Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful

Okay, enough kid stuff for a while. On to the really important things. Like my hair.

I got it cut and colored last night and it probably wasn't the best idea to make a big change during PMS week. The color is good -- I usually get highlights all spring/summer, so by fall, I'm looking pretty washed out and am tired of keeping up with the roots, so I go back to brown. This time I went a couple of shades darker than my natural color and I like it a lot.

The cut, however? Well, it's cute, it's just not all that cute on me. I didn't think the long, blond hair was doing anything for me, but at least it was covering up more of my face. I look like a pumpkin wearing a short, brown wig (if pumpkins were not orange so much as pinky-Caucasian colored, and had not only wide faces but also double chins).

Oh, well. It'll grow back. It always does. I've done these dramatic hair changes at least once a year since high school. Funny how it never used to scare me like it does now. I think I almost went for the cut this time to prove to myself that I could still do it. Like riding a roller coaster as an adult when you really don't want to. I told my stylist I'm terrified of becoming one of those women on "What Not To Wear" who keeps the same hairstyle for 10 years. I don't want to get set in my ways. I think that ages a person faster than just about anything.

And speaking of aging a person, while I was getting my cut and enjoying a song playing in the salon (can't remember what it was right now), my stylist (who I adore, by the way; very nice girl) said, "Uh, I'm so tired of this awful 80s music." Them's fightin' words, so I said, "Watch it sister!" To which she said, "Oh, I'm a child of the 80s -- I was BORN in the 80s." Ugh. Just keep cuttin', Barbie.