Call Dan Ishmael

What I am about to tell you is a true story. The photos have not been doctored nor have names been changed to protect the innocent. (The innocent being Dan and me.)

Six months ago, out bathtub drain was clogged. Very, very clogged. I probably shouldn't be admitting/displaying this in a public forum, but after hours of plunging and snaking and pouring napalm down our drain, this was our white whale:

The horror!

We've never been able to explain it and, as in those summer movies where a bunch of teenagers accidentally murder their peer and get rid of the body, we try not to talk about what happened that fateful day.

But neither of us will ever forget, particularly Dan, who loved the whole experience (and who will be so delighted that I finally put these pictures up...I had my reservations for obvious reasons).

I was going to make an Abu Ghraib joke about this photo but, having revisited those photos, I just can't do it.



The purpose of my bringing this up now, so far after the fact, is because as the drain has become increasingly slugglish lately, the situation more dire, there is a certain exigency surrounding the issue of a haircut. I cannot let this situation become another Hair Monster.

My hair is as long as it's been in a while. I've been keeping it this way mainly for one reason: People have told me to. In fact, when I've mentioned cutting it, all those to whom I am close (with the exception of Dan, who maintains a stubborn lack of opinion), have seemed almost disappointed by the idea, as if they personally don't want to return to the days of having to pretend I look okay with a shorter do. Matt actually told me that he would support me in the decision to cut my hair short, as if he's getting my back as I ready to tell my family about my new career as an adult film star.

But I can't take it anymore. I can't take the clogged drain or the nests that have become of my hairbrushes. More than anything, I can't take the shedding. After blowdrying, my bathroom floor looks as though someone's been shucking red-silked corn in there. I feel like I am picking hair off of me all day and I loathe the feel of a solitary strand sliding down my arm or stuck to my just-moisturized leg. Perhaps, most important, were I to kill someone, my DNA would be all over the crime scene.

I have long battled the issue of hair.

As a kid, I had such meltdowns when it came time to have my hair brushed that my mom did this to me:





Yup, that's a toolset I got for Christmas. The tendency towards such toys coupled with the haircut contributed to my being called "Larry" by my sisters and their friends. The childhood scars from that, resulted in this:

My not cutting my hair again for a long, long time and sporting such a straggly do that I looked more like the frontman of an 80's hairband than a fourth grader. (When I tell my children stories of the time that the priest had to come to the house to exorcise the demons out of me, I will pull out this picture as proof.)



Since then, it's been a series of growing out and cutting back but in recent history the longest it's been is just about to my shoulders. But now it's well past that and stretching like the locks of a witch down my back. It has to end now. I may even pull a Britney and have someone just shave it all off. I've always wanted to do this but just haven't had the sack required for such a bold move. I've offered to do it as a show of solidarity if my mom were to lose her hair with the chemo, but she is adamantly opposed. Apparently she takes a mother's pride in her girls' hair. I can't very well get rebellious on her now, can I?

So, I'm trying to decide what the next look will be and how short I should go. Understanding quite fully that no matter the haircut (or the plastic surgery) I will never look like the women in these photographs, I submit the following for your opinion. (I also understand that while my hairdresser Lynn, whom I adore and schlep to RI to see, may be able to recreate such a look, I will under no circumstances be able to do it myself at home.) Still, I'd like your two cents. Here's what I'm looking at so far:



The Hermione (But can I really get myself to bring in a picture of one of the Harry Potter kids? Plus, I'm much more of a Weasley.)



Scary Model



The bitchy girl from MTV (Leaning...)



And because I'm stuck in the 90's and this is still one of my favorite shows:



Joey Potter #1

Joey Potter #2

And her rival for Dawson's affection:

Jen Lindley #1



Jen Lindley #2 (I know I can't really pull this off without looking like the Disney version of Peter Pan or Julia Roberts right before she dies in Steel Magnolias---the only case in which a person can appropriately compare herself to the gorgeous mega-star---but if I ever get diabetes and risk my life to have a child, I'm going for it.)



Axl



I want to try something new with my hair, just as I want to try something new with this blog. If all goes well, there should be a little poll at the top left of the screen where you can vote on which hairstyle you think I should go for. You can choose more than one selection if you really need to and since my appointment is scheduled for August 19th, we'll close the polls at midnight the night before. (Also, if you're one of those people who can figure out cookies or any of that other computer crappola, you can probably vote more than once.) I can't guarantee that I'll go with the winner but I'll certainly think about it when I disregard your opinion.

So, let's give this a shot. Who knows, this could be a new trick I'll employ when faced with terrible indecision. Other such polls could include: Should Dan and I have kids? Am I too old for Zac Efron? And, of course, Where should I bury my neighbor's body?

So, get voting! Or comment here! Just don't tell me to keep my hair long for the sake of my femininity or I'll harpoon yo ass.