So, part of the Month of Tari was my plan to do something crazy with my hair. (Well, as crazy as I can get away with while working a corporate job, anyway - which, let's face it, ain't all that crazy.) I got up at 4:30 this morning to make that dream a reality.
(Now, 4:30 a.m. isn't all that unusual for me. I'm a morning person, to a degree that is almost freakish. I believe it's the Scandinavian farmfolk ancestry at work.)
So, in the wee hours, I gave myself a foil and a dye job. I am currenty sporting a reddish color with some blondish-reddish streaks. See:
((I recognize after uploading this snap that you can't actually really *see* the new dye job; but the picture is cute enough I'm leaving it up. Yes, I am just that enamored of myself.))
I've been cutting and coloring my own hair exclusively for many years now. I got very tired of spending craploads of money paying stylists to disregard my very clear, concise, specific instructions and give me the style they thought best suited my hair type and face shape. Or, in some cases, just to butcher it beyond recognition....like the time I asked for razored layers around my face and wound up with some weird kind of mullet (this resulted in my first pixie cut)....or the time I was recovering from a stint as a platinum blond and asked for something that would keep as much length as possible, but still clean up the dead and dying ends of overprocessed hair - and wound up with ragged non-sensical hair ranging from a half inch long to nine or ten inches, with no rhyme or reason, because apparently the stylist just cut the dead hair and left everything else untouched (this resulted in my second pixie cut).
Over the course of the years leading up to the second pixie cut, I'd cut my own hair a few times....mostly when struck by irresistible hair ennui in the middle of the night, or while getting ready for work. Sometimes I can't ignore the siren call of the scissors! And doing something different with my hair is a time-tested way I handle stress or life complications; it's easier than rearranging furniture, quieter than pounding on my guitar, and unlike gardening, doesn't depend on the weather. Plus, it's a great Zen experience, all about releasing attachment to the physical, recognizing the transitory nature of those sorts of superficial characteristics...because no matter how bad the botching of the hair, it will grow back (at least mine always has, anyway).
Since I just did the hair this morning, it's still spit-shiny and hard to tell if it turned out properly (I always think a dye job needs a few days to settle in)...but I like what I see so far, and I've had lots of commentary, AND not only did the dude who sold me my Vitamin Water flirt shamelessly, the dude who made my sandwich gave me free extra veggies. Either I'm dressed cuter than I think I am, the hair turned out, or I really AM just fucking fabulous. I mean, it's a fine line.
Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.