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yakalskovich) wrote2010-10-22 10:28 pm
yakalskovich) wrote2010-10-22 10:28 pm
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Hair time again!
Finally, the Nazgul and I went to have our hair done again. We had found our hairdresser, Muriel, again. She's at a salon near the university now where lots of students go to have their hair cut. She did really good work on us.
Afterwards, we went to the Starbucks at the square where the demonstration had been two weeks ago, and took pictures of each other, for documentation purposes.
Here is me, with my freshly retouched Tracy-Turnblad style blonde stripes in my fringe.
And the Nazgul, with a green streak instead of a blue one this time. The lady Muriel had forgotten the pot of blue at home. Seems they're not keeping those extreme colours in the salon; they're her speciality.
In the Starbucks, people were a bit odd. To my left, there was a little high-heeled orcette trying to read a book by marking everything she had read with blue highlight marker. You could see the Nazgul's librarian heart flinching, wincing, and cringing at such a senseless sacrilege. On my right, a Japanese girl was reading and listening to music when suddenly, a very odd old man appeared and told her and me to take our stuff away, he had to sit there. "No," I said, while stowing my bag and denim vest behind me, "you don't have to, you want to." He sat, there, drinking tea and smelling slightly of used book shops, ramrod straight, with no hair, and a terribly, terribly green pair of trousers. In our usual drama coffee shop, we don't get quite that sort of terrifying dryness and oddity, or the sort of Essex girl (mutatis mutandis) that was mutilating the poor book on the other side.
We drank up, and fled.
Afterwards, we went to the Starbucks at the square where the demonstration had been two weeks ago, and took pictures of each other, for documentation purposes.
Here is me, with my freshly retouched Tracy-Turnblad style blonde stripes in my fringe.
And the Nazgul, with a green streak instead of a blue one this time. The lady Muriel had forgotten the pot of blue at home. Seems they're not keeping those extreme colours in the salon; they're her speciality.
In the Starbucks, people were a bit odd. To my left, there was a little high-heeled orcette trying to read a book by marking everything she had read with blue highlight marker. You could see the Nazgul's librarian heart flinching, wincing, and cringing at such a senseless sacrilege. On my right, a Japanese girl was reading and listening to music when suddenly, a very odd old man appeared and told her and me to take our stuff away, he had to sit there. "No," I said, while stowing my bag and denim vest behind me, "you don't have to, you want to." He sat, there, drinking tea and smelling slightly of used book shops, ramrod straight, with no hair, and a terribly, terribly green pair of trousers. In our usual drama coffee shop, we don't get quite that sort of terrifying dryness and oddity, or the sort of Essex girl (mutatis mutandis) that was mutilating the poor book on the other side.
We drank up, and fled.