so, if you haven’t figured it out yet, i’m crazy.
but really, i should have known this since forever. ‘cause the signs were there. i mean, i was cutting my hair since about age five.
oh i’m sorry, you didn’t know about that? yeah, two of the sure signs you are crazy:
1. you talk to yourself
2. you cut your own hair
right now my hair is in a kind of “Mia Farrow” thing. which is cute. today. tomorrow i may hate it, but for now it will do. some days it’s more Sharon Stone, some days punk rocker, and some days i do the wet slicked back look. hot. of course, if you catch me in the morning, i’ll have the whole Christopher Walken thing going, but hey, he’s pretty great so that’s ok.
i love my hair. i complain about it all the time, but i’m really lucky to have hair that can be as crazy as i am. i actually dated a guy for a while (boy, i could stop that sentence right there and have people shocked. really? you dated before?) but this guy wanted to ask me out specifically because of my hair. he saw me when i was at work, and he said every day for two weeks i had a different hairdo and that was it; he had to ask me out.
i wonder if that’s how i got my first boyfriend, Alan Frasier. i started cutting my hair back in kindergarten, and i guess i didn’t yet have the finesse with my stubborn cowlick (now i just part creatively) so it’s pretty clear in my class picture who the beautician was. ooops. still, i managed to boyfriend-up the cutest, tallest, smileyest guy in my class, who also had the best hair of the bunch of boys.
so is it the whole birds-of-a-feather thing? not saying you are crazy, Alan, just that, well maybe our mutually awesome heads of hair attracted each other. J