Haircut $35, Postage $6, the smile of a child- priceless.

Other titles for this post:

me - 12 inches = new me


I get the cut


Little Orphan Gilly


As most, if not all of you, know on Friday January 2nd. I got a hair cut. (Jesse: "Finally you damn hippie!") I cut one foot of hair off my head to donate to locks of love.


Jenni reccomended an amazing stylist by the name of Jackie, who also has curly hair and completely understands my frustration with stylists, and my involvement in taking care of my hair. She was very pregnant and it made me a little nervous to let her wait on me. I felt the compulsion to make her sit down, get her a cup of herbal tea, and a foot massage. Despite her (not so) little bundle, she was fantastic at what she does and I couldn't have been more pleased.

Since Jenni was the one that gave me the phone number, she knew the day I was going to cut my hair. Jenni told Sarah, and she was so damn excited a girls night was planned for afterward. We went to the Chinese Buffet and ate ourselves sick with wontons and General Tzo's chicken, and those sesame jell-O things that we found out are sweet potato. Then went to the grocery store for snacky things for later. We proceeded to drink entirely too much fancy pants gin and be loud and obnoxous for the neighbors, using obscure words and claiming Metro Transit as a distant cousin.

I have had some time to get used to my hair. My conclusion: It is dramatically easier to take care of and dramatically less pretty. I am relearning how to take care of short hair. As the last time I had hair this short, I was 10 years old and probably didn't take care of it at all. This is the challange of my life. I finally had my system down on how to make my long curly hair pretty and WHAM! I am starting from scratch and learning an entirely new system. I found one very pretty style, but to achieve this it requires more time and effort than I can allow, about 24 hours.

I may be over sensitive, but I hate that I don't have luxurious hair anymore. I tried on all my hats and my fedoras looked very nice now that my hair is 1940s short. For the real test: the Tiara. I have had princess length hair for so long I couldn't imagine a tiara with shoulder length hair. I put it on, took a deep breath and opened my eyes. It didn't work. AT. ALL. I tried pinning parts of it up and it still didn't work. I pinned it all up and let the illusion of curls at the top frame the tiara, that kind of worked but the curls weren't quite tall enough to make it complete. I didn't cry or throw things, but some small part of me wanted to. My princess hair is gone, as I slipped the tiara off and on between styles, I noticed that my tiara fits like it always did, effortlessly, weightlessly, perfectly. Which was a comfort knowing the tiara still knows me, despite its lack of hair to decorate it. And of course, my hair can grow back.


Until then, Queen for a day, will be for a different day as I open a new chapter to the book of looks: The femme fetale.


Code of Morgagod Tidbit 1,240: Hair may come and hair may go, the shape of your head lasts forever.