Holy Hairdini!

Who would've imagined I'd take to my shaved head so easily and with delight?  I certainly didn't expect it.

The sitting for it was fun. Otto's ever-welcoming excitement upon seeing me walk in "Traeger Treehouse".  The styling expertise and precision by Tricia, and how lovely the mild vibration of the razor felt on my scalp.  The confidence-boosting moral support from both Mark and Tricia made the initial horror of the reason why this was happening at all, fly right out the door.  We had music playing while the kitchen became a salon.  Wine and margarita's may have been served.  A chance to sport a mohawk was given, with Mark hunting for the packed-away Halloween box where the spiked, black choker and bracelet was hiding (couldn't be located, so no incriminating photos).  Not a bad way to close down a Monday.

Prior to this, on Friday evening, I brushed my hair for the last time.  Disturbingly, I could feel the vast amount of hair leaving my scalp, and then see it there, so thickly gathered on the brush.  It turned my stomach and by next morning,  I knew it was time to cut off the ponytail.   Partly because the thought of brushing or even washing my hair became nauseating, but also that I wanted to send off the severed tail to Locks of Love, I knew it was time.  My sister, Theresa, was right: I would without a doubt just know when the time had come.

When Sue and Tricia came to pick me up on Saturday morning for our hike around Ladybird Lake, I sprung it on them: "come in, please and cut off my ponytail!"  We almost did the scene re-enactment from Sixteen Candles, when Caroline drunkenly slides down the wall at a frat party, getting her hair stuck between it and the door, and when the door shuts on her blonde, shaggy mane, her friends cut her free.  As we're pantomiming, Tricia accidentally bumps her elbow against Sue's face in my small kitchen, and we're laughing hysterically over it, since luckily it didn't result in a broken nose or a black eye for Sue.  Using a pair of ordinary scissors, Tricia tucked in and began cutting, and soon I was sporting a nice asymmetrical bob.  We were thrilled with how "not-bad" it was.  I threw on a stocking cap and we were off to the trails, no need to think about it much.  

Sunday morning I took a small set of scissors, meant for cutting bangs, and gave myself a pixie cut.  First time since probably 1982.  A little bit Julie Andrews or P!nk-looking, but not quite as polished, I chose to wear a beanie to work on Monday.  The rest of the week I alternated between wearing hats and not, slowly building my confidence in sporting this buzz-cut freely, out in public.  I felt like we were triplets when I saw Stephen and Kirk for my mid-week acupuncture session.  Kirk rubbed my head for good luck.  I didn't have as many personal meetings this week as my fatigue and nausea were noticeably worse, as was the paranoia I now have over picking up any bugs, viruses, or "any-other-kind!",  and I had to cancel on a few clients, workouts and Pilates class.  At the end of the week I had one meeting that did take place in public, Honey Moon, a trendy little eatery near West Campus, and I wore Tammy's wig for it.  My friend, Cile, was meeting me and arrived after I did, walking past me twice thinking 'not Moe' when she looked over (my nose must've been buried in the phone) and was "ooh-la-la-ing" my new look when she finally recognized the blonde woman in the corner as me.  After dinner and back to our cars I gave Cile the wig-free peak.  She thought I looked great without it and encouraged me to be bare and free.

The heat, the itchiness, and the overall inauthentic quality to the wig had me opting out of wearing it most of last week, and by Friday, the day I was to have a photo shoot experience with Cristina Libenson, I was no longer self-conscious about it.  We started the shoot off with yoga poses in a dance leotard.  Martha, the makeup artist, spent a little bit of time first putting on a very "natural face" so my features would stand out under the camera lighting.  She and Cristina both agreed with me: that I felt I looked better without the wigs (I brought a few) and when we moved onto other looks (my barefoot dreams cardigan; a frilly, gathered, floor length capo with a train; me and a few of my ukulele's in a Madonna-inspired white boustierre, jean shorts and cowboy boots; my birthday suit and sheer black drapery) I only wore my friend Ilana's gorgeous, straight, long auburn wig, for a few shots.  It was a fun few hours, though exhausting, and unexpectedly empowering, uplifting and fortifying somehow.  And to think at the beginning of the week I nearly canceled the appointment two or three times.  I'm glad I didn't, and look forward to seeing the photographs next month at our photo reveal appointment, which hopefully Momma MaryAnn will be down here to accompany me, and help me pick out any keepers.