Oh... So That's Why My Rent Is So Low.

I wrote this about 4 months ago... but I feel like having more than one post on my new blog :

Soooo enjoy (hopefully):

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So... today I realized I was in need of a little beauty revitalization ... meaning mani,pedi, wax.

I also needed to get some new pants shortened ... forever 21 doesn't seem to realize the majority of us are not 5'9. In fact, most clothing stores don't seem to realize that - bitches.

*I'm sure there's a tailor on this Brooklyn block.
So needing a mani, pedi, wax, and pants hemmed ... I recalled being in Brooklyn and being able to take a walk up the block (either Ave X or Sheepshead Bay, depending if I felt like walk north or south) and getting all of these errands completed within the same 20 feet. I thought to myself, "I've been living in this apt for 4 months now and I have yet to take a stroll around my neighborhood." I figured there MUST be a tailor and nail salon around here that are fairly close together, one would only assume such businesses go hand in hand. Well, someone from Brooklyn at least.

And I KNOW I've seen tailors and nail salons together in mini malls as I'm driving along these streets. Yes, mini malls. L.A. is infested with them.

I threw on some comfortable yoga pants and flip flops, grabbed my pants and the heels I plan to wear with them, and set out to explore my neighborhood.

And now I know why people don't walk here ... I also learned why my rent is so low.

I walked... and walked ... and then walked some more.

I thought to myself "where the fuck is everything and why is this block like 12 miles long?"

The streets were lonely. Only I and the bums of the neighborhood were trekking our way along ... I suppose it's better than the irritable and claustrophobic mobbed streets of N.Y. where it's a miracle to not bump into at least 10 people each time you take a walk to the corner store. Yet again, on these lonely streets a creepy old bum lady still managed to bump into me as she grumbled something about not liking tomatoes. Odd. It's a bit more comfortable to bump into a crazy lady on the busy streets of N.Y. than the empty streets of L.A. That's just my opinion.

So I continued to walk. And walk. And then ... I found ... I FOUND ........

....a gas station. They don't do manicures there. They also don't sell snapple. Snapple seems fairly scarce around here.

But not to worry - low and behold there was a tailor across the street from the gas station! Hoorah! After 20 minutes of walking I have a scrape of success!

I stood on the corner for what seemed to be way too long as I waited for the light to change so I can finally cross the friggen street and complete at least one portion of my journey.

I cross the street. I enter the tailor shop. I hand my pants over to the nice Russian lady. I step back out into the wild.

At this point it is very apparent that walking east wasn't working out very well. I take my chances and begin to head north.

My feet start to hurt. Flip flops were not the best choice for this adventure - but are quite necessary for a pedicure.

And who the fuck knew I'd be facing such treacherous trails?

I once again reach a patch of civilization. I hit the jack pot - there was a salon on each corner of this intersection. They all looked a bit underdeveloped - I decided to walk into the one with the most attractive name - right now I can't remember what it was. Something with a word like "lovely" or "delicate" or some shit like that.

I walk in and there is a woman highlighting a female customer's hair. I ask if they do manicures. She says yes but she is busy right now. I nod and leave. Of course - who expects a functioning business to have more than one worker at a time? How ridiculous of me.I try the next salon. They did not do manicures or pedicures. I ask with a slight hint of desperation in my voice if they wax eyebrows. YES - they do.

A stout, middle aged woman with an inviting smile comes out from the back, takes my hand and brings me back to where she came from. It felt a little strange walking through the salon with my hand being held as if I was a child. But whateves.

"You Armenian?" she asks me. I say no and tell her I'm Italian ... sure, I'm only half Italian, but did I care enough to explain my entire origin to her? No.

I try to tell her how I want her to wax my eyebrows. She interrupts me and says "Shhhh, I am Armenian. I do good." Then she slaps the wax on me before I could utter another word.

It hurt like a motherfucker. It doesn't always hurt like that, but it did with this lady. BUT - I have to say... she does "do good". Well done, Armenian lady, well done.

I leave and now it is time to complete the final portion of my journey - the mani pedi. I enter another salon on another corner of this intersection. I walk in and all I see is a child sitting behind a desk. I hesitated... but still asked the child if they do mani pedis. She nodded. A beat goes by as I wonder if the child herself is the one giving the mani pedis... but then of course the mother comes out from the back.

I don't know why... but there is something a little depressing about a child watching her mother give someone a pedicure. There is also something a little uncomfortable about being the only one in an awkwardly quiet salon receiving a manicure and pedicure. Especially when the child is staring at you the entire time.

Afterwards I walked the 50 miles back home.

Okay okay I'm exaggerating a little. But only a little.

There were a few more discouraging incidents that occurred on my way back - but I'm tired of typing. Let's just say I won't be wandering the neighborhood anymore. The end.