Hair

My hair is overgrown. It has not been cut in nearly two months, and it's starting to look like a mix between a shaggy bowl and just a mess of mousy hair. That is, when you can see it. I've been disguising it with bandannas-no I haven't joined a gang for those of you who have noticed my new fashion.

I am very particular about my hair. Which must come as a surprise because one would think that a chick who hides her hair with bandannas and scarves must really not care all that much about what her hair looks like. Anyway. No one in NYC knows how to cut my hair. I think I blogged about this before....whenever I go to get it cut, my heart literally starts to pound. I sit in the chair watching as they snip away at my hair, always telling them I like to keep the top long and then cringing when they cut the extra centimeter. As if they couldn't see my disapproval in the mirror. And don't even get me started with hair color. The last time I tried to go platinum my hair turned out baby chick yellow and some guy ended up stalking me on the L train while calling me a punk. Needless to say, my hair salon in NY have not been the greatest.

My hair color has finally reached its normal state of this mousy brown color, the one I have hated forever. It's the reason why I dye it bright blond or black-one extreme or the other please, the middle is no fun. So my first desire has been to bleach out my hair and go platinum again. It's almost summer, and it's just that time of the year. Ya know, you crank out your flip flops, get some new shades, start a tan, and go blond. The usual. But alas, no one knows how to dye hair white, platinum blond in this city. I envy the older women I see whose hair is turning white. If only the pigments in my hair could start to fade out now. Ho hummmm.

I have always said I would shave my head at least once in my life. (Don't hold your breath, it's not happening anytime soon.) I don't feel like going GI Jane. I know I could pull it off. Yeap. I said it. I am that confident in the shape of my head to sport no hair on it. Just kidding. But really. So I am not going GI Jane. And unless I can find a good stylist to dye my hair, this mousy color may be what I am working with.

I think instead I will get some dreads. White chick with short dreads. Hottness. I was throwing around the idea at the yoga studio the other day because someone commented on my hair, and my response was, "I've always wanted some dreads. I think I could rock it." And the woman who was conversing with me happened to be a beautiful black woman who knew a thing or two about dreads. She checked out my hair and told me I could totally pull it off, saying if it backfired, I could just take out the dreads anyway. Totally persuading. So here I am pondering the idea. Once a few weeks ago I had the same train of thought and tried to go without washing my hair for two days. I caved after the second day and thought that my dream of dreads was crushed. The woman told me though that I should pay to get them professionally done, that they'd be cleaner that way. Part of me was slightly disappointed. I always thought dreadlocks were magnificent because of being beautiful messes. Cliche, si. So professional dreadlocks seem too 2010 for me.

So it's scarves and bandannas for me til I cave and get a hair cut. Or until I start to look like Cousin It. Then it's serious.