The joy of hairstyles

I need a haircut. These days I’m pretty boring when it comes to tresses.

In the good old days, my hair had been auburn, black, platinum blonde, black with dark blue streaks, light blue and what one stylist called “tortoise shell” (various colors from my repeated attempts to not have black hair anymore)

The time I dyed it black was when my friend Nancy and I went as half of KISS for Halloween. I was Paul Stanley, she was Gene Simmons.

In eighth grade I was in a TV ad for Perfect Look hair salon. My friend Amy’s aunt worked there and they needed a teenager with a perm to be in the commercial. I did have a perm, which someone teased with a pick until it was thrice the volume and then permeated with half a can of hairspray. Also, I was wearing an acid-washed denim skirt.

After college, I was wandering around Urban Outfitters when two women approached me to ask if I’d be interested in having my hair cut at a convention that weekend. First, a woman at a local salon dyed it platinum blonde. Then I went to the Convention Center and a guy did my makeup, which looked like super-ugly Cleopatra. Next, I sat in a chair in front of about seventy people as someone gave a tutorial while snipping at my hair. I swear she made five or six cuts, total. Very efficient.

Also, in high school I cut off my best friend Taryn’s ponytail. We just wanted to see what would happen.


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