Thursday, June 23, 2011

hopping the train to Crazytown

I'm not an impulsive person. I've always wanted to be, but when the moment came to hop the train to nowhere or get matching tattoos, I'd cave. It's not that I don't like to have fun or be spontaneous, I just don't like to have regrets. Besides, now that I'm a mom, impulsivity is limited to pulling a u-turn to go to the park on the other side of town instead of the one you always go to. Unfortunately, when it comes to decisions about my hair, all reason leaves my body and mind, and I hop the train to crazytown.

I've been growing my hair out for years now, determined to make it past shoulder length. I must say, I made it pretty far.

Nice, huh? Well, the humidity hit hard in Maryland and I wanted a cooler, summer 'do. Commence looking at umpteen googled pictures of the likes of Carrie Mulligan, Sienna Miller, Kiera Knightly, and Ginnifer Goodwin. I easily imagined myself thinner, better dressed, and oh yeah, and famous. Surely I would have the paparazzi following me to the farmer's market that weekend!

Reality had truly slipped by the time I dialed the local salon and made an appointment for THAT DAY. Oh Hindsight, how I wish I could bring you back with me in my time machine to the past. Never, Jill, never make a hair appointment the same day you decide to cut more than 1 inch off your hair. Coincidentally, NPR published a story about impulsively getting one's haircut just days after mine. It was frighteningly spot-on and hilarious: read it here.

The stylist I saw has a very hit-and-miss reputation, as every one of my friends in Easton can attest to. I say "saw" rather than "see" because after this haircut experience she will never be seen by me again. I don't blame her completely, because, like I said, I knew she was a wild card and took the risk anyway. However, she used a razor to cut off all 10 inches of my hair from beginning to end, resulting in the same blunted, overly layered look I often gave my dog when I trimmed his fur myself. Not exactly what I was going for.

Without further ado, let me show you a few pictures. First, the pictures I showed the stylist:

Yes, that's Carrie Mulligan. Yes, I thought I could look like her. Yes, I'm crazy.

Finally, here's what I look like now:

I'm sure you're all saying to yourself, "Oh, she's overreacting. It's not that bad." You're right. It's not that bad. I can go out in public and not feel ashamed. But it's just not what I wanted. It's a brown helmet and I wanted a crown of glowing tendrils. However, it IS just hair and it WILL grow back.

One thing to know about me from the get-go is that I'm always thinking about what I can learn from bad experiences. I'm a chronic self-improver and I know I annoy my friends sometimes when I over-analyze. So reflecting on this experience, I'm torn about how I should have handled myself when I saw the finished product in the salon chair. I didn't lie and say I loved it, but I also didn't honestly share my disappointment with her. What do you do when you get a bad haircut? Swallow your loathing and move on, or ask for a manager? I felt equally to blame for my own rash decision, yet unless we give feedback, poor stylists will remain poor stylists. Also, has anyone out there EVER gotten a good haircut that actually looked like a picture you showed your stylist? I'm dying to know what others do in this situation.

I've been sewing and knitting up a storm lately, so there should be some show-and-tell later this week. Mostly, I've been addicted to Pinterest, which if you haven't experienced yet, prepare yourself for a world of delicious eye candy.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Here We Go Again

First blog post. huh.

I've been creating posts in my head all week. Hesitant to start off on the wrong foot. Should I start off writing about what's consumed my time lately: gardening, learning how to tweet, non-stop breastfeeding, sewing baby clothes, going back-and-forth about cloth diapers, reading my 251st self-help book? Bor-ing.

I've read blogs upon blogs for years, and I even had a blog for about 3 years. It was first called Fish Needs Bicycle, then Feckless Essentials (which makes no sense because I misread the definition of "feckless"...uh, who does that?). So I've learned several things from blogging the first go-round in addition to *doublecheckdefinitions*:

1. Don't write about your vagina. I paid a trip down college memory lane when I took part of the Vagina Monologues and decided to expound on the virtues of my lady parts. You know, I am woman, hear me roar. Of course, that backfired when the marketing director at the new job asked the name of my blog, which I freely gave, and he clickety-clacked to it right there in front of me and *gasp* landed on THE post in which I imagined what my vagina might say if it could talk. Needless to say, it was an awkward moment.

2. Remember that your parents and/or past boyfriends have access. There were times that I used my blog to heal from wounds. It's oh so tempting to get all "dear diary" on the Internets. Not wise. Save the juicy details of your first sexual encounter for the therapists office. Enough said.

3. Be real. No one likes a suck-up, wannabe, masquerading fool trying to create an "image" of herself that isn't quite...real. But what's real, real-ly? I'm choosing the pieces and parts (no, not those parts) to reveal and, in turn, creating somewhat of a persona. There were times I tried to make myself sound and look like a cooler person than I really was. I regret that. The best writing is that which is totally honest, warts and all. I'll be taking off my mask for you, folks. I hate wearing that damn thing in public anyway.

So there it is, my first blog post. Thank god that's out of the way. Now for the good stuff.