks he’s a chihuahua.) He smells my dog on me, then when I go home my dog smells him on me. If the two ever meet, there will be very beautiful, very goofball dog babies…
We spent a calm, quiet couple of hours. She told me of her adventures in San Francisco during the BIG Pride weekend, showed me pictures of her rainbow mohawk in Just Out magazine. I admired her latest tattoos, which looked like tiger stripes (or large Freddy Krueger slash marks) over her left hip bone. They were fresh, red and more than a little tender. We shared off-color jokes. After a beer and half a cigarette, it was time to do my hair.
As she mowed, I noticed that my hair was spiking nicely, so I suggested she give me a mohawk. Clairissa sports a mohawk most of the time; today it was purple with just a hint of pink. She gooped up her hands, rubbed my head furiously, and soon my hair was standing on end. As I tried to take a picture of us together with matching ‘dos, one of her partners came out of the back and snapped a couple. One turned out very well, and is going to be part of her birthday package. She is turning 30 this week.
A hug, a soft sweet kiss, and I was back on the bus, heading home to conquer the rest of my weekend household bidness. Groceries, laundry, etc… I got home, whipped out and finished off my list of things to do, and took a nice long nap afterward.
Around 4:30 AM, as I sat watching Batman Begins, (in preparation for the release of The Dark Knight) it dawned on me that I’d forgot to pay her. D’oh! While she would cut my hair for free if I’d let her, I feel I should pay as long as I can afford to. I sent her an apologetic text message.
First thing this morning, after coffee and a little brain candy, I hopped the bus across town. Two hours and a triple shot of espresso later, I was walking up on her as she stood in front of the shop. “Hey! What’s up? Aren’t you dying with all those clothes on?” It was about 90 outside; she was dressed in low-rider jeans and a sports bra. Yummy!
“I just got off an air-conditioned bus, and have three minutes to get back across the street.” I brushed my index and middle fingers between her cleavage, brushing her hot sweaty chest as I slipped some cash into her sports bra. “I was so captivated by your beauty and charmed by your presence that I forgot something yesterday, dear. Gotta go!” A hug, a fast smooch, and I was off and running for the bus back across town.
Things are back to normal, although I’m taking her birthday off, so I’m working tomorrow to make up the hours. The mohawk is gone, but I have pictures to prove I had one!
If only for a few minutes…
