Shear Me Up

Part 1 of my amusingly eventful 36 hour trip to NYC

I spent the first night on Ted's couch, waking up as he left for work. Before exiting, Ted left me directions to a "nearby" subway station. The directions began "leave apartment," which I found cute. Then, however, he instructed me to go toward 5th avenue and then 6th avenue, directions that wound up being mutually exclusive as his apartment was located in between 5th and 6th avenue. I chose 6th, as that was the place Ted seemed to want me to end up, then walked looking for my next route marker a "church across from a big block of store." As it turns out, there are churches on about every other corner, these New Yorkers are a pious bunch, and though I couldn't even tell you what the hell a "big block of store" meant, I encountered nothing matching that description.

After walking more than a mile and recognizing I am no longer "nearby" as promised, the impending feeling I had been pushing aside finally came to fruition: I'm lost. As panic set in, I resolved that, no, I cannot be lost when I have no ultimate destination. When I need to be some place and can't find my way there, then I'll be lost, but not when I'm looking to kill some time. I began to suspect I was on the wrong street entirely, a theory confirmed to me later, so I decided to turn and proceed toward a more industrialized area than the residential zone I was in. While meandering, I encountered a barber shop, wherein I spotted a butch woman receiving a haircut; I am excited, as this occasion is the first one where I've seen a woman utilizing a barber shop. Then I thought to myself, hmm, that short length is about what I want for a back-to-school crop. After further consideration, I realized that an opportunity to get a "women's" haircut might not ever present itself so readily again.

Though I thought my request might at least elicit a laugh, the barber barely blinked when I asked for "what the lady had," which I suppose is exactly what should have happened. Here I was looking to be shocking, but I was hardly cutting edge to the person literally cutting edges into my head. What more so impressed the barber was that I reside in Los Angeles; he took delight in having the opportunity to shear someone "in the movies," since, you know, a good assumption would be that everyone who lives in Los Angeles is a Hollywood star.

On my way out, I asked the barber for directions, which he was able to do clearly and concisely. Without problem, I made my way to the subway, yet decided not to use it -- after all my previous trouble, it just seemed too easy. Besides, I'm not really lost... I just have a lesbian haircut.