Feeling Brave....

If it appears that I do not have any hair in this picture, you are not smoking crack. Unless, of course, you are smoking crack. In that case, you probably ought to get some help instead of reading my blog. I have chopped all my hair off. I have wondered for years about how I'd look with short hair. I wear it up so often that I figured it was sort of a waste not using it. The next time I mention feeling this brave again, please direct me to this website. I have passed through the shock phase. Now, I am in mourning. I hope to move to the acceptance phase of this haircut. I feel like Sampson, post-Delilah. I feel castrated. I do feel that my new hairdo is cute, I have a face that can pull it off well. I just feel a loss because I always had the power to pull it all out in one dramatic head toss and let it cascade around my shoulders in a gorgeous waterfall of brown. Now, I actually have to DO something to it to make it look nice. I've never had to DO anything to my hair to make it look presentable. Whatever I did was just icing on the cake. Now, it looks pretty gross if I just wash it and go. Granted, it doesn't take long to put some crud in it and pin it up with some Very Tiny barrettes, but my pride is hurt that I no longer can pull off the Effortless Beauty look. Now, I have to put myself in with the ranks of the everyday woman who must do something to the mop she is utterly ashamed of residing on her scalp. Perhaps it never looked very good the way I had it, but in my MIND it looked good in a simple, elegant way. I remember the first time I put my hair up into a messy knot with a scruchie, (SEVENTH grade, people...) and I asked a guy I had a crush on what he thought. He said it looked like I'd just woken up. I don't think it was a compliment. I didn't care, I just thought he was stupid. He didn't want to be my boyfriend, anyway, so what did he know? I was set up on a blind date last year, and I wore my hair up. I made a point to take it out a few times over the course of the evening, so as to give the guy a little hint of what he'd get if he was second date material. The friend who set us up said that he told her I was nice, etc., but then when I took my hair out he realized I was actually pretty cute, too. I didn't want a second date. My rule was, this is me, take it or leave it. If you can appreciate the low maintenance exterior, you'll get rewarded later on. If you can prove to me that I am good enough just the way I am, then I'll pull out the big guns. I have provided a few incarnations of the New Hair. At the top is just the hair, with nothing but the grease from my scalp in it. Next, a sample of what I feel inside sometimes when I happen to catch a glimpse of my reflection. Directly to the left is a faux-hawk. It's a little long in front to really stand up. Here we have some gunk and a few barrettes. The lady who did it said that I should have most of it pushed forward in the front, to look "more feminine". I hate it like that. This is the look that I prefer the most. Old habits die hard. Even when it is only about four inches long, it still drives me crazy when it hangs in my face. Maybe I should've just shaved it all off. Please, never let me do that. ever ever ever. My hope is that this will have grown back to a decent length by the time I'm done with the Peace Corps. Hopefully by then I'll have all this adventuring out of my system, and I'll have my luxurious brown security blanket back. My hair was my lovey blankie. This was one of the incarnations I made, and it made me look like Hitler. I think that's a bad sign when you can style your hair like Hitler. And you're a girlI hope I get to the acceptance phase soon. Or at least to the phase where I can pull a handful into a ponytail of sorts. At least I didn't shave it.