She turns herself 'round and she smiles and she says "This is it, that's the end of the joke"

As it turns out, I've spent much of my life growing out my hair.

I mean, obviously I'm living my life forward while the hair growing is just happening, but it's this annoying cycle where I grow it and then I think I just really need a change and cut it all of and often dye it as well and then spend the next year or two growing it out again.

I have had a bob, on and off, since I think the end of 10th grade.

Some people live their whole lives just having nice hair and living with it day to day and not fucking with it on a regular basis and perhaps you are one of those people, and why can't I be you?

At any rate, the growing it out is tedious and grim and I never know what to do with it to make it look cute in the in between times. And as Fleabag said, "HAIR IS EVERYTHING. ANTONY."

As such, I decided I needed something fun to make it feel less tedious and grim.

I also decided last time was the LAST time I'm lopping it all off, so I might as well take advantage of the short short and do something extreme.

So I bought a tube of Joico semi-permanent magenta dye, which a woman at the gym who has lovely purple streaks recommended.

And then I asked Nick if he would put it on for me.

I showed him some YouTube videos of people applying hair dye with a dye brush.

Because I like to have ideas but then fall down on the planning, I had to borrow a dye brush from a friend, because I couldn't find one for purchase without buying a box of dye.

Additionally, the only gloves we had that Nick could even squeeze his giant baseball-mitt sized hands into were dish gloves that as it turned out practically cut off his circulation.

Then yesterday morning I wondered if the color I'd chosen might be too strong, and Nick was all, "If you're going to do this, you might as well be really bold."

So then I asked him if he thought maybe he could just do the roots magenta, so my hair looked like it had dark pink roots and then the ends were white.

And he was like, "Uh, I don't think I have that level of skill."

So he put it on and when I voiced concern that he might not be getting it all he very firmly reminded me that he is rather detail oriented.

And this is true. RATHER. DETAIL. ORIENTED.

I learned years ago that any man I would ever love would be detail oriented and that detail oriented people do not like being called anal retentive.

So.
 
So I tried to just keep my mouth shut and then India took a picture of me so I could have some idea what it looked like. And then I washed it and was like holy cow is that, uh, bold!

I am not going to lie; I was wondering if I'd made a mistake in color and taken on more than I can carry off.

Although the fact is that with each wash more will come out. I don't know if it will get stuck in the bleached parts or not, but they'll have to be cut off eventually anyway.


India was like, "I love it so much, Mama. You look like Mal."

This warmed my heart. She loves Descendants.

But every time I catch my reflection in the mirror I'm a little surprised.

In any case, this morning I went to a core class. I love the instructor, who makes us do terrible, terrible things. It's amazing.

This is the class where I met the woman with the purple streaks. When I first asked her about the purple in her hair, she showed me a photo of her hair when she'd gotten it professionally done all pink and platinum and it was fabulous. (It had also taken 12 hours and cost $900, which made her sit down and cry. Or maybe she was already sitting. Anyway.)

I was stretching and chatting with another woman at the end of class and she told me she loved my hair, and the instructor agreed. I thanked them and said I was still getting used to it.

I said, "My husband did it for me yesterday!"

One of them said, "Wow! Is he a hairdresser?"

And I was all, "No, a lawyer. Very detail oriented."

Yah, so I might order some XL gloves and some purple dye and maybe next time he can just do the roots?

New news

Hello, friends!

Yesterday I got my hair cut and colored (see new hair above, not much different from old hair but also completely different). I asked my stylist if she could put fewer highlights so I can grow out more of my own hair color. I've decided I should see what color it actually is after all this time.

Also: selfies are hard. I always feel like a dork.

I'm always so amused by the foils that I have to take a picture.

Incidentally, and really only related to foil, I recently read Lizard Music by Daniel Pinkwater, a book that delighted me in 6th grade. It was a quick, fun book, and one I hope my children might be interested in.

---

In the top photo, the painting in the background is of me, on the shores of Lake Superior. My Aunt Jo, who was a painter, painted it after we'd been to visit her one summer. She had a houseboat, and she once took us out to the island I'm looking towards. In our parlance, that was Aunt Jo's island.

There I'm sifting through rocks, finding agates. We collected heaps and heaps of agates. Aunt Jo loved puns (I'm suspecting this is genetic), and once when my brother found a regular rock and asked her what it was, she said, "Oh, that's a snot agate!"

"What's a snot agate?"

"Snot an agate."

I've recently been in close touch with her daughter, Patti Jo, who has been sharing her memories. For a time I've been thinking I need to go back to where my dad grew up, and now, the pull to see family and familiar places is very strong.

Aunt Jo painted scenes of Duluth. I wish I had one of her scenes. She had these block puzzles called City Blocks. Why didn't I ever get one back then? They were wonderful.

Anyway. Experiences are more important than stuff.

---

On Wednesday, I start a full-time job that will last until my kids get out of school in June. A friend was leaving my old workplace, and they needed someone to fill in for a few months, until the organization gets a new president and that person can hire the new employee.

So I'm stepping back into the full time, office workforce. But I'm returning to a familiar place, where I already like my boss and am friends with many of my colleagues.

I'm both nervous and excited. It's going to be a big change for my family, as I've now been home over four years. India hasn't gone and Jordan doesn't remember going to aftercare.

This will be a big shift, but not a permanent one, and I think shaking things up will be good for all of us. And a paycheck is helpful.

All in all, I consider this a lucky turn of events.

---

We have gone back to India screaming, threatening, raging and all around shooting our nights to hell because she does not want to go to bed. That's fun.

---

Speaking of, it is currently cold as hell frozen over or whatever the expression is. I'm not best pleased with this situation.

Wishing you all a great weekend! Big hugs!

Lisa

The big fret of a simple haircut

Last week, at my friend Allison's suggestion, I watched Sliding Doors.

All these years, I'd never seen it.

And I loved Gwyneth Paltrow's hair. Loved. I was like, this is the haircut I need! Yes! This is the cut, and this is the time!

I was going to get my hair cut short last winter and I chickened out, ostensibly because it was too cold. But mostly because I was scared.

But you know how sometimes something strikes you and you are like, this is exactly it? It felt like that.

I liked the movie, but my main takeaway was this: You change your hair, you change your life! She leaves a bad situation and gets the cute, dynamic, fun guy with the great accent!

Also, which I already knew, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.

Anyway.

I have a hair appointment Saturday. I have all these Gwyneth Paltrow haircut pictures on my phone. If I get hit by a bus and someone finds my phone they're going to think I'm a stalker.

When honestly, I'm indifferent to GP. I just like her hair in this one. And there's the scene with the adorable flowers! Could I do that?

I decided I really needed this haircut. (Not, I might note, to change my life and find a new man with a different accent. Just...I like her hair.)

So, I have this appointment. It was going to be for a trim, and then I decided I really am going to chop it. And yet the closer it gets, the less sure I am.

See, for a long time, the length of my hair was an indication of my state of mental health.

The shorter my hair, the more tenuous my grip on OKness. The closer I was to the bottom of that smoothy, grey, ugly pit of depression, and the closer my hair was to my scalp.

I would slide into depression, eat a lot of sweets, cry a lot, and gain weight and feel totally out of control. And I'd get my hair cut shorter and shorter.

I've read that cutting yourself is temporary relief from emotional pain. This was my hair instead of my arms. I would get it cut, and then cut again. Shorter and shorter.

I never, ever wanted to be alone, because desirability to men was equal to proof worth in the world. The hair cutting was like a subconscious way to ward men off, because the men I've always been attracted to have never been attracted to a woman with a crew cut.

Although in retrospect, the crew cut might've been OK if it weren't coupled with such apparent abject misery. Who knows?

My friend Wendy is all, hair grows and change is good.

I like this approach. I believe these things to be true.

But I also find that that I am scared to let go of my hair. Cutting it off is nervous-making, instead of a relief.

Fashion magazines are full of women with long, lush hair. Hair is feminine. Hair is attractive. Long hair is safer than short hair.

What if all my wrinkles show more? What if I look frumpy and mom-y? What if I feel unattractive?

This annoys me about myself. It really does. I'm a feminist. I shouldn't buy into the mainstream media depictions of women and femininity.

All these frets sound dumb, I know. It's only hair.

Except that for me, it's not. (Which also annoys me.)

When the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars...

What I'm saying is, I need some help with my hair.

I mean, look at this state of affairs:

Nice mug shot, Lisa.

And I know, I know, I always go back to the hair. (And boots.)

But here's the thing: I am getting it cut next week and I don't know what to do.

We've all been doing these anti-lice olive oil and combing treatments, and then to get the oil out, I wash my hair with Dawn, and now with all the dishwashing soap and combing, the ends are getting all dry and frazzled. And I'm overdue for a haircut and reblonding anyway.

I have this bob, which I have liked. I've had this bob on and off since I was like 15. I have a bob. And then I cut it all off. And then I grow it out. But it always comes back to the bob.

But at the moment, it's kind of dire.

So I'm fantasizing about getting it all cut off super super short. But then again, I'm afraid to get it all cut off.

I feel like I used to be able to carry no hair, and I felt bold when I did it. But now I fear it would highlight all my wrinkles. And I'll regret it immediately and it will take forever to grow out.

I loved, I mean beyond loved, my asymmetrical bob. But it was limited. When I put it up to exercise, I put the long side in a sticky-outy ponytail.

So I was thinking of maybe cutting it short but having long bangs. I fell asleep thinking about it.

And the next day I looked at Facebook and it turns out my friend Nicole had posted this pic the night before. This!

She's got very long hair, but for like 15 minutes she was considering cutting it short. Her husband was clearly amused.

Hi, Kendall!

Nicole has a perfect face and this would look amazing. But she's not going to do it, as she says she'd get bored with short hair.

I love this look. But is it too 80s?

Because I was telling one of my friends about the short but long bangs and she said, "Oh, like Flock of Seagulls?"

No. Not like Flock of Seagulls.

More like...Well, kind of like Flock of Seagulls, I guess. But hopefully not.

Or maybe I could just get a trim and grow it long and be able to pull it back, which I do like to do. But I think I need some bangs. Whenever I grow it out, it's just flat, one length, and pulled back all the time. Boring and not flattering.

What I'm saying is, I need help.  Have any of you done short with long bangs? Or long with long bangs? Or something bob-ish with bangs?

Help!

Ooh, I like this one!

Is your self-esteem connected to your hair?

I think that for a lot of women this is the case.  I don't know about men. They don't seem to fret about hair as much, or anyway, not publicly.

When I was up in Vermont, Maude said something that made me realize that while my self-esteem isn't necessarily connected to my hair, my hair has historically been a mirror for how I felt about myself. And the worse I've felt, the shorter I've had it.

When I was in college, when I had gained 40 pounds freshman year and perhaps needed my hair the most, I chopped it short. And again in grad school, when I was miserable and had gained a bunch of weight, I got a pixie. By the time Maude and I were driving cross-country to San Diego, I basically had a crew cut. It was awful.

I felt ugly inside and I felt just as ugly outside. It would've been easier to have hair, I think, but I wasn't actually aware of what I was doing. I just wanted it off. Off!

And even now, when I generally feel pretty decent about myself, and reasonably attractive on a consistent basis, whenever I feel a big need to shake up something in my life, it tends to be my hair. Today's haircut is the first one that I've given significant advance thought and research to. I knew I wanted a change, but I wanted a deliberate one.

I have dyed it a multitude of colors: apricot (by accident - lesson learned: never listen to a Victoria's Secret salesperson about temporary hair dye); dark brown (very terrible); platinum blonde, both at home (not recommended, as it can skew chick yellow or purple, both of which I've done) and professionally; and highlighted blonde.

Blonde works best with my skin, as it brightens up the pale. Even though I'm not actually blonde anymore, I still have the blonde skin and the blue eyes. I love rich brown hair, particularly with blue eyes, but I don't have the skin for it.

Long hair is sexy - I don't think anyone would argue that - and if I could have luxurious, thick long hair, I would do so. I love seeing women with a rich cascade of hair down their backs. I grew my hair as long as I could handle it, and I think it stopped being attractive a few inches ago.

However. I learned that I love having a pony tail, and surely I'll go back to it.

But I think I feel best with a short, modern sort of cut. What that means, I'm not sure - but it definitely means not a crew cut, and not a chop in desperation, trying to somehow cut off the pieces of me that I hate.

It's so weird that this head covering, the styling of this extra protein that grows out of our scalps, can have such importance. Isn't it?

But it does. And I have to say, this one feels great.

So trivial and also very important

Hello friends! I know that you have excellent taste and I am wondering if I can draw on it.

Let me sum up: I HATE MY HAIR! I NEED SUGGESTIONS AND OPINIONS! HELP!

This is how I seem to live my life. I let my hair grow until it is past my shoulders and I love it so much for a while because I can pull it back and keep it out of my face and off my neck and all is delightful.

And then all I do is pull it back, because my hair is very fine and flat and once it gets long it basically looks like you've cooked an entire box of spaghetti and then draped it in a single row very carefully from the crown of my head. Flat. So flat.

I'm not a fan of products because I don't like how they feel. So once it hits a certain point, it is flat. So it only looks OK pulled back.

I get to that point and then I am all, you know what would solve my life? A Delightful Pixie Cut! With a ton of bleach!

And then I head to the salon and get my hair all chop chop chopped and then after a few months I realize that I really want long hair.

Then I spend the next year or so with frustrating in-betweeny hair.

And then, then guess what happens? Right.

So. This time! This time will be different! I am actually going to give it some thought and find a picture or two. This time, I am not going to get a pixie cut!

I'm going to get...something. Something else.

Is an asymmetrical bob too last year? Too close to what I always do? My favorite haircut ever was short over one ear and sharply tapered to the chin on the other side. But that was in high school.

(And is not to be confused with the time I shaved the one side into a Cyndi Lauper crisscross.)

As a boss once said to me when we were discussing fashion, if you were there for the first go-around, probably best to skip the second.

But this is quite elegant, and much subtler. But too last year? Does that matter?

I also love love love this haircut but I do not know. Nick says I will regret the bangs. And I might not have thick enough hair for it to look like this. Not sure. (Also, please excuse the totally chipping nail polish. I almost never polish because I suck at maintaining.)

So those are my thoughts.

Open to and grateful for suggestions.

The bare minimum?

I have never worn a whole lot of makeup, mainly because I'm not very good at it.

And I always admire women who know how to do eyes, lips, cheeks, all of it, and look so put together. 

Me, I love eye liner and mascara. I desperately want a blue mascara, and seem unable to find one. I had the best one in the 80s and never again. Saddy! I like to wear eye shadow, but it never seems quite right on me.

And I don't feel like I need it. (If need is at all an accurate term here. I recognize the first-world prolemness of this.)

So, when I look candidly and assess frankly, I know that increasingly I need under-eye concealer so as not to look like I need 54 hours more sleep. I could probably use blush (if it's still called that - seems like an archaic term) and I could use some lipstick, as my lips are rather pale.

I mean, I don't think I look terrible without any makeup, but I feel like now, with age and exhaustion, I need more help than I used to.

All that said, on work days I mostly manage concealer, eyeliner, mascara. On weekends, mostly just moisturizer with sunscreen.

So, one of my friends/colleagues sells Avon. She is one of these people who can and do pull a whole outfit-makeup hair look together on a regular basis. She really knows how to use makeup, and is up on the latest products, tries different looks, has been using eye cream since back when I should have been, and always, always has her nails done.

Basically, she's a perfect person to buy makeup from. She loves makeup and she has a rather expensive Sephora habit, and I don't know how she started selling Avon, but she and a variety of our colleagues are happy she did.

It has a number of very nice products, and she's totally helpful and candid with her recommendations.

I'll go to her and be all, "I need something for my HAAAANDS which are so very DRY but I don't like the rose smell of that one cream and the other feels a little slick and ugh..." and she is all, "Here, try this one."

In fact, she's one of the first places I turned when my pregnant tummy was itchy itchy itchy and I headed over and was all,  "HELP! My stomach! Itchyitchy! Argh! Desperate!"

Or something of the sort. Likely not even complete sentences.

So the other day I headed over to her desk to inquire about soft eyeliner and if perchance Avon has a blue mascara (no).

Her (pretty! thick! red!) hair was nicely done, and I complimented her, and we were talking about hair cuts and length and how mine is aaaaalmost long enough to pull back. And how I can't wait to be able to do that, because it will just be so much easier.

She said, "I know. It would be great to just get up in the morning and not have to fuss with the washing and blow drying and styling."

And I was all, "Oh, I don't do any of that. I wash it at night and sleep on it. I'm not even sure that mine is clean today."

 We looked at each other and I said, "Yeah. So I guess what I'm saying is, I don't do anything...and I want to be able to do even less."

Now back to our regularly scheduled frivolity

OK, here's the new hair. I quite like it.

I still need the front to grow a bit, but it's heading in the right direction. It still wings out over my glasses, but as long as I don't look in the mirror, it doesn't bug.

Also, I painted my nails blue. I warned you about the frivolity in the title.
(And I don't know why my hand looks that tanned. It's just as pale as my accurately-colored grim winter pink face above.)

Yah, so Nick had some deal where he needed to order two magazines and so he got the Economist and Us Magazine. It's kind of a perfect combination.

Except that we don't know who most of the people are in Us. We are old and don't watch enough reality TV. Also, these both arrive like every other day.

It's an inundation of information, both useful and useless.

Anyway, Us Magazine said that blue nails were in, and this made me happy because I love blue nail polish and so when I stopped at CVS on my way into the office on a Cadbury Creme egg hunt - oh, wait, can I tell you, and there were NONE!?!

What is it with CVS and the not stocking Cadbury eggs? I had the same issue last year. It's almost goddamn Easter, motherfuckers!

Anyway, there were no Cadbury eggs, but they did have this bright blue nail polish and I decided it might just be a perfect color to liven up and dark outfit. A dark, WARM WOOL outfit, I might add, because spring is a bitch-faced tease.

And I'm actually in a pretty decent mood. I promise.

But I'm not sure on the blue for the office. I mean, I know it's not totally professional, but it's doesn't scream tween Justin Bieber fan either...or does it?

Aaaaand we're back to the hair. Oh! Plus the new glasses!

So, this is the hair I currently have.

At the moment, it consists of four principle chunks: the front blob of bangs, which like to wing out over my glasses, two flaps on the side, and the back, which is too long.

In other words, it has no style and I hate it.

Also, I have to go to a new stylist because the one I had, who I liked, said she was moving to New Orleans the end of March, and so I should schedule for her last day in the salon. And then she up and quit two weeks early.

It's really inconvenient when people's life plans do not accord with my hair needs.

So this afternoon, I am trying someone new. This makes me twitchy. But I need the back of this hair offoffoff nownownow!

I knew, I knew when I asked for the pixie cut that I would loooaaaaathe the growing out process. I'd done it before, and it was an ugly year.

But in the moment, I neeeeeded that cut. I needed the cleanse of a drastic change.

Immediately, I missed having hair. I hated using product. I missed being able to wash my hair at night and wake up in the morning with it looking the same and just head out the door without even brushing it, much less applying all kinds of crap to it.

I'm not saying my hair always looked great, more that it always looked the same. And I usually liked it just fine.

So, fingers crossed in the heading back in that direction business.

Also, these are my new glasses. Don't they make me look like I should be taken seriously? I mean, minus the oh-grody-to-the-max look on my face?

I pretty much love them like crazy.

Please tell me I don't have a Bieber

OK, so, I know this picture is not ideal for a number of reasons - one being that it looks like I have a tumor growing out the top of my head but really it's my sun lamp that shockingly blends with my hair.

But it's a good representation of my new hair.

And I quite like it, but I also want to make sure that I don't now have a Bieber 'do.

Do I?

The growing out is hard, and I think she did a nice job with the color and toning it down. And she left as much length as possible, yay!, but I didn't then know what to do with it. So she suggested the best thing would be just kind of shove it forward.

Which I am now doing. As you can see.

So the Bieber question is the most pressing. And if it is Bieberish, then WHAT else can I do to it, with this current not-short-not-long-yucky-inbetween state that I'll be in for quite some time?

But also. Do you know how hard it is to take picture of yourself? I mean, a remotely normalish looking one?

I took approximately 372 furtive pictures of myself just to get one that didn't look completely horrendous.

I might be overly sensitive about this because I remember looking at so many Match profiles and wondering, "Why did that guy have to take his own picture? Doesn't he have any friends?"

Seriously. I don't think women tend to take their own pictures. Do they? So many men on Match had those arms-outstretched, smiling awkwardly for a camera with nobody behind it, and hey, look, you can see what their kitchen cupboards look like! kinds of pictures.

They need that device those Japanese tourists that we followed around in Turkey were using.

Maybe we all do.

Wednesday whits

Improvement on the crayon/profanity front:

We stopped at a Bob Evans rather than Friendly's and while Jordan did do some crayon chewing, he also took a couple stabs at the paper. Plus, once he'd bitten off a couple little blue chunks, he realized he didn't really want to swallow them.

I let him drop them in my hand. I know better than to go foraging around his little mouth and then shame us with profanity.

Also: I know it's not such a good picture. I took it with my iPhone. More also: I got an iPhone. I'm pretty sure I haven't become an iHole though.

What I want for Christmas:

A closet. Seriously. Those Victorians, they built charming houses, but their need for closets was slim to none. My need for closets is sizeable to enormous.

So. I want to buy a closet from Ikea. Nick wants to wait until we can find a nice antique wardrobe (I grew up calling them almirahs - I don't know what you call them) at a consignment store that we can cherish and keep forever.

I don't want a nice wardrobe. I'm not looking for an heirloom. It will take up more room than I want to allocate. And once we build closets - in probably three years - then where will we cherish it?

I want a ding-dang closet, like, right now.

Also: Trying to reduce use of unnecessary profanity. (Note successful use of ding-dang above.)

The hair. Always the hair:

Let me tell you. Pixie cuts and platinum are a bitch to grow out. Not pretty. I've been hating my hair for some time now.

These are the roots. The front view, I am not posting.I'm seeing my stylist this evening. Hopefully she can work magic.

Also: Um, I have no also on this one. I just put this in for symmetry.

Get to the point

I started getting acupuncture last Saturday.

Here's what's annoying about it: My husband.

Nick likes to say things like, "You know, Lisa likes her acupuncturist, but she talks too much. Lisa has to tell her to get to the point."

Or, "I was on pins and needles waiting to hear how it went."

Or, "Oh, sweetheart. I'm just needling you."

Really. I can't remember the rest. They're equally punny.

So last night, when Nick and Betty were talking about cooking a leg of lamb or a duck for Sunday dinner (both equally gross, in my opinion), I saw my chance.

"Not duck!"

"Why not?"

"I think duck is foul."

The limits of Nick's helpfulness

So yesterday I went to the gynecologist.

Although now I think of him as my OB, since, well, you know with the Jordan business and all. But calling him my OB makes people think I'm pregnant. Which I'm not.

Anyway.

I was hanging out on the table in that little gown thing, reading my BlackBerry, when Dr. N rapped on the door and walked in.

The first thing he said was, "Nice to see you! I love the haircut!"

I hadn't been there in months, and while I saw him 732 million times during and shortly after my pregnancy, I was surprised that he'd recognized me, much less remembered my hair.

I guess I always feel like doctors typically look at their notes and then fake the remembering.

But I quite like him and we have a good rapport, and he did pull a baby out of my uterus and shake my husband's hand. So the remembering could be genuine.

So he asked a couple questions and then left to get the nurse so she could be there for my exam.

They returned, and had me lie back and scoot forward. And so there I am, legs spread, vagina all out there for God and everyone, when he says, "So you have this cute new haircut! And what else has been going on with you?"

I don't know about you, but I have always found it hard to make small talk in a face to vagina kind of situation.

And also. With the hair, I suddenly felt noticed, if that makes sense. In a nice way. But it still made me self conscious.

Not my vagina - that was all clinical. More like, it occurred to me that maybe he thinks I'm attractive. Not in a creepy way - no tone, no look. He's totally professional.

Seriously. It's not like he was all, "Hey, why don't you put some clothing over that vagina of yours and let's go out for a drink."

It was just the noticing of the haircut. Which a ton of other people have done - it's quite a drastic haircut.

I know I'm not explaining the why very well.

And then he made me laugh saying, "OK, just a few seconds, and you'll be the proud owner of a new Pap smear."

And then I put my clothes on and we talked in his office and that was that. Totally normal.

I was telling Nick about it last night. He's typically a voice of reason. When I have situations I'm wondering about, he always gives good advice.

"Do you think it's odd? About the complimenting the hair?"

"Not at all. But you know what I wish you'd said?"

And then I thought, should I have said something? Doctors are authority figures. Maybe compliments, even innocuous ones, are inappropriate?

"What?"

"I wish you'd said, 'Oh, thank you. I was going to get a Brazilian, but then just went with a trim...Oh! You mean my head hair!'"

Helpful. Very helpful.

A number of things having to do with numbers. Sort of.

So I tried to make a spreadsheet to turn into a pie chart displaying the results of my Hair poll.

By tried I mean I opened up Excel and then realized I didn't have the vaguest idea where to begin. And also, by then I was thinking "hair pole" - ew! And also, "mmmm, pie."

Recognizing that this looks more like a stubble pole...Also ew.

Although I'm not a huge pie person. Maude's mom makes an amazing pecan pie that I love. And my Gramma Lillian's rhubarb meringue pie was one of my favorite things on this green earth. But other than that, I'm kind of indifferent to pie.

One of the things I love, however, is when I get a lot of reader input. I realize that's sort of a stupid thing to say, because what blogger doesn't? The interactivity is a big part of what's amazing about blogging.

And maybe it's a duh, of course women care about their hair? Except that before I read comment after comment, I didn't have any actual evidence. Not that this is very scientific. Science, schmience.

Each of you left a little story - a window into your lives and minds. When this happens, and I read down through the comments, it feels like when you walk down a street at night around Christmas, and people have their trees and lights in the windows, and you get a glimpse of their lives and preferences.

And saying that, I realize I might sound creepy. I'm not. I swear.

(Though I must admit that Maude and I did maybe spend an inordinate amount of time peering out our bathroom window in San Diego trying to get a look at the just-purchased-by-the-totally-used-for-his-money-boyfriend boobs of our neighbor whose bathroom window was directly across from ours.)

This is really going nowhere good, is it?

I think mostly what I'm saying is, you all are so interesting. As always, you make me think, you make me laugh, you make me feel not alone in my thoughs.

Just pulling out a few:

Stevie is in front of the media regularly. If she doesn't feel good about her hair, it's hard to project the self-confidence she needs to.

VVK - one of two men who responded - would prefer to keep his head shaved. But he's a really big guy, and he's Indian, and he's well aware that how he keeps his head and facial hair affects the degree to which he's subjected to racism and bigotry.

Tia would hire her hairdresser to do her hair daily if she won the lottery.

Wendy was in the minority, in that she loves her hair and doesn't talk about it. And just pulls it back when it's getting in the way.

And moosiegoes currently has a haircut she hates, and spends maybe 25% of her day thinking about it. She fears this is a lot, but I know she's not alone in this.

Once again, thanks for being so thoughtful. And for making Kristin and me feel like we are not alone in the world of hair frets. I'm pretty sure that she's going to show G the post and be all, "See? Internet = proof!"

And he'll shake his fist at the heavens and be all, "Damn you, Al Gore!"

Wednesday poll: How much time do you spend on your hair?

This is my friend Kristin. She lives with her husband and two kids in a charming apartment in Paris.

We’ve been friends since 11th grade in Delhi. I met her the first day of school. She is tall and thin and back then she had this long, glorious, blondeyblonde hair. Every single guy who met her followed her around with a dazed look on his face.

So when we met I had an asymmetrical bob that I had just had cut in London on my way back to India, and the first thing she said to me was, “I like your hair.”

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

So it was recently called to my attention – through a forwarded email – that I spend too much time talking about my hair.

This is how it started.

Kris got this haircut that she hated. Which totally affected how she felt. She walked around feeling all ugly and old and just generally loathing her hair. Every day.

If this has ever happened to you, you tell yourself, “It’s just hair.” But every time you look in the mirror, you maybe cringe and shrivel up a little inside.

Or maybe this is just me? You know, the one who spends too much time fretting about her hair. Oh, and also Kris. The other one who does the same.

I'm going to doubt it, though.

Now, I must confess, it is true that I talk about it a lot. I get all agonizey, and I think about it and talk about it and talk talk talk about it and then I change it and then I talk about it some more.

But the truth is, I talk about everything a lot. I have my topic of the week, which could be my hair, and then I am all, oh, look, a butterfly! And then I am all, "A butterfly? Can butterflies have rabies?"

And then Nick is all, "I'll be damned if we're going back to rabies. Look! A crack in the ceiling!"

But the hair.

Yes, I talk about it a lot. But in actual fact, even when I had a bob, I would spend maybe 15 minutes on it per day, including washing and drying. Now that it’s this short, it’s probably more like seven minutes. Or maybe 10.

Very little maintenance time. Leaving me more time to talk.

OK, so. Kris, like me and every woman I have ever been friends with, lives out loud. Everything has to be processed. Out loud.

In other words, it is likely there has been a lot of hair talk in their household.

And then she got this super cute haircut, featured above.

Her husband, G, was out of town. She emailed him a photo.

He responded that he liked it. And then added - and this is the reason she forwarded his email - “In my humble opinion, this obsession about hair takes a bit too much of your/our time, Lisa (sorry, I mean Kristin).”

Now, I like G. And I know he is very much not an out-loud processy kind of person. And his topics of conversation are not frivolous. He's a doctor. He likes to talk about things like epidemiology.

Seriously. When he could be talking about highlights. And layers.

So I am sure that internally he is all, "Gah I'm going to stab myself in the ears if we have to talk about your hair one more time! And I haven't seen Lisa in years! Why do we have to talk about her hair as well? Christ!"

I responded with two questions. One, what would he rather she/we obsess about? And two, do we actually know any women who don't obsess about their hair?

So I am wondering the following.

1. How much time do you spend on your hair per day?
2. Do you think and talk about your hair regularly? Could you give some kind of time estimate?
3. Does how your hair looks affect your self esteem? Or can you just pull it back and forget about it?
4. Anything else you'd like to add? About hair. Or whatever. Except rabies.

What about now?

In theory, I love the pixie cut. It's bold, it's great for summer, and it's easy.

However. I have a lot of the whole do I look like a boy?

I was carrying laundry upstairs on Sunday, and there's a mirror on the landing, and I caught this flash of myself, and I suddenly had this, oh, God, it's like when I was a kid and that one hairdresser in North Dakota cut off all my hair and the neighbor kids asked my mom if her little boy could play with them.

And now I have wear lipstick and dresses every moment until I have more hair. Crap.

So I set the basket down on the bed, where Nick was reading intently.

"Do you think I look like a boy?"

"What? No."

"You're not even looking."

"I think you're beautiful."

"C'mon. Look. Boy?"

"No."

"How about now? What if I turn my face this way?"

"Nope."

"If I clench my fist and sneer like Billy Idol?"

"Stop it."

"How about if I stick a pair of socks down the front of my pants? What about now?"

"I like your hair. Please give me my socks."

Pixie cuts, men like hair, and creepy little celebrity aliens

One way or another I am done with this hair.

Although I don't know why I said "one way or another" since we all know I'm headed to a professional to cut it. I used to chop and color my own with no compunctions, and the result was never good.

Also, remind me sometime to tell you of the time my dad dyed my hair in the garage. Also not good.

I googled "celebrity pixie cut" yesterday and found a bunch of examples - Victoria Beckham, Halle Berry, Natalie Portman - that I like. Shorty short.

Nick is not particularly excited about the super short, but as far as I can tell, men rarely are. They like women with long hair. Fact.

Another fact: If I were single, I wouldn't have gone platinum and I wouldn't be chopping it short-short. Not in DC, anyway. Too judgey. I'd have kept the subtly highlighted blonde bob.

But back to the celebrity hair googling. Since one thing leads to another, I came across a picture of an Olsen twin, as an example of choppy hair or something of the sort.

I don't wish them ill, those Olsen twins, or even think about them much. But they creep me out, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn they're only temporarily on earth from another planet.

Maybe because of the deer-in-headlight eyes and the fact that they never seem to open their mouths. Or maybe I just have really good alien-dar. Not sure.

But I'm certain one of them is going to come to a bad end.

Aaaand I'd say that's about it for my celebrity predictions.

Fingers crossed on the hair. Fingers even more crossed that our friend J is willing to sit through an entire hair cut without having a boredom fit.

Unlikely.

PS Also, since I'm a linguist nerd, I though, what if you take the commas out of the title? Or insert alternate punctuation?

Pixie cuts men like hair. And! Creepy little celebrity aliens.

Pixie cuts. Men like hair and creepy little celebrity aliens.

You'd think I had too much time on my hands, which I assure you, I do not.

Poo, maybe, but time, not so much.

OKIhugyouandI'mgoingnowbye.

Tuesday tidbits

Diaper rash: Big J has terrible burny red diaper rash. He cries and cries when his diaper is dirty. Which happened at 4:30 this morning.

It's terrible knowing he's in such pain. He clutches your arm with his chubby little hands, looks in your eyes beseechingly, and wails, tears pouring. He doesn't stop sobbing until you've slathered on the Butt Paste.

Nick took him for a walk all bare-assed this morning, in hopes that air would help. To be clear - Jordan was bare-assed. Nick had shorts on.

4:30 am: Who, I ask you, shits at 4:30 am?

Morning walks-around-the-block: J has his wake-up bottle, and then you pick him up in your arms and head out the door. He's getting too heavy for me to carry for very long, though.

Of course I want him to grow up, and yet I want him to stay little. I love my little snuggly boy.

My hair: Here's the thing. The platinum is fabulous for a couple weeks. And then the roots come in, and they bug. I've made an appointment for Friday. I'm going to get it cut shorty-short.

Unless I chicken out.

J's hair: Jordan is currently heading towards a baby-fine mullet. Nick wants to chop the back. I didn't think I'd be all, nooo! My baby! Don't touch his hair!

But I seem to be.

Vengeance: Remember duplicity? I think I'm more vengeful than I'd like. When I can't fall back asleep (see above - 4:30 am), I plot.

Zen, I am not.

Me, me, and oh yes, more me. Served with a side of, uh, me!

Here's way more of my new hair than you ever anticipated.
I finally washed it last night and while I think the color is still very faintly reminiscent of pale Scandinavian furniture, the beige that she put in is almost gone. And I don't think you can even detect a purple tint.I like the cut, although I'd like more length. But what I'm struggling with are the bangs. Bangs!

Bangs have been an issue for me since I begged and begged for them in second grade, and the minute my mom cut them, I burst into tears and wailed, "I hate them! Put it back!"

But you know there is no putting it back.

I think they look OK without my glasses, but they kind of sit weird with them on. I either have to scooch them above or kind of smoosh them around the side.

I probably need a product. The problem is I'm not really a product person. Nor am I a hair arranger.

I probably need product and arrangement.

Also, I maybe ought to wear lipstick. Which I am terrible at; it always makes me feel like I'm pretending to be a grown-up. But that's a whole nother issue.

I think my dark chunky glasses work better than my greeny and purple ones. I realize it's hard for you to compare with these photos.But by the fourth picture of myself, I kind of felt like a narcissistic asshole. You know?So all in all, I like the color, don't love the cut, but I think (hope) it has potential.

Violet Beauregard

Sooo, yah. I did it! I said sod the conservative! (Hey, Maude!)

And my BlackBerry was dead, so I couldn't even read your input while waiting! But what you said is exactly how I was feeling.

It's summer! It's just hair! Jump!

Here's before:

Here's during:


And now we get to the after...

I'm quite sure I'm going to like it. I'm really pretty certain. Almost.

Because currently, my hair is faintly violet from the toner. It'll wash out in one or two washes (she says) but I should wait a couple days before doing so.

At which point, I'll post a picture.

Also, I have bangs. I agreed to them - they weren't stealth bangs. And I think I'll like them, too.

Pretty certain. Almost.

Here's to a violet-tinted bang-ful (um?) weekend, all!