the long and short of it.

Let me start this post off by saying sorry that I'm about to be waaaaaay more self indulgent than usual.

Sorry.

Because this happened, minus actually getting rid of any of my clothes. But believe you me, a mass clothes purging will occur before I leave for Montana on August 1st. Yup. The date is set, giddythefuckup.

But we're not talking about big plans and 'eff yeahs!' right now.

We're talking about how ridiculous cutting off all of your hair to make yourself feel better actually is.

Let's take a few steps down memory lane. Hy hair's memory lane

Just playing a little table golf and throwing back some shots whilst having and AWESOME pony tail day.



No idea when this was taken, but HOT DAMN. I must have been really bored at work. I'm actually kind of embarrassed that I even have a picture like this on my phone, but LOOK AT MY HAIR, how can I possibly NOT post this? It almost makes up for the fact that I'd obviously blown off makeup that day.



Debatng a center part. Documenting my outfit. Contemplating bangs. No big. Just a usual day.



In December, at a friends wedding. MY HAIR LOVED TO PARTY. RIP party hair.  



This is what happens when I make decisions wihle semi-manic.



I have to take emo angle pics for it to not look terrible.

And my pony tail now looks like a baby turd or something. It's teeny. And it's got to be a low pony because other wise shit falls apart. So. This will be the last time I complain about it, but just know, I don't count this as one of my wiser decisions.

vanity.

No one is on gchat and I still have an hour left at work and I'm about to do something drastic. (after work, of course)

 

With my hair.

 

So I mean, hair can really only be so drastic unless you're Britney Spears circa 2007, but still.  And by then did anyone really care anymore anyway? I know I didn't. Sorry Brit.

 

By drastic I mean I'm possibly going to get a very unflattering bob-type short cut. It's flattering on other people, but the chances it will be flattering on me are what I'm more concerned about. Which, I know I've been growing my hair out for two fucking years or whatever and it's a waste and it looks really goddamn good in a fishtail braid these days, like viral on pinterest good, but come on. my hair is not growing. Maybe it's not meant to be long. It certainly doesn't want to be any longer than it is now. I've tried. I'm sick to death of trying. I want a change. Pronto. 

 

So you now, a shaggy bob would be a change. I know I'm not really thin enough to pull off this kind of hair cut for the most flattering effects and I lament that fact, but I can only care so much when I've basically already made up my mind. Plus being thin is never really one of the drives for any choices that I make in life. Honestly. I can convince myself that it will be motivation to starve or eat healthier or something but that's not really the point. Since it's not really something I'm ultimately worried about.

 

The point is that I'm bored with my hair and I'm going to possibly do something drastic.

 

I'm at the point right this second where I hate literally everything that I have to wear on top of that. It's normally not an issue but today it's an issue. It's because I'm a spoiled brat, probably, but it's a little late to change at this point.

 

I'm sincerely tempted to go home and place all of my clothes in trash bags and drop them off at Goodwill. Except for my 'Hank Williams Jr Tour 1984' tee shirt that I bought at some hispter thrift store in Wicker Park on credit for waaaaaay too much money even though I couldn't afford it. Because it was an investment and it's a conversation piece and I'm keeping that shit forever. I'll also probably keep several dresses, including a vintage Dolce and Gabbana that I found in a tiny boutique up near our old lake house that I've worn to every occasoin that requires thurough gussying up ever since. That shit was expensive too and it hugs my curves perfectly whether I'm ten up or ten down on the 'feel good about myself' scale. Consequently both garments are black, which coincides well with my new years resoluations for the year. I've also drank spectacular amounts of champagne in both items, which I take as another sign that they need to stay.

 

 

But everything else has to go. Even that turquiose fleece with the bright yellow zipper pull that's two sizes too large in men's, which I practically camp out in all winter. I love that thing. To death. But today, I would toss it into a trashbag with the rest.

 

I sincerely hope matt has the good sense to hide the trashbags before I get home. And actually hide them so I can't find them by just looking in a different cabinet or maybe even lock them in his car or something. because today I'm not fucking around. I want to purge my entire closet.

 

And I can't really afford to buy new clothes and the Dolce dress will only be acceptable so many days in a row and it's probably frowned upon to show up to work in old ratty tshirts or nothing at all.

 

Plus. i'm already going to look whacked out enough after I get through chopping my hair to hell.

decision 2011: to bang or not to bang?

I need a haircut.




I really need a haircut. I haven't even had so much as a trim since I quickly slid into Great Clips at the very beginning of February as the ICE STORM 2011 was looming in. It was a rush job. And also terrible.  


And Great Clips doesn't count because despite times being tough everything,  that shit was disastrous.


I've been contemplating this necessary cutting of hairs the way that I always do, which means fantasizing about hair colors and cuts that are obviously ALL wrong for me.


For instance, once time I brought to the salon with me a photo similar to this one:

What was I thinking? I'm clearly on Team Angelina.

And then I proceeded to tell the *student* stylist to make my hair that color.  Do they have stylists that create genuine art out of hair like this in the 'burbs of Indianapolis? No. They don't. They have two basic color options- one color hair and striped hair. And highlights are only ever "caramel." What the fuck color of hair is that?

No, my hair didn't resemble Jen's at the conclusion of my four-hour long appointment in which the young lady coloring my hair took not one, but THREE cigarette breaks during the course of the ordeal. Aye- yaye- yaye. I was undeniably BLONDE when I left. Platinum. It was New Years Eve. I looked like a fool. A pasty, washed-out fool in stilettos and a slutty dress in ten degree weather. My friends and I had a room at the Marriott downtown. Downtown INDIANAPOLIS. Lots of shit to get into here, trust me.

Psh.


Or, a couple of winters ago while living getting drunk for five months in Chicago, I actually box dyed my tresses in a fit of "I need a change GODDAMNIT and I NEED ONE NOW." The poor things.


Black.


I mean, it was technically dark brown, but my hair appeared strangely black to myself and anyone that knew me. Needless to say, it did not turn out true to the hue on the box.  I was going for this look:

WE LOOK NOTHING ALIKE.

Fail.




In high school I had hair that would have covered my boobs, had I actually had any at the time, and one day I went to the salon and convinced the woman cutting my hair that I'd totally love a shaggy bob that grazed my chin. It took some convincing, but I promised her that my mother wouldn't be mad and that I'd totally love it.


Um, I didn't. I really, really, didn't.  Plus my mom was pissed.

Not a good look for even this woman, let alone my 14 year-old self.

And let's not even get started on 'wispy' bangs, circa 1999. Middle school, Devin Sawa pics in the locker and curling iron-burned forehead.


UGH.


So now, I'm doing this thing where I fantasize about getting bangs. Because, you know, things are going pretty well with my hair right now. It's grown out. I haven't dyed it in a year and a half. I'm pretty happy with it.


SO LET'S SHAKE EVERYTHING UP?!?!?!??!!!!11111111111111zoomg.

Woah, easy.

Not like, shake it up toooooooo too much, but shit, if the hipsters can pull off bangs, why can't I?

I really really want to go for it. Forget about the fact that I compulsively shove my hair behind my ears so it won't fall into my face and also the fact that I can't run in a head band because those suckers always slide right out.

I'm actually considering this.

Because as soon as things start getting on the right track, I just have to go and screw it up. It's basically true of every aspect of my life. But before you judge, take a gander at this:

Bangs, GLORIOUS BANGS.

AND THIS:

Okay. I get it. I don't really look like this girl that much. BUT THIS IS ABOUT HER HAIR AND NOT HER CLEAV AND PERFECT COMPLEXION AND IMMACULATE FEATURES. The hair, that's doable, I'm AT LEAST 60 percent sure.

I've come to the conclusion that:


BANGS ARE GOOD AND ALSO I NEED THEM TO CONTINUE FUNCTIONING.


Pics to follow.


Maybe.

XO Sara

oh SNOW you didn't

Soooooooo, hey. Sorry about my absence the past week plus.

 

I've been having a rough time slash I've been drinking busy.

 

This weekend, after the ghastly GRE, my friends and part-time lovers, Mel and Adam and Dev came in for the weekend. More like crashed in in a haze of shots and beer. And when I say beer, I mean the Winter Beer Festival. If you've never attended a beer festival, you seriously need to get your shit and thirty five dollars or so together and GO.

 

I can't wait until you're all thanking me, and trust me, you will be.

 

Because you know what happens at these functions? FOUR HOURS OF UNLIMITED REFILLS AND TASTING OF HUNDREDS OF DIFFERENT BEERS. FO FREE.  PEOPLE STUMBLE AROUND FROM BOOTH TO BOOTH COLLECTING BEER GOODIES AND WEARING NECKLACES STRUNG WITH PRETZELS. BY THE END EVERYONE IS WASTED AND IT'S ONLY 7PM.

 

 

(I'm not shouting at you, I'm just still really, really excited about it.)

 

I've never actually had a moment where I was like, "Wow, these are my people" before then. Except Rothbury, and any time I'm hanging out with my girlfriends. But this was like an actual really big group of people that I would consider my people and it was AWESOME.

 

Best. Day. EVER.

 

Plus, Mel asked ME to be a bridesmaid in her wedding.

 

 

 

BAHAHAhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Hahahahahahahah!!!11111111oneoneoenoenonene

 

 

 

I hope there's a booze limo for the wedding party. Don't worry, Mel, I'm already practicing my "winning wedding smile" in the mirror for all the photo-ops at different levels of sobriety, since presently, the only 'look' I manage to capture in pictures is a mixture of deranged/bewildered.

 

 

So the weekend was an overwhelming success.

 

 

Then, Mother Nature, in her infinite wisdom, knocked us Midwesterners silly with a blizznasty/ice apocalypse this week and I've been without internet for the better part of seven days. The better part being the five days out of the last seven that I haven't been at work.

 

Which leads me to thinking, maybe I've got this whole winter-emo-I-want-to-hiberate-and-or-possibly-die-for-four-months-out-of-the-year thing completely wrong. How can any season that at random forces us to give mad respect to the weather for fear of DYING and makes lying in bed all day, drinking champagne and being essentially unproductive totally acceptable and virtually the only option be all bad? Because um, not only do the trees look AWESOME covered in a half an inch of ice, they look even COOLER when you're drunk when it's light out.

 

So Tuesday actual marked my Manfriend's quarter century birthday. That's right, 25 years young. Still looking spry and cheeky as a 24 year old, but with the wisdom of a person who's seen the other side. Ok, I actually made that up, but for realz, he's 25 now. Which, coincided perfectly with the ice storm, because we both got to stay home and celebrate all day. I think you know what I mean by celebrate, and a lot of celebrating was done.

 

And day drinking.

 

 

So all in all, I've been good, thanks for asking.

 

Until this morning.

 

 

I'm having a terrible hair day today. It's just one of those days where you KNOW your hair looks like shit and it makes you feel constantly self-conscious and even, dare I say, unsure of your every move.

 

Annoying.

 

Word of advice, if you don't want your hair to make you feel like shit, treat it to literally anything other than a trim at Great Clips, where all the cows "stylists" have less hair than your 48 year old ultra-conservative father. And definitely don't go right before the iciest ice storm in twenty years. Because the bitch will decide that she'll layer on a bunch of excuses and just dry-cut your already horrendously damaged locks, since you happen to have very thick hair that she doesn't really feel like blow-drying. And then she'll charge you the full twelve dollars and look at you like a goddamn thief when you tip her only three dollars.

 

IT'S A TWELVE DOLLAR HAIR CUT, LADY. YOU EARNED MAYBE FIVE OF IT.

 

Eugh.

 

 

Because those ticked-off hairs will revolt all over your work week.

 

And let's not be mistaken here, I have GREAT hair. It's thick and shiny and lovely and long.  In fact, in high school, I may or may not have won top honor at a "best hair" superlative. It's that good. I'm not even bragging, because sometimes I honestly feel it's my best quality. Best. Quality. However, lately, due to some very hard water and cold weather,  it's having a rather hard time keeping up with me.

 

So it used to be that my bad hair days were few and far in between.

 

But lately, they've been more and more frequent. AND IT'S DRIVING ME UP THE WALL.

 

Which is why I went to get a trim in the first place, since I'm growing my hair out and didn't want an over-priced forty dollar cut-too-short trim at an actual salon. HORRIBLE, horrible idea on my part. That's what I get for attempting to be an actual adult and *save* money.

 

Fuck that.

 

Now I feel all ugly duckling.

 

 

However, and this is a public service announcement to my hair, you may be able to redeem yourselves, if, you behave this weekend while we're in the windy city.

 

That's right,

 

SWEET HOME CHICAGO.

 

Hope yours is just as blustery.

 

XO Sare.