The Weekend Begins on a Bad Note

I can NOT show up at my parents with my bangs this long...and the whole Shih-Tzu/Yorkie thing with the little barrette to keep them out of my eyes....well it's NOT a good look for me. Although I reserve the right to do so in the future when I'm a weird old bag lady, 'cause THEN it will look cool.

And my hair stylist is not answering the phone. So I have to haul myself over there on Thursday, the last chance before I leave for CT, to get him to just do it. (Something about me, in my unstylish t-shirt and shorts, dirty sneakers, un-styled, finger-combed (and not in a good way), no hair styling products hair, that makes them get me right in a chair and back the hell out before any of their chic clientele sees me.)

So I show up and auuughh! the salon is gone. Huge chain of very colorful expletives. Now what? This is worse than having your bra style discontinued -- that's just hours spent trying on every style bra in the store until you find one that tames them without looking like a Romanian torture device. A stylist --- sampling, that can be ugly.

But now I'm desperate. And if I trim them myself, it will look like I fell face first onto the paper shredder. Sideways.

So, off to the Hair Cuttery I go -- haven't been since I turned 40 and realized that maybe the reason I always looked like I had a $10 haircut was because I was only paying $10 for a haircut.

But this has to be done -- and it's just a bang trim, I mean, make what I've got just a little bit shorter. But the little Asian ladies at my local hair cuttery always struggle with my German Hair -- I mean, you can tell it not to invade Poland, but next thing you know, sproing, there it goes, cowlicking through Austria, heading for Hungary...

Sure enough...I look like Moe.

I look like Moe.