The Weathergirl Rides Again

So, it's been like a MONTH and of course a lot has gone on, so I want to talk about something totally important: my hair. I finally took that final leap into parenthood and got a Mom haircut last week.

As you probably know, I am exceedingly vain, but in many cases lack the follow-through necessary to do anything about it, and this sudden but premeditated action may come as a surprise.

Since my mother first marched me to the salon at age 5 to have my ponytails cut off ("If you get gum in your hair one more time..."*), I have had a deep fear of haircuts. This resulted in an avoidance of them, the lack of a stylist who knew me that I saw regularly, and a series of ill-thought-out trips to places that will take anyone off the street for $14, and culminating in the Great Clips Mullet Incident of 1998. A vicious cycle, really. When I had cancer and wanted to have all of the hair I had purchased online styled, I had no where to go. I actually went to my mother's guy, who is VERY nice, but I don't think I am out of place sharing has been known to take a painkiller before an appointment and, while I'm sure very talented in his trade, has collaborated with my mother on several styles that are usually seen on very butch lesbians and the "Monchichi" doll from the 1980s.

Of course, as my new hair grew back, I refused to have it cut at all, and with the birth of my child simply stopped doing anything beyond washing it occasionally. But I got myself on Yelp.com a few months ago and found someone local, Eric, who I can trust. And I finally had the all the insane, flimsy strands that are most often used to display my vast collection of black fabric scrunchies (yes, they still sell them) cut off so that just enough to pull off my face is left. I think the 2 hours Eric spent chopping off 1/4 inch at a time, allowing me to attempt a ponytail and then re-combing and resuming the cut proves that we will be able to work together.

I have to get the technical savvy of an 8-year-old and will post pictures, but will tell you that it looks, ironically, almost exactly like the wig I wore occasionally when I was bald that my friends and I used to call "The Weathergirl." The wig that at the time I said was a "style in which I would of course never wear my hair."
Never say never


*My mother, I'm sure, has a different view of that incident, including how I wouldn't ever let her brush my hair and what a terrible child I was in general, but I'm getting it all back now in spades with my psychotic toddler aren't I and it's not her blog anyhow