I'm going to warn you, this is likely the most vain and egotistical post to appear on this space to date.
Currently, I am the not-very-proud owner of a bad haircut. On Wednesday I went to see Willie, my dear hairdresser whose services I have been employing since I moved to San Francisco nearly eleven years ago. My hair grows very unevenly... the back is curlier and looks much shorter than the front, and the sides do genuinely grow faster than the rest. So I have to keep up on my haircuts, lest I allow things to get out of control. This particular Wednesday, Willie got excited when he saw how long my hair had gotten since I last saw him in early May. So he suggested a trim to clean everything up, but he wanted to maintain as much of the length as possible. I like long hair, so I was okay with that.
However what dear Willie did was cut a lot off the sides and top, creating all these layers, while leaving some parts of my hair long. The result: I now unwillingly don a mullet. A mullet! Okay, it's not really a mullet at all, but that's what it looks like to me. I look like a long lost member of The Runaways (with all due respect to the 70's rocker chicks) or like I'm imitating Tina Turner circa the "What's Love Got To Do With It" video. Now, admittedly, this dilemma is partially my fault. When Willie cuts my hair, he usually styles it in a fashion I don't really like, so I never really examine his work. I just throw my hair up into a ponytail the second I step out of the salon. So I didn't notice the bad cut while I was still in the chair. And I spent a lot of time at the gym Thursday... again with my hair in a ponytail. It wasn't until I took a good look myself in a mirror on Friday that it hit me.
I am sporting what is, in my opinion, a version of the dreaded mullet.
At first I figured I would just let it grow out, as that will only take a couple of months. But I've decided I can't wait that long. I love my hair; it's likely my best physical feature. Well, I also have really big, pretty eyes, a great smile and long legs that aren't half bad. But regardless of all of that, I can't live with bad hair. I just can't. And wouldn't you know it, the holiday weekend has made it impossible for me to get an appointment with Willie until Wednesday afternoon. When I'll be on a plane to Hawaii. I am half considering just paying another hairdresser to fix my hair before my trip, but that might be going overboard. So I've armed myself with an arsenal of scrunchies and hair clips, and the Hawaiians and other tourists will see me with my hair pulled up throughout my vacation.
In happier news... last night I went out (with my hair in a high ponytail, mind you) in the Mission with Denise and Paul. We had intended to go to Casanova, but it was too crowded, so we ended up at the Gestalt Haus, a place I'd never really noticed and that Paul accurately described as "Zeitgeist indoors." With a huge bike rack and a grungy-Mission-hip crowd, Gestalt Haus is comfortable and not the least bit pretentious. We didn't really fit in there (well, I didn't), but nobody took notice. We played pool, and I drank way too much Blue Moon Ale. But it was super fun, and even though I lost both the pool games to Denise and Paul, I was reminded that I really like playing pool. I should practice so I could actually get good one day.
Tomorrow night, I'm going out with Katie and Steve, and I think I'll drag them to the Mission, too. I'm thinking the Latin American Club for a little night before Labor Day celebration.