my hair is totally psyched, yo...

I got my hair cut a couple of weeks ago.

As always, my hairdresser/friend does a great job. I was also relieved to be rid of the shapeless mess my hair had become and turned into a style.

But here's the problem. Style and I have never been close. As much as I like style, as much as I covet style's affection, style continues to shun my advances. This, as all interactions between me and style, is what happened with the breakdown of my hair.

It just was simply ~not~ doing what it was meant to. I'm ~meant~ to have my bangs mostly sweeping off to the side while an adorable little faux-bob framed my face with a gentle curl. What happens is my bangs flop in one big lump while the longer sides frizz out and make it look like I"m a basset hound.

After a jolting workshop in scholarships and a more calming meeting with my prof, I ducked into the campus salon and waited for the girl to stop being busy. She looked up, 'hi.'

"Do you see what my hair is trying to do?", I pulled and fluffed my hair to show it's intention.

"uh huh"

"What do I need to make it do that?"

She asked a busy hairstylist who looked at me and said, "this stuff". Bed Head. Okay. Apply it at the end when my hair is dry. Alright, I'm game.

I bought it and did the rest of the stuff in my day.

It's morning now and I'm getting ready for my class. Showered, put in a little bit of stuff to give my hair some body and then waited for my hair to dry for the finishing touch.

I wrenched open the little blue sphere that contained this elixir of hair control (but not too much control) and what greeted me was a little message on the plastic throw-away cap.

"It's off the hook!"

Really? Wow. That makes me feel so much better. Because I was just standing here in my bathrobe with this strange new container in my hands nervous that what I actually was holding was a symbol of the corporate fuddy-duddies that don't speak to ~me~ as a hip, young(ish) person. I was nervous I was going to end up with my mother's hair...or worse, my grandmother's! I was nervous that you didn't ~get~ me and that this misunderstanding between us would make a mockery of me for the rest of the day. But, then, I saw your little message to me and the use of my slang told me that, you know, we're friends. In a different situation, me and this little plastic sphere would be going out, drinking, having fun. Shopping, maybe. Sure...it understands what would look good on me. Whew. I'm glad we cleared that up.

Hair stuff works fine, by the way...but I threw the note in the trash.