you know what can really wreck a lot of things? a bad haircut.

i hadn't had a haircut since november, and my hair was ridiculous. i had decided that thursday was the day to finally get rid of my split ends and basically just clean up my hair.

i should have known that things wouldn't go so well when i got downtown. i was ten minutes early, specifically to find parking. after circling the block nine or ten times, i finally found a spot three blocks away. i ran to the salon because i was late... and because this crazy guy who was yelling things at me was walking right behind me.

i sit down in the chair and explain exactly what i want to the hairdresser (who looked a lot like anna from "the o.c." except at the age of forty). "i like the length, so take it up about an inch to clean up the ends. i'd like layers, but long layers, please. and just trim up the bangs. i don't want them too short." (that is word-for-word what i said.)

she washes my hair and proceeds to cut it. unfortunately, she has my head pointing down or my back to the mirror for the majority of the time, so i couldn't see what she was doing.

when she finally turns me back around, i was uneasy. too short, i thought, but decided to wait and see how it looked styled, which i'd already scheduled into my hair appointment (for an extra $7).

"do you want it curled or straightened?" she asked. i told her that i didn't care... i just had to see the result. i was becoming more worried with every passing second and had a distinct feeling that this wouldn't end well.

she spent five minutes arguing with me about whether or not she should curl it or straighten it. i didn't give a fuck, i just needed to see my fucking hair. she finally heaved a big sigh and grabbed the curling iron. once the first curl was in, i knew it was a huge mistake. ringlets? do i look like an eight year old girl tap dancing on the good ship lollipop? fuck. i felt the anger rush color to my cheeks. thank god she turned me around again.

when i finally faced the mirror again, i wanted to vomit at my reflection. what the fuck had she done? and what the fuck were these bangs? and what the FUCK was with these shirley fucking temple curls? whatever. i paid and left a skimpy tip.

i stormed down the street and got in the car, absolutely furious. "i paid an extra seven dollars for her to make me look like heidi?" i growled. i desperately fumbled around for a cigarette. i was so angry that i started to cry. i cried all the way down superior street. i fucking cried about my hair.

i tried to fix the bad style when i got home, and it was better, but not by much. she fucked me up. she fucked me up.

so i'm going to start taking folic acid like it's candy and hoping my hair grows back right quick. until then, please don't point and stare. i know i look ridiculous.