the wrong side of the bed

when i was in high school, i had hair down to the small of my back. i wore it like a cloak. my hair was healthy and beautiful and it was the only thing people really knew about me. my friend clare and i polled people to see what they thought of us. i asked about clare and got answers such as pretty, creative, imaginative, and "she has eyes that can see farther than most." when clare asked about me, people mostly said things along the lines of "is she the girl with all of the hair?" in my whole childhood, the only positive feedback i ever recieved about my appearance was that i had beautiful hair. by the time i was 17, i hated my beautiful hair. i tried to get it cut, but i had the same stylist since the time i was 7 and she was rather attached to my locks and wouldn't cut it short enough for my liking. finally, when i got to college, i began mangling my hair in as many ways as i could think of. i have had every "natural" hair color except for grey. i have had red, pink, magenta, fuscia, mauve, salmon, orange, fire engine, candy apple, green apple, acid green, blue, turquoise, purple, yellow, and many combinations of these. i once had black hair with blonde roots that grew out into black hair with a blonde stripe and then my natural brown. that may have been my favorite. i have had a shaved head. i have had ridiculously asymmetrical haircuts that i gave to myself at 4 in the morning while in the pits of depression. i have done everything except have a chimp cut my hair and an elephant as the colorist. and still, my hair is the only thing about me that people ever care about. it is weird knowing that my hair is the focal point for people's attraction to me. it seems to be the case no matter how ugly i try to make it, i just can't get it to the same level of hideous as the rest of me.

my hair is currently red. i like it red. it is more natural looking than not, but i wish it were more like Run Lola Run, which it has been in the past. the last time my hair was that color, i ended up with a stalker. red hair garners the most male attention. when i would walk to work with my fire engine red hair, the homeless men at the bus stop would say, "hey red, looking good!" i didn't mind that as much as i did the stalker. i actually shook the kid pretty easily by dying my hair black. in fact, he didn't recognize me in the last face-to-face interaction we had. some commitment.

anyway, i am going to let my stoner crush cut my hair tonight. not too much. i like it long in front for hiding. but, i need a change.

maybe you were right all along and you died when you were 18. now you are undead. one of the symptoms of being undead is having crazy-colored hair. it says so in the bible. i know saying "you are the living dead" sounds kinda bad. but it doesn't have to be. there's something freeing about knowing that you're already dead and gone. now you don't have to worry about the concerns of the living. now you can truly live. that sounds profound, and it is. i can really make people feel good. some people call me a space cowboy. what time is it? i don't mean to make excuses for myself but i really probably could use some kind of caffeine this morning. i read your blog entry and my first response was "maybe she already died". i'm not sure that makes any sense. i'll probably be embarrassed by this post post-coffee.
-anonymous philanthropist

Well??? How did it go?

Liz