A change is as good as a rest

After I wrote yesterday's entry, I felt pretty stupid. Like, way to bitch endlessly about being, of all things, cold. Seriously, that's my biggest problem? That I'm tired of winter? Oh, fucking woe is me.

So I had a talking to with myself. "Self," I said. "It's damned BORING being depressed. It's time to sack up, ho, and move on. There will be a MINIMUM of emo angst and a MAXIMUM of cute new hair cuts."

And that's what I decided to do. Because what I really needed was a change of some sort. I needed to shake things up. And thus, a long afternoon of consulting with girlfriends and figuring out hairstyles commenced. I began with an announcement over Twitter. Soon Stephanie linked to this photo and it gave me some pause. Because despite being in the clutches of cracked out Scientologists, I've always though Katie Holmes is quite pretty. And she looks super cute in that haircut right there. Could I possibly pull that off? I mean, I'm no Katie Holmes, that's for damn sure. And it was so short. I haven't had hair that short in ages.

I consulted Sarah via GChat. "BOB IT," was her immediate suggestion.

Still, I hesitated. I have a vivid memory of the last time I seriously chopped my hair. I was dating 80s at the time. It was Valentine's day and on a whim I asked the hair dresser to cut my hair to chin-length. I was feeling cute, and looking forward to my date that night, hoping that 80s would like it. But he didn't. His reaction was less than favorable. I believe his exact words were, "Why did you get my mother's haircut?!"

It was a tense Valentine's Day, to say the least. I felt wretched for days, until QK and Becky gave me (and 80s as well, I suspect) a talking-to.

So I worried. What if getting short hair gave me pig-face? What if I looked like an ugg-o? What if short hair was a mom haircut?

But I couldn't chicken out. Because regardless if it looked good or bad, I had to do something. I was tired of my same old hair cut. Blah, blah, blah. Worst case, I would wear headbands for awhile. And my hair grows fast.

Mustering up courage, I took the Katie Holmes picture to the stylist. Her eyes lit up. "You're doing something drastic!" She peered at the photo and squinted at me, lifting my locks and examining them critically.

"Your hair won't look like hers," she told me. "Your hair grows differently, so it won't lay quite like that. But I know what you want. We'll make it piece-y and fun. Flirty. Layers." She spun the chair, turning me to consider me from all angles. She lifted a lock of hair and indicated with her fingers where she would cut. She caught my eye in the mirror and lifted her eyebrows as if to ask if it was OK.

"Do it," I told her. "Balls to the wind, do it now before I change my mind." And with that, she snipped.

When she was finished, the stylist next to her gasped. "You look like a completely different person," she told me.



I sort of can't believe I did it. That photo doesn't give a good indication, but there are lots of little flirty layers. My hair is so short, I can't pull it up into a pony tail. Washing it for the first time this morning, I put far too much shampoo in my hair out of habit, and half of it ran down my back, having nowhere else to go. Styling my hair this morning was also an experience. I had no idea how to get my round brush around such short tresses, and there was a lot of contorting and fumbling with the hair dryer. I'm sure the cats were laughing at me.

The reaction so far has been quite favorable. Most people say that I look younger, that it suits me, that it makes my face thinner. And you know what I have now, guys? A jaw line! I sort of forgot that I had one!

Still waiting for Brisket's reaction. He's bogged down all week with midterms, so I won't see him until the weekend at the earliest. I texted him last night, "I HOPE YOU LIKE SHORT HAIR BECAUSE I GOT MINE CUT AND THERE'S NO GOING BACK." He texted me back that he does indeed like short hair and that he was sure I looked wonderful.