I had a hair appointment this morning. I had wanted one earlier in the week but this was the best that Biker Chick could do. It also meant that I could not go out last night because, hello, I did not have cute hair. Now after four hours in Biker Chick's hair, I once more have cute hair. Look out boys! But more about that later.
I know you are wondering, "Why 'ghetto fabulous'?" Why indeed. I have found over the years that my fave hairdressers are usually in shops that are not in the best of neighborhoods. My appointment was at 9. Biker Chick didn't really get started on my hair until about 9:30. (She doesn't have a bike yet but wants a Harley. She spends her time hanging at biker parties. Think Biker Boyz.) She combed it out but then she had to step outside to smoke a little something. I know this for a fact because when she returned she tried to spray a little perfume or something on herself. Then she opened her mouth and there was no mistaking the distinctive aroma. We then proceeded to watch Maury and The View. There were many comments on why a woman would continue to go on Maury to try to find out who her baby's daddy is and on how much weight Star Jones has lost.
We then talked about the social club that she and her fellow hairdresser had started. Now these are women who go to Atlanta at least once a month to party. Well there club does more than party. Apparently at the beginning of this school year, they raised funds to provide backpacks and school supplies to 100 children. They had wanted to do more but could only afford that much. They are now planning an Easter weekend picnic with an egg hunt and a raffle for baskets. There will be one for children, one for teens, and one for adults. I heard mention that the adult one would contain thongs and handcuffs amongst other things. Currently they are having a raffle for Valentine's Day as a fundraiser. After hearing all this, I simply had to buy five tickets. I've gotta support my ladies who are giving back to the community.
Oh, and the other hairdresser brought in the new addition to the family.
His name is 50. (That is pronounced "fi-tee.") A guy who was getting his hair cut asked where the rest of the G-Unit was.
My friend, La Nicoya, always marvels at the variety of people with whom I feel comfortable hanging with. She primarily hangs with the ghetto fab. I have been known to leave a fancy event only to hang with her deep in the Mission. (Norteño territory, not Sureño because "Sureños are nothing but a bunch of punk ass bitches." Her words.) My dad has learned to make similar transitions but usually tries to avoid the Hood. It freaks him out that I will venture into these neighborhoods.
On my drive home, I suddenly realized something. In every East Bay city through which I have had the pleasure of driving, all of the numbered streets are in the flatlands. If you are not familiar with the Bay Area, this is a big thing. If you must live in the East Bay, then it is essential to not live in the flatlands. The flatlands are the Hood. Oh, and when traveling through Oakland, you will start to notice how as the street number gets higher so does the area's scary factor. I might have to investigate this further. Perhaps the hill dwelling folks proclaimed, "But we want names for our streets."
So now I've gone back to see my peeps and I have cute hair. There is only one thing left to do -- party!
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