Friday, March 20, 2009


So I decided I would die my hair platinum blonde tonight.

I didn't care that my hairdresser would go balistic, nor that my Grandmother wouldn't approve of the "unnatural" shade. I almost didn't care that I might be making a horrible mistake, which would need professional correction, because doing my hair was about self-liberation this time. Coming out of a catastrophy reborn, in new skin. New, imperfect, but self-made skin.

I didn't really think about it until today, but everytime my life undergoes a Natural Emotional Disaster, usually involving a BOY, I decide to cut my hair. I decide to cut my hair NOW.

Sometimes I will call my hairdresser, taking the more hesitant and logical approach:
"Yes, Anne..."
"I was wondering if you would be able to um... streak my hair."
"Okay sure, when do you want to see me?"
"Uh, do you have anything open today?"
"No, sorry Anne."
"Okay... um... how about tomorrow at 6?"
"Nope, can't then either sweety. I can only see you... Next week. Tuesday at noon?"
"Uh... I will check and call you back. Thanks."

After this first step, I will then proceed to the Pre-Impulsive Action step. (This is becoming more and more frequently the first step.) After the seeds of my "new look" obsession are planted, I use whatever way I can to find out the minimal and dire facts about how to attain The New Hair. Google Search, my friend Tara, Cosmopolitan...

Next step comes in 24-48 hours after the seeds have been planted. It is the Impulsive Action. (Cutting bangs, dying my hair...) In this case, it was the dying of my hair.

And it always turns out less than perfect, this time being no exception. I didn't know exactly who I was trying to look like or what I was trying to look like with this new color, I just knew I wanted it to be dramatic and new. Really, really blonde. For myself. Not because I think a certain guy would like me to look a certain way, or because I want a general population of admirers... just because I wanted to be different, a silent rebellion against everything people think they know about me.

And how did it turn out? Less than perfect, platinum blonde, but still smashing. And when I looked in the mirror, I thought I would like to be as sexy and unapologetic as Marilyn Monroe sometimes. And maybe now is a good time to channel that. A new look, a new outlook (even if it is just trying on someone else's shoes), and a way to move on. An attitude to try on that might lead me to find myself again.

Kill me for being corny, I don't blame you. I just feel like I am strong enough to move on from the Andrew situation. Like a new wind is picking up.


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