Coloring My Own Hair

"She was what we used to call a suicide blonde --

dyed by her own hand."

-- Saul Bellow

A pretty funky chicken 12-17-14

"All the products I need for my hair

are at the drugstore!"

-- Laura Osnes

"Now I just have mood hair."

-- Julia Roberts

My hair is brown.

Regular, plain old brown. Nothing special.

And I'm OK with that. I like my brown hair. Brown is a perfectly fine color for hair.

But every now and then, when too many rogue, wiry grays start poking through the landscape, I like to color my hair. I don't choose anything exotic. No "raspberry creme" or "ebony mocha" or "Navajo bronze." Just regular, plain old brown.

I prefer my collar and cuffs to match, thankyouverymuch.

I've paid big money for a professional to talk me into and then dye my hair a shade I don't really like. They convince me it's "on trend" or "edgy." It's almost always unnatural looking -- too black, too red, too weird. Still, I fork over the cash, then spend the rest of the day trying to convince myself that it looks OK.

I tried highlights. Once.

After it was over I feigned excitement in front of my stylist, but it was a ruse. I hated it. But I wanted a second opinion.

So immediately upon leaving the salon I drove straight to my husband's office for his take on my new streaky look.

Me: "What do you think?"

Him: (long pause) "It makes you look (searching for the right word) ... older."

Me: (inner monologue) "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkk!"

I tore out of his office, sped straight to the drug store and bought a $9 box of regular, plain old brown to cover up the $100 damage.

"They" say the most flattering hair color is the one you had, naturally, when you were in kindergarten or thereabouts. For me, regular, plain old brown is what looks good. 

It's not the most exciting color in the spectrum, but it works for me.

  

Hair Grows Back

"Your haircut is offensive to lesbians!"

-- Tracy Morgan, 30 Rock

Self portrait 8-2-14

"Hey, I am not my hair,
I am not this skin
I am not your expectation, no.
I am not my hair,
I am not this skin
I am a soul that lives within."

-- India Arie, "I Am Not My Hair"

Self portrait 8-2-14

It's no secret that I enjoy a good, short haircut.

And I trust my hair stylist completely.

Usually.

But yesterday she got uncomfortably close to the scalp.

I showed her a picture of the cut I wanted.

It was a photo of a very feminine cropped hairstyle, shot head-on, from the front. Since that was the only view, the sides and the back were not visible, which left them up to my stylist's interpretation.

She got the front right.

I'm trying to look on the bright side.

Otherwise, it's a little military. I look like a new recruit.

Or a skinhead.

Or ... well ... let Leo tell you. These are the words he chose in his cautious, fumbling attempt to delicately render his opinion:

Him: "It looks like a ... um ... what are those one ladies called?"

Me: "Lesbians?"

Him: "Yeah."

It's a good thing hair grows back.

Sure, I dig androgyny and blurring gender lines. I like to have fun mixing up the masculine and feminine elements of my appearance. But this haircut skews a tad too, shall we say Sapphic, for even me.

I could just take the plunge and shave what's left into a Mohawk the way Leo and the rest of his teammates have done for their 3-a-day summer football practices. It could potentially make me the coolest mom in the history of the team -- an ultimate show of support and solidarity and team spirit -- like when lovers shave their heads during their partners' chemotherapy.

Or not.

Shaving my whole head is on my bucket list. But I kind of want to do it when I want to do it, you know, when the moment is right and on my own terms.

Probably I'll just end up wearing my Indians ball cap a lot more often. It'll be baseball season for a few more months. I will support the Tribe and camouflage my skinned head all at the same time.

Meanwhile, I'm taking this opportunity to wear more eye makeup and lip gloss, to kind of try and tip the scales back towards some kind of he/she balance.

That being said, I'm going to go ahead and give my stylist the benefit of the doubt and not get over-excited about this one-time random fuck up.

At not-yet-even 40 years old, she became a grandmother 5 days ago. I suspect that maybe she got a little distracted telling me all about her beautiful new granddaughter.

During my haircut.

Oh, man.

Hair Goop

"My sister looks cute in her braces and boots

A handful of grease in her hair."

-- Elton John, Bernie Taupin

 "Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting"

Self portrait 6-11-14

Will:

"I just want you to know, you can lean on me right now."

Sue:

"Oh, William, I wouldn't dare lean on you --

so much grease in your hair I'd probably slide right off."

-- Glee, "The Funeral"

Grease, mud, putty, wax, gel, pomade, "product."

Call it what you want. 

It's all goop to me.

And it's all good.

A Good Buzz

"I think they should have a Barbie with a buzz cut."

-- Ellen DeGeneres

Barbie with a buzz cut 6-8-14

"I remember when your head caught flame

It kissed your scalp and caressed your brain

Well you laughed, baby it's okay

It's buzz cut season anyway."

-- Lorde, "Buzz Cut Season," Pure Heroine

I've been cutting my boys' hair at home ever since Sam was a tiny tot.

After bribing him with Dum-Dums and dragging him kicking and screaming to the barber shop and dropping $15 every few weeks, I started paying attention to what the barber was doing. It looked simple enough. So the next time baby Sam needed a haircut, I went out and bought myself a $25 electric clipper, propped him in his highchair and tried it myself.

Sure there were a few scalpings along the way and I've nipped ears more than once. Luckily, tiny tots don't really care about their hair (but they will squeal if you clip their ears), so I had lots of time to practice before he noticed. By the time Sam was old enough to give a damn about how he looked, I'd pretty much nailed the basics and added Leo and my husband to my client list as well.

Now, I cut everybody's hair except my own. I cut Leo's yesterday outside on the patio listening to the ball game and enjoying a cool late afternoon summer breeze.

I've offered to send them to the barber shop or salon, but they all say they prefer how I cut their hair. The like the convenience. They like the price tag. There's no appointment necessary. I only need about 60 seconds notice and I can have them in the chair and the cape, ready to go. 

All three of them have their own particular style, so I have expanded my repertoire. In the summers, Leo wisely comes to me for his football Mohawk while the rest of the guys on the team imprecisely buzz each other's heads.

My $25 clipper has paid for itself hundreds of times over. It's how I earn my keep around here.

I can't do much, but I can do that.

So if you're looking to get a good buzz, I'm definitely your girl.

Sun On My Skin & Wind In My Hair

"For what is it to die but to stand naked

in the wind and to melt into the sun?"

-- Khalil Gibran

Barbie 3-11-14

"If you wish to know the divine, 

feel the wind on your face and the warm sun on your hand."

-- Buddha

March's lion momentarily yielded to her lamb-ish side yesterday and it was glorious.

The joggers were wearing shorts. A couple of motorcycles were out. I heard the sounds of children shouting and laughing outside for the first time in months. Large, open patches of grass and Earth bloomed and spread like dirty green stains between islands of receding snow, releasing a sweet Spring aroma of possibility. 

On my way to get the trash cans from the curb, I lingered in the driveway and let the stout but sun-warmed wind work away at my inner cobwebs as I watched flocks of birds dip and soar along the thermals and updrafts. 

I inhaled. I exhaled. I uncoiled and expanded.

The lion is prowling again this morning. I knew she would be. She's never been one to go without a fight. But her knees are buckling.  

A Good Haircut

"I suppose at heart it was the haircut that did it;

that exploded the ordinary order of things 

and showed me the possibilities that had been there all along ..."

-- Michael Cunningham, A Home at the End of the World

Self portrait 1-11-14

"You won't miss any of what's on the floor."

-- Heather Hoelzer