(2008: whittier, ca. ok, so this is the new do; it's all my handiwork. why did i crop the top of my head? well, just imagine velma's bangs above, except totally mangled. the horror! oh, the horror!)
true story:
week before last, i went on a little sojourn up the coast. i didn't have any particular destination in mind; just packed a suit case, rented a convertible, and took off . . .
sunglasses on, i put the top down and made my way out of the wretched OC and up the golden state's gorgeous pacific coast highway (PCH). (for the record, i hate orange county. it's so sterile and cookie-cutter. i'm originally from "the valley"--the REAL valley, san fernando--where gritty meets kooky meets crazy. frank zappa sang about it and i . . . i miss it.)
about twenty minutes into my trip, my long dark brown tresses whipping in the wind, i thought to myself, "gee, lana, really ought to put your hair up into a pony tail."
i didn't. doing so would've required that i get out of the impossibly interminable line of cars i was in, thereby losing my place and time and sanity by afterwards having to beat my way back in into an EVEN LONGER line of cars.
three words: fuck that shit.
so, i kept going.
when i got to santa barbara and stopped to refuel, rude stares from passersby prompted me to check my do . . . and yeah, ok, i was channeling amy winehouse's rat's nest beehive a bit, but my hair was still passable. after all, this is CALI-FUCKING-FOR-NAI-AY, people, and some of us are not always perfectly coiffed outside of hollywood circles and prefer to remain true to the state's more bohemian roots, a'ight?
a full tank of gas, some water, and a bag of teriyaki beef jerky later i was back on the road, hair still NOT in a pony tail. yeah, unbelievably, i forgot to put my hair up, AGAIN.
oh well, it was messy already. a pony wasn't going to fix it, i reasoned.
some five hours later, i arrived in napa valley. i was tempted to drive further to eureka, but i was too exhausted.
familiar with the area, i pulled into a small and charming hotel i'd stayed at before. i hadn't thought about my hair since i'd left santa barbara . . . that is, not until the valet and the bell hop and the people in the lobby and the woman running the front desk all gave me the same sorts of indelicate glances i'd received earlier in the day.
couldn't be that bad. could it?
where is a fucking mirror or shiny surface when you really need one, huh?!?!
when i got into my room i finally saw the problem.
fuck amy winehouse's beehive; i was bride of frankenstein.
HOLY FUCKING FUZZY FRIZZBALL, BATMAN!
hair that at the beginning of my little trek shone softly and silkily half-way down my back was now gnarled up into a tightly matted afro. i ran to my suitcase and dug out my comb, but upon seeing the massive clump on my head, it just laughed.
ok, fine, i'll just hop into the shower and wet it down and drop a bottle of conditioner on it and everything will be back to normal.
as i unfurled my towel, i realized the horror . . . the conditioner hadn't worked.
FUUUUUUUUUUCK.
equanimity, equanimity, equanimity . . .
i got my brush and slowly tried to unravel the wad, but all to no avail. i had become the proud owner of dread locks.
there was nothing to do, except to cut it all off.
i put my hair back into a turban and called housekeeping, who brought me a pair of shears that looked incapable of cutting a fart, much less my thick mane.
but, i had no choice.
snip, snip, snip . . . away it all went.
the tangles were so bad that i couldn't even salvage any of it to donate to locks of love.
when i took a good look at my work, finally, i wanted to cry. my already round face was made even more rotund by the new page-boy haircut.
then, i thought, i know: BANGS! if i add some bangs it won't look so bad . . .
except that i pulled my WET, CURLY hair tightly over my forehead and cut where i thought i wanted the bangs without thinking about the fact that the bangs would SHRINK when they would dry.
so, now, not only did i have the world's shittiest haircut, but was also stuck with bangs that looked more like a mass of pubes.
pangs. that's what i have. pangs. pube-bangs.
i was doing ok with them last week, but i just got out of the shower and . . .
fuck it. it's done with.
no more whinging.
it'll all grow out, right?
riiiiiiiiiiiiight?
5 comments:
I cut my hair too!!!
Um, but not in an insane way. You ok over there Britney?
yay!!! how short did you cut it?
do you have pangs too? seriously, if it weren't for my eyes and nose, my face would look like a vagina.
anyhow, yeah, i'm ok.
i lost my cell, though. can't find it anywhere. email me. i wanna take you out to "dinner" . . . rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
give my love to mac. that is, IF he's stopped crying yet, what with UNC's loss . . .
No, I don't have pangs. It's prolly longer than yours with choppy layers. Perhaps you ought to learn about patience and how one can benefit from that plus the application of lots of conditioner while combing the hair.
Don't be mean to hem.
patience, what's that?
well?
COME ON NOW, HURRY UP AND ANSWER ME!!!
ps: how daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhre you? when am i ever mean to anyone other than old people, children, and individuals with disabilities?
i'm practically a saint.
I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no legs...
What I would give to be able to grow some pangs. My poor coconut has had the same, nonexistent quantity of hair since you were in junior high!
Meanwhile, I live in constant fear of the day freshly shaved coconut goes out of style.
There are several truck drivers wondering why I'm laughing like someone watching a slasher movie in a bad neighborhood...complete with commentary from the theatergoers.
Funny, funny stuff.
Do give us a shout out,
Gil
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