Tag: hair

Sexual Cannibalism

Sexual Cannibalism

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 40 Comments

“Females of cannibalistic species are generally hostile and unwilling to mate; thus many males of these species have developed adaptive behaviors to counteract female aggression.”- Good ole Wikipedia

I can never remember if it’s during or after sex that a praying mantis eats her mate.

And I can never remember if it was before or after Brian, my last man friend,  that I wish I could’ve bitten the heads off of every stupid man I’d ever slept with and be done with them

Mel sat on the couch and started peeling tangerines as we watched TV. “Here eat this one, I’ve already peeled it for you.” She flings it at me and I catch it before it lands on the floor.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I know how lazy you are about your fruit.” She moves the peels to the table and pops a slice in her mouth. “Isn’t it funny,” she says while chewing, “how every time we try to watch the Lord of the Rings marathon we always catch it at the end of The Two Towers?”

“I don’t care, it’s the best part anyway, the first half is really boring.” I pull out my phone and start looking through my messages.

“You’re not selling these movies to me. I don’t even want to watch them, but you keep forcing me because you love them so much.”

I open my most recent message from a boy named Al I’d met on an online dating site. “I do. I love them all, I guess I’ve just seen them too many times.” I bite into my tangerine.

“That’s weird dude.” She says.

“What’s weird?” I look up at her staring at me. On the screen Gandalf the White is riding into battle on Shadowfax, the king of horses. “It’s Shadowfax!” I point at the screen.

“It’s not an apple, you’re supposed to peel the slices apart.”

“Stop being a fruit nazi, you’re missing the most epic horse.”

“Wrong, Silver is the most epic horse.”

“Mel, Silver is not a horse king.”

“Kiki, you don’t know that. He could be like some sort of horse chief. He does belong to The Lone Ranger.”

I shake my head and bite into the tangerine again. “Look, that guy Al texted me again.” I showed her my phone.

“Well I would hope so. Didn’t you send him a boob pic?” She pulls up the satellite menu on the TV and starts scrolling through the channels.

“Aw don’t change it. The battle is the best part. And yes I sent him a boob pic, but you don’t have to mention it.”

“You’re making me watch the end of a movie I haven’t even watched the beginning of.”

“Oh you know what the first half is about.”

“How would I know that?”

“From the books.”

“I never read them.”

“Who’s never read the books?” I yell.

“Don’t yell at me! I can’t be the only person who’s never read the books. And why can’t I bring up your boob pic? You showed it to me and asked me if your boobs looked nice. They did. You have pretty nipples.”

“Aw, you think so?”

“Dude, of course.”

I look at the screen. Aragorn is slashing at orcs left and right. “I dunno, it’s just embarrassing to be one of those people that sends titty pics to guys.” I spit a couple of seeds into my hand and toss them on the peels.

“Well you keep doing it, so clearly it’s not embarrassing enough to make you stop.”

I sigh. “Whatever. So Al asked me if I wanted to go to coffee with him. What do you think? Should I meet him in person?”

“Is he nice?’

“He seems nice.”

“Is he cute?”

I shrug. “He’s not bad.”

She chews on another slice. “Hmmm… he’s not the dude that drives that hideous, white Saturn right?”

“No. That was Bert.”

“Does he drive?”

“I don’t think so. He lives in one of those yuppie neighborhoods where people don’t have cars.”

“Wicker Park?”

“No.”

“Bucktown?”

“No.”

“Lincoln Park?”

“No.”

“Downtown?”

“Stop guessing.”

“Roscoe Village.”

“Oh damn, I think that’s it.” I look at his text. “‘Mmm, sexy pic. What do you say we finally meet up? How about saturday? I know a good place for coffee.‘”

“Ooh he said you were sexy.”

I laugh and throw my phone next to me. “Well damn, if he didn’t think I was sexy with my boobs out I would’ve cried.”

She laughs and turns off the TV. “No more dead creepy things.”

“Orcs. The creepy things are called orcs. And fine we don’t have to watch. I’m going to bring you the books so you can read them first and then we can try the movies again. Besides it seems to go against the natural order of things to start at the end of the second movie in a trilogy without having at least read the books for some sort of reference.”

“God you’re such a nerd.”

“Shut up.”

I met Al, at a coffee shop on Lincoln Avenue at 11:00 am. He was sitting by himself at a table near the window, reading comics and eating a biscotti. I watched him for 15 minutes before walking over to his table.

“Hi.” I said.

“I was wondering when you were going to come over. You’ve been staring at me for 20 minutes I was about to get up and leave.” He looked up and smiled. I saw his eyes wander down to my chest briefly before looking at me in the eyes again.

“It was only 15.” I sit down and pick up one of his comics. “You brought reading material? Were you expecting me to be boring?”

“No, I stopped at the shop before coming here. And it’s a good thing I did. You stared at me like a creep for half an hour.” He stacked the comics together and threw them in his bag.

“I did not! I’m not a creep either.”

“You’re right. Girls can’t be creeps.”

“Well… I don’t think that’s true.”

“No. Because boobs. Want a coffee?” He gets up and heads to the counter.

“Yes, a latte would be great.”

I watch him while he makes our coffee order. He’s got a pretty nice ass. The girl behind the counter hands him our drinks and  he comes back with a smug look on his face.

“It’s nice right?” He asks.

“What?”

“My ass. You totally checked me out.”

“I did. It’s okay.”

“You’re a liar.”

I laughed. “Okay, I think I like you.”

He chuckles. “Really? That quick? Damn, I’m good.”

“You’re not bad. But here’s the thing, I can’t promise I’ll sleep with you yet. I know I showed you my tits, but that’s mostly because I’m vain and wanted you to like me.”

“Um. Okay.”

“But, I can promise that there will be kissing.”

“Kissing? Kissing is nice.”

“With tongues.”

He laughs. I take a sip of my latte. It’s unsweetened and I make a face.

“Not good?” He asks.

“Not sweet.” I say.

“Oh. Just dip your finger in it.”

I look at him for a moment before I groan and roll my eyes.

“Delayed reaction?” He asks.

“Maybe.” I look around for sugar.

“So I can look forward to kissing with tongues, eh?”

“Yes. Lots.”

“I can deal with that.”

“Good.” I say as I get up to find some sugar.

30. Incorporates: praying mantis, nectarines, Saturn, natural order, tongues, towers. *note, I wrote this, the whole time picturing a tangerine in my head and not a nectarine, which is not peeled and has no slices. So I didn’t actually incorporate nectarine.

“I have a friend that cuts hair”

“I have a friend that cuts hair”

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 5 Comments

When you are alone in a new city, especially an expensive one, you have to ask around for recommendations.

I asked the concierge last night, Alex, a fabulous Colombian man, if he knew of any good salons nearby the hotel, he said he’d check on some for me.

He works the night shift so I wouldn’t see him again until after I needed the appointment. 

A girl needs to have her hair did for a formal wedding. 

Especially when the girl in question only really knows how to air dry her hair and pray to God that it dries cute.

Which, since the Lord has been merciful, it usually does. 

However those big messy curls wouldn’t work for this wedding. I needed professional help.

So after going for a swim and sunbathing this morning I meet Ricardo, the morning concierge, and he recommended his friend Jay.

“He’s been cutting hair for years.” He says. 

After I set the appointment, in Spanish of course (this is Miami after all), he says, “You’ll know him. He’s the bald one with a tattoo across the back of his head.”

It is a credit to my parents that I don’t even blink when he says that; they raised an overly polite child. In spite of the dark sense of foreboding that last sentence gave me I smiled and said thank you before running to my room to wash off the sand and salt water.

I changed, basked in the glory of air conditioning before heading off towards the area around Lincoln Avenue. I located the salon first, but since I still had about an hour and a half till my appointment I wandered towards Lincoln mall to grab something to eat. But wandered too long, so indecisive about what I wanted and I ended up getting a small cup of gelato and sat in the outdoor seating under a palm tree.

I really cannot get over those palm trees.

Once it came time for my appointment I walked back over to the little salon.

Now, I’m not a snob, but when it comes to salons I am a super snob. I once pulled wet feet out of a pedicure tub when I saw the guy clean the one next to me with dish soap. Guys, I do not fuck around.

I like them fancy, and I like them modern. However, I don’t have South Beach “fancy” kind of money so this little neighborhood salon had to do. Also, it’s a Friday afternoon, everyone knows that’s the busiest time for a salon. I took what I could get.

So Jay, the bald man with the tattoo on the back of his head, leads me over to get my hair washed. 

There was no gentle scalp massage and my top got a little wet. Small strike. But I let it slide because of the small talk and he sent someone to bring me coffee.

We head over to his station and he starts to blow dry my hair. He doesn’t really ask me what I want, which bothered me. I am very particular about my hair, down to the point of micro managing. So I tell him I like volume and that I would like him to use the round brush.

The ladies from the salon are watching me. They like my hair color. They like my hair.

A nail tech asks Jay if I want a manicure (in Spanish). She looks at me. I say no thank you. She grabs my hands. Looks at my nails. Shrugs.

My manicure has not held up. I do need one. I will not pay for one.

I just a lot of pulling and brushing and mild teasing.

I am concerned but I don’t say anything. 

A lady is trying to sell me shampoo to brighten my red. 

She says it looks good.

I’m like ok.

He asks if I want hair spray. I beg for it. The humidity here is not a joke. Keeping my hair straight under these conditions is not a game, it is a battle to be waged.

He turns me around and I look in the mirror and I hate it.

It looks old fashioned and helmet-y. 

I don’t know how to say that.

So I smile and formulate a plan to fix it in my room. There is too much spray and my hair feels crunchy.

I cannot stand crunchy hair. 

“Have you tried having your hair longer?” He asks. “Not that this doesn’t look good. You can pull it off because you have a pretty face (tienes la cara linda), but you should try it long.”

“Thanks.” I say. “It’s usually really long. I just chopped it off.”

I go to pay. This is South Beach. It’s pricey, even for this small place. I pay. I leave a tip. I put on my sunglasses and head out.

I bought a curling iron at CVS. I combed out the hairspray.

It looks much better.