Tuesday, April 15, 2008
I haven't cut my hair since San Diego Comic Con. I suck.
Being a female, I can get away with this perhaps a little easier than a man might. I can pretend that I'm just growing my hair out so I can have long, beautiful, "feminine" tresses. But really, I'm just lazy.
No, not so much lazy, as just I don't like to cut my hair. When I was a little kid, my mom had to bribe the barber to cut my hair, because every time he or she came near me with the shears, I ducked out of the way. This made for very stressed-out barbers.
As a grown-up, I no longer duck the shears, but it's just so borrrrring to sit in that chair. I also worry about receiving a mullet. I know they say you are not going to receive a mullet, but I've received mullets. I've also received pompadours. I'm thrice bitten, thrice shy.
A charming stylist offering me a bottle of Pellegrino can pretty much talk me into any crazy hair do. If it's one of the really fancy-schmancy places (like the one I'm booked for tomorrow), sometimes they offer some wine. I take the wine to relax, and ok the mullet. It's like going on an airplane for me. I get all stressed out. For the 30 minutes to three hours it can take to have my hair done (if I include color), I turn into this person:
But it's the New York Comic Con. I can't look all scraggly-haired. This isn't the grunge era, after all. Though that was a wonderful time. I could grow my hair down to my ass. I also didn't have to wash my jeans as often.
Anyway, if you are attending the New York Comic Con this weekend, be sure to drop by the MoCCA/Friends of Lulu table at #84o and check out my new haircut. I'm sure if it turns out to be another mullet, you will be laughing with me, and not at me.