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When Hairy Met Sadie
So I got my haircut over the weekend. Big fucking deal. I've been growing it out since I got the Nicole Richie summer after sophomore year. Needless to say, my hair was looong. And I was getting worried that if I didn't act fast I'd have a Blake Lively problem on my hands. That girl just has too much hair. It's not sexy. It's not a hot mess. It's just a mess. I hate it. And yes, I might be a little biased. Serena Van der Woodsen might be my least favorite character on TV. Every time she cries, I'm pretty sure a manatee dies, but still--I think it's general knowledge that her mane needs to be tamed. It's just too much for me and every time I looked at my hair I couldn't help but worry if it was getting "too Serena". I hate when people have too much hair. How could I mock them if I was one of them? And mocking hair is sort of a hobby of mine. Once there was this girl with some of the worst bangs I'd ever seen (cut straight across her left eye). We stopped using her name in conversation and would just make the bang eyepatch with our hand. This went on for about a year. Even my dog got into it.
My point is that hair is important. It can make your or break you in the gossip world. Obviously, hacking all of mine off scared the shit out of me but I really wanted to donate it to Locks of Love. I went to this Ukranian salon in the Village and the woman cut off my ponytail and asked if I wanted to donate it. I enthusiastically said yes and she set it down. Then after she was done she handed me the ponytail and I was like "Uhh...don't you keep this?" She told me that they personally didn't donate hair and I'd have to find a location that did. Not wanted to sound like a lazy, uncaring bitch I took what was once my beloved, if not worrisome, hair in my hand. While paying and awkwardly holding the ponytail I asked for a bag. They didn't have any but they did have an envelope. So there I was: walking down first avenue with an envelope full of wet hair. It was gross. Plus, I had no idea where to donate it so I looked it up online. Turns out, my hair was about an inch too short so now I just had this soggy envelope full of hair. And of course my first reaction was that this ponytail was too weird to waste and that I should send it to someone (boyfriend of BFF, didn't really matter). But I couldn't just send them a plain ol' thing of hair. That's not nearly creepy enough. I had to do it, Cajun style.
Of course I didn't actually go through with it. That's a little to creepy, even for me. At least, even for me to do without being able to be there, witness the reaction, act innocent, until they figure out it was me (which would probably be the second they opened it. People always know. I can never figure out how). So now I just have a soggy envelope full of hair with a threat written in lipstick in my trash. That might be just as weird, if not weirder, than if I had sent it at all. In a way, mission accomplished.
My point is that hair is important. It can make your or break you in the gossip world. Obviously, hacking all of mine off scared the shit out of me but I really wanted to donate it to Locks of Love. I went to this Ukranian salon in the Village and the woman cut off my ponytail and asked if I wanted to donate it. I enthusiastically said yes and she set it down. Then after she was done she handed me the ponytail and I was like "Uhh...don't you keep this?" She told me that they personally didn't donate hair and I'd have to find a location that did. Not wanted to sound like a lazy, uncaring bitch I took what was once my beloved, if not worrisome, hair in my hand. While paying and awkwardly holding the ponytail I asked for a bag. They didn't have any but they did have an envelope. So there I was: walking down first avenue with an envelope full of wet hair. It was gross. Plus, I had no idea where to donate it so I looked it up online. Turns out, my hair was about an inch too short so now I just had this soggy envelope full of hair. And of course my first reaction was that this ponytail was too weird to waste and that I should send it to someone (boyfriend of BFF, didn't really matter). But I couldn't just send them a plain ol' thing of hair. That's not nearly creepy enough. I had to do it, Cajun style.
Of course I didn't actually go through with it. That's a little to creepy, even for me. At least, even for me to do without being able to be there, witness the reaction, act innocent, until they figure out it was me (which would probably be the second they opened it. People always know. I can never figure out how). So now I just have a soggy envelope full of hair with a threat written in lipstick in my trash. That might be just as weird, if not weirder, than if I had sent it at all. In a way, mission accomplished.