So as you know, through texts, pictures and live video conferencing, I endured a veritable Four-Alarm Hair Emergency on Friday. I mean, I’ve been clipping away at my hair like it’s a friggin’ bonzai tree for over 2 weeks now. All stemming from a decidedly hair-brained notion to cut it sort of like Amber-from-Parenthood, who now has her hair blonde, buzz-cut on one side and flippy on the other. She looks completely badass. And had I not made a grave misstep during that first cut, I might have achieved the look. (Sans buzzing. I wasn’t willing to go that far.)
But I didn’t part it far enough to the left. Which was…fine. Sort of. For a minute. After some conferring with pen-friends, I flipped over the part to the right side, and sort of wore it that way for awhile, all the while trimming and trimming, trying to even it out here, or take out a little weight there, or whatever. It never really looked right for two weeks. But I was *fine* with it. Clearly.
Until Friday, on the brink of a full moon and at the height of my apparent Crazy, when I could no longer tolerate that damned right-side part. Killing. Me. So I flipped it back over, parted it where I should have in the first place, and did a little tweaking to make it work. And a little more tweaking. And a little more. Omg.
There’s an upcoming rock-star party in October for J.Lo, hosted by yours truly – well so far hardly anyone is coming, but that’s another post for another day, in which I direct a voodoo curse toward evite. But for a moment I thought I’d be going as Justin Beiber. And then it was like, no – Flock of Seagulls. No, no, no. And then, I thought maybe I had landed myself far, far outside the rock-star circle and directly into 1987 as myself. Which might have been cute, big emphasis on might, back in fourth grade. But it was not a look I wished to revisit, ever, ever, ever again.
Commence Four-Alarm Hair Emergency.
So after a fair amount of frantic texting, some more cutting and pondering and administration of Quaaludes, several hours of my life were literally whittled away and I landed on what I have now. And I am ceremoniously laying down my scissors. Not just because I like it. But also because letsbehonest. There ain’t much left.
Wasn’t I just growing out my hair earlier this year? Hmm.
positively perplexed penelope
penelope pixie punk