OH, NO!

I have T-29 minutes until I'm sitting in a seat at Contesta Rock Hair, having my hurr cut.

I've been growing this hair for the better part of a year now! It's traveled with me... been in some weddings... mourned the death of Estelle Getty...

I'm going to Contesta so they don't shave me like at the stupid HairCuttery at 16th and Alton, but...

awww.

My hair!

I like the way it moves now when I shake my head back and forth!

**********************

OH GOD. WHAT DID THEY DO TO MY HAIR!?

OH GOD, OH, GOD!

No, seriously, I hate it.

*********************

But seriously, seriously. I hate it. My hair kind of looks like... um... hmmm...

I don't know. It's odd. This morning, my hair sort of curled up in the back, flipping up over my collar, and went into what was a decent ponytail (not that I'd ever wear it in one, but whatever...) and really, that's my main complaint. I LIKED the back that long. It looked GOOD. He cut the back too short so it's ...

I just have a fucking douchebag haircut. That's what I have. It's douchey and it it makes my face look fat.

Or maybe it's my fat face that makes my face look fat. Whatever. Now is no time for semantics.

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Now I'm going to have to wait ANOTHER two months (maybe more?) before it looks right again... hell by that time, I'll be back to, "Number two on the sides, leave it longer on top so I can mess it up."

Ugh.

And don't even get my STARTED on what he did to my sideburns.

They're mangled.

Shame.