Bad Hair Month
I fear haircuts the way normal people fear AIDS and earthquakes. Perhaps twice a year, I’ll reluctantly go into an actual salon, and give precise instructions on how I want my hair cut, complete with hand drawn diagrams showing lengths of particular sections in inches, like some sort of bizarre architectural blueprint of my head. Since my sister’s death in October, I have been going back and forth on keeping or cutting off my long hair. It’s been long for over three years, and there’s very little variety to be achieved with it. The front part with the pink has gotten more and more damaged with each subsequent bleaching, snarling into a gluey mess every time I try to delicately comb through it. I’ve always heard you shouldn’t get a haircut when a life disaster happens, and as of late, I’ve had a heaping portion of them. So I waited it out until now, and left my hair to it’s own ratty devices.
Yesterday, I finally strapped my balls on and decided to get it cut. I surmised that I could get the front section with the pink cut to about 2" past my chin, and leave the rest about 8" longer. This would not only frame my face and drag my features down less, it would remove some of the front portion that was in the worst shape. Apparently, the dumb bitch who cut my hair couldn’t tell the difference between 2" past a chin and .5" past a chin, nor could she discern the difference between the front of the ear (where the shorter portion was supposed to stop) and the back of the ear (where she decided to stop). When she was done, I put my glasses on and was flabbergasted. “Uh, this isn’t two inches past my chin. Remember? I told you to leave it two inches past my chin? (Pointing to the diagram)” to which this idiot replied, “Do you want me to angle it up more on that part?” I then explained to her that by cutting more off, the part that was much shorter than it was supposed to be would not grow two fucking inches longer! Normally, I am pretty composed, but I was pissed. I had drawn her a fucking diagram, for chrissakes! WTF?
Not only did she completely fuck up my hair, she fucked it up unevenly. The right side was actually about a half inch longer than the left side! My makeup in the photos is all smudged due to the hour and a half I spent crying when I got home. Because it has taken me four years of growing my hair out to get it long, I refuse to get the rest of it cut short to match her fuck up and decided instead to just roll with it, pretending to the world that I intentionally went out and asked for this haircut. Since this photo, I have evened out the right side, so it is at least symmetrical. I have also been experimenting with putting the long part up, for a pseudo bob, or tucking the short part behind my ear, for pseudo long hair. I’ll give it one thing, it’s very versatile. Think Growing Hair Crissy.
So for the next six months I’m stuck with a haircut that is somewhere between New Wave mullet and Mortal Combat animae character. I also bear a striking resemblance to Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, so I’m sure little ponytails and braids on the long part are going to follow soon.