My eyebrow situation has been getting out of control. As much as I like freaky Puerto Rican numerologist West End Ana, she keeps fucking up my eyebrows. Last time she took some length off my right eyebrow and that was the last straw. I've never had to pencil in length and I'm not about to start.
I live in the high rent district and and have been secretly slumming my salon stuff at my friend's salon in the West End. A girl has to save money somewhere.
Well screw that. I had a full acetone East Side French pedicure yesterday. It's the first one this season that isn't fucked up and it was worth every penny. Damn my feet looked pretty in my stilettos last night.
So today I went in search of the perfect eyebrow high and I know where to get it. Big Scary Karen.
Under the 300 pound exterior is a very sweet girl with the fine motor control of a brain surgeon and the visual judgment of a master sculptor. She moves around alot so at the end of my bike ride this morning I went to the last salon where I knew she worked. She was one street over and about 10 streets down. I stopped by in full kit to try to book an appointment. Her book was stacked but she had just finished up a facial early and took me right in.
Psych. She pulverized my moustache and soul patch too.
So other than the redness and swelling, I look pretty.
Tomorrow: dermatologist.
Why the sudden paralytic vanity?
Friday/Saturday: College 25th reunion.
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