Four years ago this past month I chopped my hair off with rusty scissors and the result was horribly hilarious. I wrote that I looked like Kim Jong-Il, a now decomposed dictator whom I thought was haunting my mirror beady eyes and all. That’s one thing. I did it with full knowledge that I can’t even cut coupons evenly but I hacked up my own hair. Eventually it grew out but I was vainly aware that my head is too big and round to pull off short, short hair styles.

Fast forward to now, my last hair trim was cute, angled under my chins and shorter in back. Well, as hair has the tendency to do it grew longer but added some odd little curls I never had before and didn’t know what to do with. Yes, this world is on a crazy train going off the tracks, and I get so tired and depressed about it that I have to yell “STOP!” so’s I don’t completely lose my mind for good. Thus, I focused on my hair cuz well, no one else will, right?

In past columns I’ve written about my super-long Indian woman hair that I

kept for most of my life. It was so simple to care for; shampoo, rinse,

condition, rinse, braid it up and the next day unravel the braids for

fresh curly locks. Sexy! Women envied my hair. A teenage girl on a #5

bus put a lighter to my braids and would have burnt my hair badly but

luckily it was still damp. That was the extreme, the rest who hated on

my hair satisfied themselves by merely trying to pull it out.

Sigh! I

miss those days. Not the hair-hating part from others but the

simplicity of my coiffure; up, down, big hair, smooth hair, natural. I

am now getting to my point: distressed (geddit?!) because my do was

doing nothing I decided to have it cut by a professional. Short so’s I

could have a fresh look and not have to bother with too many products,

hot styling devices and effort. Additionally, cuz of my injuries I can’t

even whup my hair up like I used to, so I wanted a

wash-n-go-n-gel-n-spray style while I grow it out – or until my next

Hair-Gate.

Anywayz, as you may have discerned by now I called up WTFZ

Radio Auction and bought a discount certificate for the local Kost

Klippers. Hey! What could go wrong? Wait. I mean WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO

WRONG?????

So when a guy was available to cut my hair I was actually

pleased. Gays plz forgive me for stereotyping but yooz know how to cut

some savagely awesome hair styles. I sat down in complete confidence

until I smelt his pits. Ew. I should have run away cuz I would have had a

chance but I’m nice, too nice, and thought well, he said he’s on his

second wife I should give him a fair, heterosexual chance.

Initially

he gave me the classically awful olderish woman style #2 which is

nondescript, neither she nor he – genderless really. I was supposed to

‘like’ it and be on my way. Hai!!! Instead I told him to shorten my do.

Now a hank of hair is sticking out ridiculously and I look like I hired

an evil, drunken Nun from an Indian boarding school (child prison) to

chop my hair up. I haven’t looked this bad, according to me, since I had

the “pixie” cut in 1st grade.

The obvious solution to my dilemma is

to grow some more hair. Simple. But it’s a slow process as all we

hair-growers know. I do have a hairpiece from back then but I think my

head grew some and it’s a tight fit. Now I’m thinking of styling a

Mohawk sans Day-Glo colors. Then if I was to be taken seriously I’d have

to get all tatted up, plus piercings too! Ho-Lay! All carried away,

ennit? All that is too painful and permanent for me, plus I don’t wanna

scare my grandchildren when I get some with wrinkly, saggy ink art and

have shiny objects for them to pull on.

Okay for real though, I have to get my hair cut again! OMG.

First

off I want to thank yooz for hanging with me for this long about a

subject that matters not at all except for a good chuckle at my

appearance. I have many scars that are proof that I overcame what tried

to hurt me and I wear them proudly for that reason. So I ask myself how

can a really horrible haircut hurt me? I won’t allow it to, that’s what.

   It’s like my Unk Gene always used to say: it’s not hair that makes the Indian; it’s the Indian that makes the hair. Heehee!