New Haircut and other random stuff from the last couple of days. . .

Well, in my schizophrenic way, I have changed my hair. . . again.

It's my Grandma Bunger's fault, really. She was what we called when I was a kid, a "beautician." They're not called that anymore and I'm not quite sure why.

However, she also TAUGHT Beauty School. She was an instructor at Continental Beauty School in Dayton, Ohio. There was a DJ on local radio named Steve Kirk and we would listen to his show every morning for news and weather as we got ready for the day. My Grandma would stay with us a couple of days a week to help around the house (how lucky was my MOM -- who admits it openly) and most mornings we'd hear Steve Kirk say, "Stop on down to Continental Beauty School and ask for 'Big Red!'" That was my Grandma. She had a lot of different hair-dos, too, and colors, but mostly it was red.

Anyway, one of my earliest memories is of sitting on the fold-out stool in the kitchen of our house on Shiloh Springs Road (where now there is a Lowe's parking lot -- I loved that house, talk about "paved paradise". . .but I digress), and Grandma cutting my hair. I was very young, so she may have just been trimming it because pictures of me from that age show me with long-ish hair. But that didn't last long.

I was the guinea pig, the model, the "demo."

Early on I had a pixie. In fourth grade, before it was popular, I had a "shag." Everyone made fun of my hair but all the rich and popular kids came back from Christmas Break with hair cuts just like mine. Of course, that didn't make me "in." I already had the next haircut.

In sixth grade it was a "wedge." Just like Dorothy Hamill -- sort of. I was the guinea pig, remember, so it wasn't exactly right. However, again, a few short months after I broke ground with it, several of the more popular girls were sporting them.

I danced. From the age of five to my sophomore year in high school. All the other girls in ballet class had cute, tight buns. NO -- not butt buns, hair buns. It made me so sad that I didn't look like them. We'd have a recital or my mom would watch me in class and say, "Honey, your hair looks so pretty when you do turns with it cut like that." I don't recall whether I ever told her how much it hurt to not have hair like the other girls. Looking back, I'm sure it was cute. . .I'm just sayin'.

I must have asked to let my hair grow out at some point because I remember being told it was too thin. . . ask anyone who knows me or has had to wait for me to dry my hair. It's not thin now. It is my belief that, like all the other hair on my body, the more times I cut my hair, the thicker it gets. My hair is pretty thick.

Grandma is gone now. I miss her a lot and wish she could see the woman, wife and mother I have become and the family that carries her legacy of love to the next generation. I have a lot of stories about her because she was such a huge part of my life. I was so fortunate to have her and never really appreciated her. Sometimes I hated her just for being around. It makes me cry to think how often I could have just given her a hug but I snubbed her and ignored her. I'm ashamed of the way I treated her because she was such a treasure. She was our family's glue and since she's gone we see a lot less of each other. It's more of an effort now.

Again, I digress.

(Deep breath and sigh.) So, I was really tired of my scraggly hair. Having it cut a lot when I was young spoiled me for healthy hair. And FREE hair cuts. I nearly had a cardiac arrest in college when I finally had to PAY to get my hair cut and realized how much my Grandma had saved my mom and me over the years. I'm just glad my girls like their hair long. . .

I'm back and forth about continuing to color it -- I'm curious about just how much gray I actually have. But I can't stand to have a lot of frizz and dead ends so I called Ecotage (the salon I've been going to for a couple of years now) but my regular "stylist," Melanie, couldn't help me because she gets off early on Thursdays. Well, this was urgent. I felt like if I had to look at my hair in the mirror one more day I'd cut it myself. . .Heaven forbid!

So I called a salon closer to home: Alure. Used to be Planet Salon but for a while it's been Alure. Everyone says it's expensive and I guess it is compared to SuperCuts but it's comparable to Ecotage. I checked their website.

So I got an appointment with Jen and showed up at 5:15 p.m.

Okay, let's go back a step. You know that whole story I started with about being my Grandma's guinea pig? Well, I tell that EVERY TIME I go to a new stylist. My hair fickleness originates there but it never really stopped so I've had several different colors of hair (including a sort of dark-pumpkin-Lucille-Ball color that started out as a mistake, but became the butt of every joke told around me for months) and many lengths and styles (including an Annie Lennox phase in college). I am SO NOT afraid to get my hair cut on. I KNOW FOR A FACT it will grow back!

So, I tell my story about Grandma and how I've done all these things to my hair and I say, "I am not afraid. If I tell you short, I want SHORT." Then I say, "cut it" and they are ALWAYS timid! I'm 43 years old. I KNOW what I want my hair to look like -- at least in that moment. I've sort of resigned myself to it but, ever the cockeyed optimist, I try it every time anyway.

Which brings us to Jen at Alure. She listened. She said, "okay, we're gonna have fun with this!" And fun we had! My hair is SO cute! It hasn't been this short in forever but I love it! This is even more meaningful because it's been several days, I've washed and styled it myself, slept on it and it's now dirty -- and I STILL love it!

I'm not sure this has any purpose other than to say I'm glad I found Jen.

And I miss my Grandma.This sweet picture is from Christmas of 1993.
(Grandma Bunger (aka GG), Sara at one year old and wild-haired Mary at I-just-turned-four.

So, the title mentions "random stuff" and, when I started this novel of a post I was thinking of several things to write about but I don't want to make you sit staring at your computer screen much longer because I'm sure your boss or spouse is looking over your shoulder and you've been so engrossed in my story you didn't even notice. Suffice it to say, I'm blessed and I love my husband.