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A Night At Belle Epoque

28 Dec

Being that I am a penis carrying member of the Y Chromosome Club, getting my hair did really isn’t that big of deal to me. In fact, I really only have three requirements:

1) Cut it short.

2) Not too short. I still want the appearance that I have hair.

3) Make me look more “not homeless”.

See? Not too hard, right?

For the last couple of years, I have been insanely loyal to my hair cutter extraordinaire, Leslie. So loyal, I would literally drive 205 miles southwest of the Kansas City area just to get all my hairs cut. Insane? Possibly. Awesomely devoted and loyal? You bet!

With a 200+ mile drive becoming more and more inconvenient, I decided it was time to test the waters of Kansas City hairstyling once again. And this time, I knew exactly who to call.

Given my propensity for procrastination and indecision, I sent out a SOS text to my good friend Jamie. You see, Jamie is in the know. Actually, she is more than “in the know”. By being a hairstylist and also holding the titles of web coordinator and social media maven for Bell Epoque, she is on the front lines of all that is hair in the  Kansas City area. (Side note: Not only do Jamie and I go way back to the 8th grade together, she gave me the honor of selecting me to photograph her wedding day.) So, within seconds, she demanded I come in and visit Belle Epoque. (And by “demanded”, she sent me a lovely invitation to check out the salon and see what they were all about.)

As I entered Belle Epoque, I was instantly impressed with the style and layout of the salon. Bright colors and plush fabrics graced pretty much every single corner. The lighting was dim, but just enough to give a feel of intimacy and relaxation. The high ceilings and exposed brick of the old downtown building gave off an illusion of industry with a dash of fashion mixed in for good measure. No sooner did my foot cross Belle Epoque’s threshold, I was greeted by a very nice gentleman named Luther. He quickly and politely asked my name and who I was scheduled with. Approximately 25 seconds later, my stylist Jane appeared.

Now, this isn’t my fist experience with Jane or with Belle Epoque as a whole. This summer, I did some photography work for not only the salon, but for Jane and her beautiful family as well. Professionally speaking, we weren’t strangers in the least. But being that this was my first time at the salon as a client, I was even more impressed than I was during my professional interactions with them. And that says a lot given their excellence as a business.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Jane.

Total time elapsed from the time I arrived until the time I sat down in Jane’s chair? Maybe 57 seconds. Maybe. As efficient as that was, I never felt rushed then entire time I was there. In fact, never in my life have I spent more time at a salon willingly. From top to bottom, the whole process at Belle Epoque is different from anything I ever experienced elsewhere. With a smile on her gorgeous face, Jane sat me down, handed me a Boulevard Wheat, and started asking me a series of questions regarding what I wanted to accomplish with my hair and my expectations from her and Belle Epoque. Clear and to the point with a dash of accountability BEFORE you even get your haircut? Other salons should be taking notes.

After the questionnaire was finished, Jane immediately went to work. I was astonished by the skill and precision that Jane possessed. She mastered my short haircut without even resting a set of clippers to my head. Yes, you read that right. Belle Epoque doesn’t take shortcuts. In fact, they don’t even allow them. Jane spent all of her time with me not only concentrating at the task at hand, but being a great and extremely personable conversationalist as well. For a guy that self admittedly doesn’t like new people touching him, let alone taking sharp objects to my head, I never once felt nervous or out-of-place. And that, my friends, says A LOT.

With Jane’s mastery complete, I was out the door as quickly as I came in. To say I was satisfied with my first personal experience with Belle Epoque would be the understatement of the year. I am already hooked and booked for my second haircut in January. As you guys know, I very rarely pimp out anything unless I just had amazing service or an absolutely kick ass time. In this instance I had both. And if you know what is good for you, you’ll follow my lead and grab an appointment with Jane or any of the other fine stylists at Belle Epoque. I promise you will not only be hooked, you’ll thank me later.


And Elsewhere

10 Dec

I’ve been a busy internet bee this week. After a few weeks off the radar, I am back in action full force. So, get to clicking and read away!

This week at MamaPop:

Tuesday’s Post: HIMYM Season Six Recap: Episode 11 “The Mermaid Theory”

Thursday’s Post: Mashup Of The Year? The Notorious XX

Friday’s Post: Want To Ride Unicorns With Robert Pattinson? That’ll Cost You $80K

This week at Draft Day Suit:

Wednesday’s Post: Zack Greinke And Trade Rumors Go Together Like Peas And Carrots

Thursday’s Post: Matt Cassel Has Appendectomy, Further Proof God Hates Kansas City

This Week @ MamaPop

17 Sep

It was another fun week over at MamaPop. What’s that? You want the links to my articles? Well, you’re in luck! I have them conveniently located below! Happy clicking!

Tuesday’s Post: Jennifer’s Body: A Review From My Couch

Thursday’s Post: ANTM Cycle 15 Recap: Episode 2 “Diane Von Furstenberg”

Yesterday @ How To Eat

15 Jul

Did you catch my post over at How To Eat yesterday? What? You didn’t? Well, you are in luck. I just so happen to have the link below! Click and read. Read and click!

How To Eat: Why I Am Fat: The Sabor Edition

Last Week Over @ How To Eat

8 Jul

Did you read my post over at How To Eat last week? It had to do with fried pickles. Fried. Fucking. Pickles. Give me some love and get your asses over to How To Eat now!

If you click HERE, you will be magically transported by the interwebs to my latest HTE post.  Go! Now! What are you waiting for? Unicorn farts? Go!

A Toot of My Own Horn: The Five Star Friday Edition

2 Jul

This week has been full of hustling and bacon. The badasses over @FiveStarFriday have graciously included my Luck Be A Lady post from Wednesday to be on today’s 110th Edition of Five Star Friday. I am always speechless when someone recognizes my writing. Some people might think I am making a mountain out of an ant hole, but this is huge for me. A big and sincere thank you to @schmutzie and for the love!

Make sure you check out Five Star Friday’s list every single, um, Friday! You will find links to many other writer’s work much of which is MUCH better than mine.

Get your asses over to the Twitter machine and start following @schmutzie and @FiveStarFriday ASAP!

I Am Only 10% Gay

26 May

Around my house, Tuesday nights are filled with magical fairy dust, unicorns, and rainbows. Just as the sun sets in the Western sky, my wife and I settle down, flop our fabulously rotund derrieres on the couch, grab the remote, and within an instant, we are transported to the happiest, gayest land of all. That’s right, I am talking about Glee. For one hour of my week, I get to escape the every day grind and enjoy some musical and theatrical therapy. Now, I realize that might not sound so “manly” of me. I mean, how can a super macho, hetero, family man enjoy such a blatant display of song, dance, fashion, and an occasional dash of homosexuality? Simple. I am 10% gay. Yes, you read that correctly. 90% hetero and 10% gay. Now that I have completely blown your tiny little gourds of your shoulders, let me explain.

As Americans, we love us some labels. Be it the tag on your jeans, the brand of cereal you buy, the kind of car you drive, all the way down to socioeconomic status, we love to adorn things and people with as many labels and categories as possible. This brings us great comfort. It soothes our souls just to know that something fits or has its place. We come up with labels for everything we do, see, touch, and feel in life. Poor and rich. Black and white. Gay and straight. Gucci and Prada. Walmart and Target. Happy and sad. Well, you get the drift. Every little possible thing has to get a place, a role in life. If things don’t get assigned a category, mayhem ensues. For some odd reason, our minds just can’t comprehend that something or someone might not have a label or fit into just one category.

During last night’s episode of Glee, this became a blaring undertone for pretty much every character involved. Thanks to the writers, in just an hour’s time, we got to witness some very poignant and real struggles that today’s and yesterday’s youth alike have dealt with at some point in their lives. Even if you try to hide it, I am sure on some level, you could relate to at least one character on this show. Were you the super badass, tough football player? Maybe you were the Gothic kid sporting black hair and nails? Could you have been the geek that was constantly ridiculed for what you wore or how smart you were? Or maybe you were the gay kid feeling as if you were the only one around. The point is, we all were there at one time or another. I am willing to bet, there are a few of you out there that still fight that internal battle of trying to figure out just what you are.

As a lot of people do, I get excited about certain things, so I head straight to facebook and twitter to announce my often insane thoughts. It could just be a random quote from whatever show I am watching or a song floating around in my mind. More often than not, my postings are rarely meaningful or full of any type of insight. Never to shy away from comments of any kind, I often get called many awesome things. Funny, weird, gay, fairy, dumb, and womanly to name a few. Now, these so-called labels are almost purely (I think) in jest. With most things in life, if it is funny to me or others, then it gets categorized as totally acceptable. Laughter and humor easily fix most things in my book. So when somebody calls me “gay” for watching Glee, I take it as a badge of honor. I am as just a guilty as the next. I love labels. However, I love to be labeled with more than just one label. I am a label collector, if you will. The way I see it, the more labels or categories that fit me, the better. I have no problem being called dumb, smart, funny, lame, gay, straight, ugly, or dashingly handsome. None of these labels bother me in the least. As time goes by, the more labels I can collect, the more well-rounded man I can become. At the ripe old age of 30, I know who I am. I know who really loves me. I know what and who I really love. When it all boils down, what is more important than that? So, the next time you catch me listening to Paula Abdul, watching Glee, humming show tunes, all while doing a little interior design with America’s Next Top Model recording on the DVR, remember this. I most likely just got done mowing the lawn, taking out the trash, playing football with my son, changing breaks on the car, letting my beard get all scruffy, and watching the latest UFC fight. Why? Because I am a jack of all trades and whatever you want to label me is just fine by me.

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