My hair

The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings.

Or we could just talk about my hair.

With my 10th reunion coming up, I feel that it's important to walk in with just the right style. Unfortunately, however, I have had terrible luck with my hair just when I need it to look just right.

It all started about two weeks before my college graduation and just after the Oscars where Hillary Swank took home the Best Actress statue for Boys Don't Cry. I remember that on that night, she had some pretty rockin hair, and so when I went to the hairdresser's to squeeze in an appointment just before graduation, I was feeling a little adventurous. I was talking to the stylist, and I thought she had understood when I asked for the style that Hillary had at the Oscars. "You know," I said, "Hillary Swank from Boys Don't Cry."

She didn't; what I got was Hillary Swank IN Boys Don't Cry.

After a little time, a lot of tears and some late night style sessions for which I don't know if I ever properly thanked my roommates (I ♥ you girls!), I entered finals week not really happy, but not truly devastated about how the hair looked. The good news was that I actually ended up having the BEST looking hair in most of the photos because mine wasn't affected by the humidity as much as everyone else's was.

So you'd think I'd have learned my lesson, and to some extent I did. The next time it happened, it was in NO POSSIBLE WAY my fault. Ok, maybe it was because I went to the Hair Cuttery. But it really shouldn't have been my fault.

It was two weeks before Christmas 2002. I was heading down to Atlanta for a New Year's Eve bash, and I had picked up a first date for that evening (you can save The Rules lectures, ladies, he ended up being a total dud). So there I was at the Hair Cuttery and I asked the stylist for a standard bob. Simple, chic, clean-up. Totally easy right?

Wrong. Three snips in, and I was in trouble. Her eyes got big, my eyes got big, and a big swatch of hair flew off the side of my head. She turned to me and said, "We no bob. I fix." And just like that, I was Hillary Swank again. Except, it was worse than the last time. I skipped work for a few days and went in to get it fixed (when another stylist turns to the first offender and says, "Did you DO THIS to her??" you know you've got a bad haircut), but nothing could be done. The world wonders why there are no photos from that Christmas....

Clearly, the two week window doesn't work for me. A trim may be successful, but then again maybe not. That's why I'm trying to make the big cut now. If it's successful, I'll trim it before the reunion; if not, I've got about two months to grow it out. It grows slow too, so whatever happens, I'll be stuck with it for a good long while.

I'm looking at a couple of possible styles (clearly influenced by what I'm seeing on Daytime TV). These also both bear a strong resemblence to what my hair looked like when it was at its strongest, so it's probably I good idea if I just got back to basics and stop fooling myself into thinking that I can grow my hair out.