It happened just the other day.
Or more specifically, not last night, but the night before.
24 robbers came knocking at my door.
No, really. All puns aside, I chopped my hair. How much? Well, I used to be able to pull it back into a nice french twist. Now I can barely manage a very short, untidy ponytail.
It's what I do when I gain weight. My face and neck get very chubby. Chipmunk cheeks. And after checking out the passport photo I had to get last week for that professional license application, I saw those cheeks and sort of fell apart.
And as per my usual m.o., rather than lose the weight so that I don't look like Alvin, Simon and Theodore's long-lost sister, I start messing with makeup and hair instead in an attempt to camouflage those cheeks. That typically entails chopping at my hair in a major way.
Usually, it comes out looking halfway decent. But today, after a somewhat humid day, I caught a glimpse of myself in a window on the way home and thought damn, who took the weed whacker to my head. It's bad...really bad.
It's going to take a long time to grow this mess back out. And a lot of will power to not hack at it even more in an attempt to 'fix' it.
Completely apropos of nothing, I saw someone on the subway with a shopping bag with this on the side:
I'd never heard of it before, but I like the logo.
I listened to this on the way home:
Believe it or not, I actually like Tom Jones.
And from the title of the post, CSNY (ok, without the Y):
When I finally get myself together
I'm going to get down in that sunny southern weather
And I find a place inside to laugh