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 Though I tackle this experience like I do with many other interpersonal relationships: I’m very hesitant and withdrawn and Google-crazy at first, but then I fall in with open arms and an open heart.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: