bad hair day, week, lifetime

but the worst was probably around 1985, where I was trying desperately to grow my hair long enough to have a rats tail at the back...but I couldn't, so I asked for one at the front instead.

Some hairdressers should be staked for their abdicaiton of thier duty of care

Anna: you can dye the eyebrows too, you know. Either with men's beard gray-covering stuff or with a q-tip and some of the dye you use on the head. But be careful, it tends to go Marx Brothers if it's even a little wide.

"Hello, you don't have any eyebrows"
"No, I lost them in a housefire when I was rescuing my flatmates. It is a small price to pay for their lives"
"Gosh - you are brave - would you go to bed with me."

Later, for the purposes of a film-related thing, I went through the scalp-scalding horror of straightening it and dying it orange, with the intention of immediately shaving it off again: I wound up leaving it for two days, during which I was called "Dennis Rodman" a total of 16 times. These were the only two times in my life during which my hair was anything other than simply short or completely gone, although as a kid I would sometimes get a between-haircuts puff going.

I suspect combovers are absolutely ripe for ironic appropriation. In fact, I have seen a couple hispter guys pull off not-very-extreme versions of them in their cute nerdboy way.

The act of actually growing out my hair resulted in various comments, my favorite being, "What are you, trying to be Mr. Seventies Master?" Thankfully that era has now long since passed, leaving me with the locks you all know and love. ;-)

It was more a scowl than a frown, but yeah. The worst part was that I had to let my scalp heal before I could get it cut off, so I had to walk around like that for something like two weeks. For the first couple of days, a breeze blowing across the top of my head was painful.

However in 10th or 11th grade I had a Tintin cut and the Parkettes (teen line dancers affiliated with high school and MN Vikings) set about using their collective brain cell to work up some fresh insults. All they could come up with was 'whoa, I wish I had that haircut' to which I replied, 'In five years, that statement might actually be true, but I'm not waiting around the shitholes you frequent to find this out.'

You mean as in this?

Since my sister's best platonic male friend became the coach of the Vikes, she's enjoyed VIP treatment at games beyond the wildest dreams of a skaggy Parkette, which fills her little heart with warmth (she wanted in, she was too heavy to get on squad at the time).

Blech. Couldn't be cute ever, ever.

Not on his shaved scalp?

!!!

My mother thought it would be GROOVY for me to get a perm but my hair refused to accept it.

Mark s is in picture mode today, so attn mark we need a photo of an undercut! :)

It looked a lot better than it sounds, especially with huge dungarees, big COMMANDO shoes and a black hoodie shirt with cloth rose pinned at collar (Mani hat optional). Or stripey leggings and solid KIKIT tops with weird ruffles; very Deee-lite.

I'm still in touch with the hairdresser who did this to me. She's my mum's neighbour Ginny, who gave the neighbourhood $8 haircuts but had trained with Toni&Guy in the Glam years and appreciated me because I KNEW WHAT THAT MEANT. She'd gone housewife (married to high-school best friend of the guy who played McGyver) and would cut my hair any way I said, which meant I'd make the appointment, give her a VHS with the Peek-A-Boo video on it (or whatever) and emerge with Mom, Stop Screaming haircuts of amazing technical brilliance.

hmph. excuses excuses!!

I look like an eccentric 18th-century composer after a hard night on the Schnapp's!

There appears to be nothing I can do but turn up to work like this!