17.5ish?

The time once again arrived.
I once again chopped my hair in order to donate.

Yesterday was spent walking around with long braids, imitating Wednesday Addams, today was spent crying my eyes out because the hairstylist got too fucking clipper-happy.
Yeah... clipper happy.

"This is for the greater good. This is for the greater good" was all I could repeat as I felt the clippers attack the back of my head.

I may not have the best hair... or thickest... or prettiest... but I will give every last bit of it if it means it will keep any other person from feeling ugly, or inadequate, or weird.
No one should ever feel like that... at least not in my world.

So... my hair is very, VERY short (didn't intend for it to be that way. The braids started below my chin, but like I said, the stylist went fucking crazy on my head)... the shortest I have ever had. I cried all afternoon after I got home because it's so strange looking for me. I don't know what to do with the look. Latinas don't... really have short hair like this.
I call the look my "Ruby Rose" hair... because it's THAT FUCKING SHORT.

However, I'd do it again... like I've done the three other times... if it means there will be one less person out there feeling like... anything less than great.

I'll give you every last strand of the hair on my head... let them ridicule me... all so you don't cry. Please. Don't. Cry.

inches

(hair)CUUUUT!

Ohhhhh yeahhhhh.
My plan totally worked.
I woke up in such a happy mood, I went ahead and got a haircut.
I was so calm and relaxed, I was willing to deal with whatever cut, whatever stylist planned on giving me.

Upon arriving at the salon, I was stunned the moment I looked over at the guy tending the cash register.
Boy had a... not really a mohawk, or a faux-hawk... something more along the middle... his ears were gaged, both arms were covered in tattoos--sleeves-- tattoos were also on both sides of his neck... and he had piercing green eyes.
Holy fucking shit... I'm gonna piss my pants...
He looked over at me and called me by my name... correctly.
Dude: You're the one who checked in on-line, correct, AnoMALIE?
I smiled as I nodded, since I was completely unable to make any sort of noise.

Five minutes later, he was leading me to his chair.
Dude: So, what did you have in mind?
Me: Whatever. I give you free reign over this mess. Do whatever you deem best.
And he got to work.
I just stared at his tattoos... and his eyes each time he asked me a question.
I immediately noticed one tattoo in particular, a tattoo that ALWAYS gets me to double take a dude, as much as I HATE to admit it. I'm talking about this tattoo:

NEVER fails to get me. Never.

Mmmm... bless your madre and padre. They did an awesome job....

Once he was done, I waited to see the outcome of the cut, because I quickly picked up my hair and went for my mandatory cardio day of the week.
After showering, came the styling... and I finally saw the job done by my green-eyed Mexican hairstylist.

I look like an emo boy... but quite frankly, dude could have shaved my head bald and I would have loved it.
Mmm... being smitten is fun.

The remainder of my day was quite lovely... so I don't have much ranting to do or any of that usual shit.
I even have another photo of my godson that is... stunning as fuck:

Esta cabron mi ahijadito, no?
Goddamn, some good breeding up in there.
And to think... I baby sat this BEAST at some point... AND we share genes... the same ones responsible for THAT body. Shiiiit. Thanks, Mom!

GI Jane Status

Wow. The fucking backlash from people after seeing I cut my hair.

I didn't even post an "after" of myself... and I'm not going to either (don't get it twisted, this doesn't mean I don't like my haircut. Mooney did a terrific job on it and I'm ecstatic with it... especially since it makes running out to the gym so quick and effortless! THANK YOU, MOONEY! You rock!). If you want to see what my hair looks like now, then find me. Boom.
Anyway, it's always the same song and dance with those people. They freak out the moment they hear I cut my hair. Granted, I DO look like Pocahontas sometimes, losing a beloved Disney character is always tough... but still, they know that the moment they see me walking around with my hair almost down to my bellybutton, I have a special intention for it.

"Before" photo.
That's me, imitating Pocahontas as she watched John Smith sail away.
"BUT I TAUGHT YOU TO FIIISH!"

They may do it as... a joke, or whatever, but it makes me sad, because it's people like them that make such a trivial thing like having long hair, into a big deal. The poor kids going through chemo, or the ones suffering from alopecia, feel subhuman with a bald head because of frivolous comments from people like the ones complaining.
:(
Thinking of that keeps ME from freaking out over haircuts (though I did scream when Mooney cut my braids... I mean... it's a little jarring... and I was in the privacy of my bathroom. I would NEVER do that in public, scream that is).
It's OK, little kids... it's ok, it's ok, it's ok!

Now, I love my friends and everything, and everyone is made different and blah blah blah, but it does irritate me to an extent, even if I do joke with them about the hair.
The outraged girls irritated me, but there was also an outraged guy this time around.
He commented on the photo I posted of my chopped hair.

16 inches...
that could have easily been 18, but I needed to give Mooney some leeway for when she'd fix my haircut. 

But when I was going to respond to him, he deleted the comment... so I went to his page and asked him what the fuck was wrong with him.
Him: Are you GI Jane status?
Me: No... I'm Natalie Portman V for Vendetta status!
Me: Jk. It's up to my chin.
Him: I was shocked.
Him: Dyke.

?!?
It's just not my fucking week with dudes.

A guy THAT concerned with a girl's hair-length needs to check himself.
However, I'm glad it takes something as SIMPLE as a haircut to reveal someone who is not worth a motherfucking second of my time.

It's hair, goddamn it! Hair, HAIR, HAIR!
CHILL THE FUCK OUT.

18 inches

Inner turmoil is always a great excuse to go drastic and chop off all the hair on my head.
OK, not all of the hair... I'm not down with the pixie cut (may look adorable on Michelle Williams, but on me, it'd just look butch), but A-lines are dope.

I can't say I only cut my hair when upset, in all honesty, I do it to donate.
In elementary school, my sister had a little friend going through chemo, and she was too poor to afford a wig. She'd wear a pink beanie at all times. One day, when my sister's class had a substitute teacher, he wasn't aware of this, and when it came to saying the pledge in the morning, the little girl didn't remove her cap. The teacher was furious, and removed the hat from her head himself.
The poor little girl sat crying with her little head bowed, the teacher was left speechless, the boys in the room started yelling obscenities at the teacher, and the girls consoled the crying girl while giving the sub "You're such a monster!" looks.
Her story made me want to just... rip off all my hair and give it to her.
Then, once in college, I watched the most heart-wrenching documentary on four little kids with cancer "A Lion in the House" and it messed me up real nice. I doubt I've ever cried so much.

Every time I feel a little reluctance to cut my hair, I just think of those poor kids and I don't look back.
Me, look stupid? Oh well!

So, while this is always a good reason for me to cut off my hair, the fact that I'm currently having a crisis helps. There's something renewing about cutting off eighteen inches and looking drastically different.

Pippi Longstockings who?

Right now, my braid is only 16 inches, but I'm giving it until around... April 5th to get longer. After that day, Good Bye, Pocahontas!

Hopefully that makes me feel better.
I know my mani sure didn't help in the happy department.

Since the middle finger is unacceptable at the moment

I did that polish in honor of the Tar Heels. I want them to kill in the tourney, now that UNLV, Princeton, and Notre Dame are out of the running.

In similar news (of trying to cheer up), Mom told me yesterday that if UNLV rejects me, she's going to give me a Eurotrip round 2. It'll be my "I'm a $#%@ing LOSER!" tour.
Oddly enough, the news did NOT make me smile.
:(

Taming the mane

Mom: Wow... where are you going?
Me: No where...
Mom: ... then why'd you do your hair?
Me: Because I was bored...
Mom: Oh.

(ten minutes later, my sister walks in)

TravelinDin: Whoa, dude... where are we going?
Me: Umm... I don't know...
TravelinDin: Then why'd you do your hair?
Me: Because I was bored! Don't you ever get that urge?
TravelinDin: No... not at all.

(half an hour later, as we're getting ready to leave for a restaurant)

TravelinDin: You really going out like that?
Me: Yeah... I just have to pick my hair up.
TravelinDin: But I thought you did your hair like that because it was Mom's birthday...
Me: Who the hell said that?
TravelinDin: Mom.
Me: No.
TravelinDin: Oh... ok.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I never change up my hairstyle... I cause a ruckus in my home... and everyone starts thinking something is fucking wrong with me... (or that I'm doing it as a gift to my mom on her birthday... ?!?)

How sad...
(all I did was make my hair wavy and stick 4 bobby pins in it... the hoopla this brings on makes me not want to do this ever again)

Guilty Pleasure #45736

- I love the way my hair smells the day I get it cut.

I figure this may have a little to do with my recent addiction to getting my locks chopped off every other month.
I find myself running my fingers through my hair... shaking my head every thirty minutes... or just plain shoving the longer starnds under my nose, just to catch a wiff.

Next time I cut this bad boy, I'm askin Cousin/Hairdresser what type of alcohol/whatever the hell it is she uses... so I can put it in my shampoo.

P.S. I got bangs this time! Finally.

Burro Bites

So, something always goes wrong when I get a haircut. It's inevitable.
I've come to accept it... and I try to get over my disappointment ASAP.

What's wrong with it this time?

Well, this time I didn't fight with my cousin who's also my hairdresser.
I also didn't spill any secrets or force her to spill any of her own.

No... this time I went over to her house on a Sunday afternoon... right after the Liga Soccer match, but in the middle of "Republica Deportiva."

How is this bad?
Well... you see... I kind of like soccer.
Why do I like soccer? (rookie... and you say you know me...)
Cristiano Ronaldo.
Duh.

Well... as she was working on my hair, I heard "Manchester United."
I knew Manchester won their game yesterday 4-1, but I was still anxious to see the goals.
So what did I do?
I looked up at the television... just as she was working on the right side of my head.
What did this provoke?
This: Doesn't look so bad? Let's look a little closer:This is how it looked two weeks ago:Now, it's not so bad (it's just short... but I'm used to that length since it's been like that for two years on and off)... but when I look at the other side... it just doesn't look right.

It's sort of... straight. With no... umm... shall we say "Burro Bites?" It sort of looks like I went up to Mount Charleston and got attacked by a pack of hungry, wild burros that decided to only chew away at the right side of my hair.

I now look like Baby Suri (I'm not hating on the child... but she's a freaking child with the haircut! C'mon now!)... and I didn't even get to see Cristiano Ronaldo... just damn Wayne Rooney's Nordic-looking ass.

Yey... hooray.

Counting down the hours

Oh lala.
A little over 24 hours to go and guess what...
I ain't ready!
Shocker.
Right.

I did get a coolass haircut though... no bangs (those are coming once my hair gets longer... if I ever again let it get long)... but still pretty cool.
Pictures will probably follow... if I'm not too rushed tomorrow.

P.S. I've decided my next vehicle will be a truck... a huge... awesome truck. Why? Because I managed to make peace with my hairdresser/cousin thanks to her cool, new truck.

Mistake number I-don't-give-a-damn-anymore!

I'm the queen of mistakes.

Who had the bright idea of running a mile, in a lightning storm, while wearing strappy sandals? Me (I've only seen mud that bloody this one time Mom killed a pig in Mexico)!

Who had the bright idea of hiking an abandoned CATTLE trail? Me, of course! (You can't tell, but everyone in that picture pretty much looked like the girl in the orange shorts... although my little sister was laughing for a huge part of it because she'd almost pee her pants each time one of us slipped. I kept the expression on the girl in the orange shorts because it's priceless to me. Also, it's not visible from the angle, but a little to the left of the picture is a huge drop from the mountain to a river with jagged rocks... that was fun)

Who went on a camping trip to the Sierra Madre Occidental mountain range in Durango, Mexico (Ajua! I had to add that in there)... 2 hours on horseback... in a tank top and booty shorts? Me!! (NEVER again wearing booty shorts... I don't give a fuck how much money they pay me. The sun burn wasn't cool either)

Those are only a few bad examples (I say I was under the influence of Mexico, each of these scenarios took place there in the late 1990's-early 2000's), but today I managed to add another thing to my "Mistakes" list.

I didn't start cutting my hair short until 2003 (horrible breakup... went all crazy... cut my hair up in hopes of "putting everything in the past" yada yada yada). Somehow, it has become an addiction... especially recently after discovering the bob.
I had no problem with this addiction because my "hair-stylist" is also my childhood friend/second-cousin. She's always had a good eye when it comes to chopping off hair... so I trusted her with my head.
This cousin of mine, while I do love her and all that, tends to enjoy pushing my buttons (she's known how ever since we first met in 1987). She's kinda... sorta... rude, and she thinks it's the funniest thing since Carlos Mencia (eww... I hate that man) to be like that.
Well, today she pushed me a little too far, and she touched upon one of my "sensibilities" (that's what I get for making fun of BH yesterday on this damn blog. Stupid karma). It went down like this:

(Second-cousin's cutting my hair, little sister's sitting on the chair next to me, and no one else is in the building. It was something like 1:30 pm)
Little Sister: Hey, what did I get you for your birthday this year?
Me: Nothing... besides that cake you ate (she ate my favorite part--all of it-- then pulled the whole "Who bought this cake?!" deal and told me "I could eat as much of it as I want to!" when I bitched and said I wasn't going to touch the cake anymore. We have the coolest fights ever, don't we?)
Little Sister: Oh yeah... that was good. But hey... I can't get you a good, expensive present every year.
Me: ???
Who the hell ever complained? Is she about to brag?
Little Sister: Yeah... I can't go off buying you 300 dollar present every year, like this i-Pod from last year.
Yep... she sure did brag... douche.
Second-cousin: You bought her that?
Shit... why did I bring that fucking i-Pod?!
Little Sister: Yeah, then Older Brother got butt-hurt because I never got him anything for his birthday.
Second-cousin: has he ever gotten you anything?
LS: No. But I still felt guilty. So I got him a video i-Pod.
Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!
LS: Then AnoMALIE got ass-hurt because I got her a Nano... and hers can't hold as many songs as Older Brother's.
Me: I did? When?!
You little bitch... when the hell did that happen?!
LS: You were like "My i-Pod can't hold as many songs as Older Brother's! I hate it!"
Me: I did?! I never said that! That his i-Pod holds more songs than mine, it does... by a long shot! But I NEVER complained!
LS: No, you did... to my Mom!
Me: No! She told me you felt bad about getting Older Brother a more expensive i-Pod than you did me... and that you thought I'd get all offended. Why the hell would I complain over a gift?! The most I ever gave you was a ceramic picture holder I did back in 11th grade Ceramics Class! I can't afford anything!

(By this time I've feeling woozy in the chair from all the built up frustration with my bragging little sister)

Second-cousin: What AnoMALIE needs to do is get a job!
Oh. Hell. No. You did not just go there.

I sat still... and tried to calm myself down. Keyword: Tried.

Me: No. AnoMALIE doesn't need to get a job.
SC: Yes. She does.
Me: No. Not with my school schedule. I can get a job when I graduate.
SC: You should have gotten a job two years ago!

(My head is buzzing by now... but I think twice about getting up and slapping her because no matter how discombobulated I become, I still remember she's holding some sharp scissors)

Me: No. If that would have happened, I would have been taking two extra years to graduate.
SC: Damn! You're fucking... slow!
Me: No. Not with my major.
SC: What, look at me, I've had a job the entire time I've been in college and I'm still graduating in time.
You go to fucking community college!
Me: Yeah. But I'm a bio major... and...
SC: So... I needed to take the same amount of classes as you... and I could still hold a job.
You fucking, stupid bitch... I'm going to kill you.
Me: Dude... I came into college with 15 credits to my name!
Oh.. I guess bragging runs in the family
SC: Daaaamn! And you're still this slow?!
Fuck. I'll quit that bragging shit right now
Me: Look... some people can handle working and school, I can't. You're an education major... I'm a bio major. It just didn't work out like that for me.
SC: Because you're spoiled and lazy.
Fuck this! She dropped the S word.
Me: No! I'm not! If I would have majored in Education I would have finished in two years! Community ain't shit to the University (and that's SAD)... Education is not anywhere near as difficult as Biology! Don't you compare my shit to yours.
SC: Oooo... AnoMALIE can get mad!

(She pushed my head down and started cutting at the back of my hair)

Me: I'm sick of hearing this shit! What are you going to be doing for the rest of your life? Cutting crack-addicts' hair and yawning all day long at SuperCuts? I'm going to Med School (no, I'm not, but I'll lie when angry)! If Biology is so easily done, why didn't YOU major in it?!

(Silence)

The haircut continued... people walked in... sister got her hair done... we paid and we left.

As Little Sister drove away (like a maniac, I must add), I was still fuming at the ears. Instead of heading straight home, we dropped by Mom and Dad's work place to let Mom take a break and buy some food for herself (poor lady... working amongst all those weirdo truckers for so long on an empty stomach). It had been a while since the haircut, so now my hair was air-dry.
Mom: You... cut your hair?
Me: Yes...
This little exchange made me worry. I walked over to the bathroom and saw my hair.

Never... ever, ever... anger your hair-stylist DURING a haircut.

I look like I belong in the made-for-TV-movie of The Great Gatsby.
Bitch made me look like a 1920's Flapper!
I'm not Christina Aguilera... I don't wanna be Back to Basics... I want to be AnoMALIE, girl with the longish-shortish hair! Shit, right now I'd even accept this hair I rocked back in 1987: Ladies and Gentlemen... my hair is f.u.c.k.e.d.
I'd post pictures... but I've tried so hard to fix it... re-cutting it and stuff... and crying a little bit... and visiting other, closer-related cousins to try and solve my problem... but I've mostly cried. I'm kind of a wreck.

That's the last time I ever lose my temper while submitted to someone who can fuck up my image.
Why don't I just try to piss off a chick that's holding a bottle of Nitric Acid next time...