Chan­nel­ing my inner Troll doll/conehead, is more like it.

Well, I told you that I’d be inter­rupt­ing my sum­mer mono­logue in order to share with you all some cur­rent events. The title of this entry might be slightly ridicu­lous, but it’s all rel­a­tive. No, I wasn’t really chan­nel­ing Mar­i­lyn, because I’m like, the com­pletely oppo­site of that per­son­al­ity. I was just in the mood for some­thing different.

If you’re fol­low­ing me on insta­gram, you may have seen that photo, above, yes­ter­day. Yes, that’s me get­ting double-processed and going blonde. Blonde! A very itchy and scalp-tingly hour later, here I am. See that bump on my fore­head? That was due to a vicious mos­quito who attacked the Diplo­Man and me in our sleep the night before.

This whole ordeal started a cou­ple week­ends ago, when the Diplo­Man and I were at a bar hav­ing a drink, and some­how we got into the idea that I would cut my hair short(er) and dye it blonde. Though it’s not always best to take ideas that you come up with while drink­ing at a bar and make them mate­ri­al­ize, this one really stuck.

I’m fairly lib­eral with get­ting hair­cuts. My the­ory is: If it doesn’t look good, it’ll grow back into some­thing that looks fine. I’ll let just about any­one cut my hair– I mean, the Diplo­Man did it for about a year, for good­ness sake. But strangely, I am very picky about the salon and the styl­ists I choose to visit. This time was no excep­tion– I spent about three hours on Yelp look­ing through salons in the area, mak­ing sure to check each review and the pho­tos and their web­sites. Before I set­tled on the one salon I chose, I had the browser win­dow open to their home­page for about a week.

I attribute this mostly to my chronic inabil­i­ties to make deci­sions, but also because allow­ing some­one to cut your hair can be a pretty darn per­sonal expe­ri­ence, I think. Though I tackle this expe­ri­ence like I do with many other inter­per­sonal rela­tion­ships: I’m very hes­i­tant and with­drawn and Google-crazy at first, but then I fall in with open arms and an open heart.

In the end, it was great, it wasn’t a big deal like I thought it would be (it never is), and I would very much rec­om­mend the salon (all info, below). The styl­ist was good, she lis­tened to what I wanted but also went with her own instincts. I mean, I’ve had a huge les­bian with nose rings and a zil­lion tat­toos who didn’t let me tell her what to do cut my hair. This styl­ist was a petite chambray-shirt wear­ing brown haired elvish cutesy chick, and she spent 15 min­utes talk­ing to me about what I was look­ing to do. I was just fine.

After wak­ing up this morning

Girls, go out and chop off your hair, NOW. It’s the most lib­er­at­ing and enliven­ing expe­ri­ence ever. Guys, don’t give your girls grief for not hav­ing long, flow­ing, Bey­once hair. If you can’t have a smooth hair­less chest, we shouldn’t have to have bouncy blown-out hair all the time.

Where I changed my look:

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