Sep 23, 2004

Hair, you will Respect Mah Authoritay!

My hair has reached a state of Extreme Terminal Ugliness. Every morning when I get ready for work, I have to stage a blitz attack in order to subdue it. I sneak up behind my hair, slowly, craftily. Palms up, like they do on Animal Planet when they don't want to spook the rhinos. I croon soft, soothing words of love to it: "Thaaaaat's right, goooood girl. Eeeeasy now, easy! Easy! Goooooood girl."

Then, when I have my hair's trust, I BEAT IT INTO COMPLETE AND TOTAL SUBMISSION. This requires some combination of the following: brush, comb, spray-gel stuff, pump frizz-ease stuff, water, Bisquick, leave-in conditioner, and Windex. Lately, though, the beating-into-submission part has taken longer, and the results are getting crappier. So it is time for a haircut. (Heh, I just typed haircute - do you think that will give me good hair karma?)

I am going to do it tonight on my way home, at this kind of trendy drop-in place. Now, I generally get my hair cut at a hair school. Not even a drop-in haircut place. A hair SCHOOL. Not because I am especially cheap, because I'm not. I will totally spend money on certain things that are investments, like grad school, or an urban apartment, or great red corduroy pants from Express that make one's ass (my ass! my ass, okay?) look really smokin hot. I'm just weird about haircuts. I have short-ish, floppy hair, so it's not a particularly hard style to replicate, and also my hair grows ridiculously fast, so it just seems like a waste of money to go anywhere expensive.

However, while the the hair school usually does a good job, the last cut I got made me look like the love child of Florence Henderson and Rod Stewart, which has made me a little spooked. I therefore am putting my faith and trust in this trendoriffic Dupont Circle place to make me feel cute again.

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