Cheaper than therapy....

Once upon a time when I was a junior at BYU I had a day when it felt like all the forces in the Universe (and my evil American Literature professor) were conspiring against me. I came home in a lather of anger, frustration and bile muttering incoherent threats aimed at peoplewhothinktheyknoweverythingjustbecausethey'republishedpoets, and bemoaning my sad state--brilliant, but misunderstood.

Somehow, the anger I felt at my professor expanded to include all of the boys who refused to love me until I rolled it all into a fiery ball of righteous indignation. "Why do I allow these MEN to influence me?!" I bellowed in misguided feminist furor.

I knew just what to do. I would CUT MY HAIR!! That would show all of them.

Why did I have long hair in the first place? To please boys, that's why, and what good was it doing me? Did those boys ask me out? NO!! (Perhaps this experience sheds some light on one of the reasons they didn't. Hmmmmm. Nah! I'm charming, darn it!)

Luckily, I marched my indignant self to the lovely and talented Betsy (who cuts my sister's hair to this day) who gave me this haircut:




It was 1995. Don't be hatin'.

Anywho, that haircut changed my whole perspective. I felt sassy and in control, and those boys who told me to never cut my hair yet never asked me out? Well... they still didn't ask me out, but they thought my hair was cute.

Flash forward to now. I've had really long hair for a really long time and it was just boring me to death. I feared cutting it, not because of the rejection of men (I have come to terms with the fact that I am, in fact, a man repeller) but because I didn't want to have old white lady/mom hair.

The start of this school year has been incredibly stressful for a host of reasons I'm not going to get into here for fear of releasing the "Indignation Beast" that still resides inside me, and things finally built to a boiling point. What did I do? I made an appointment with the lovely and talented Melinda who is cheaper than a shrink AND is really good with a straightening iron.

She listened to my incoherent ramblings (IhatethewayIlookeverysingledayandIdon'tknowwhattodo'causeIdon'twantmomhairorlooklikeRonaldMcDonaldsowhatshouldIdo?) calmed my fears, and gave me the cutest, sassiest, non mom hair cut ever. I LOVE LOVE LOVE it.

So here it is:

Straight:




Curly:


A good haircut can save your life.... or your sanity.