2003-04-23 - 6:32 p.m.

Today my girl and I went in for our "every 7 weeks, every 7 weeks"

"HAIR-DO MAINTAINANCE SITUATION".

Now, mind you-- it's only recently become "every 7 weeks, every 7 weeks" as I finally became outraged at the fact that every, oh, say, 7 weeks, I suddenly looked decades older due to the mother-f'n gray/grey/grehy that begins gathering at my temples (non-religious) and, well--- catherine zeta jones, it's all my fault.

Apparently someone with the stress-level, family history and bladder control issues that I've had should only expect to be greeted with the gray/grey/grehying to come for a visit in their late 20's and never want to leave. I've had a decade to deal with it, but only in the last year-ish has it become THIS MUCH OF A PROBLEM (you know, every 7 weeks, every 7 weeks).

Apparently I've given the grey/gray/greyh it's own bedroom, a key to the front door and a copy of my ATM card. The gray/grey/grehy now rules me (every 7 weeks, every 7 weeks).

What would make me happy?

DARK, DARK, DARK, SMOKEY-DARK BROWN. That's all i'm asking for. Is that so much??? Some people are waaaaaay more demanding. They want: (J-lo's highlights, That Alias chicks cut, or the same style as The wife on Everybody loves Raymond). Me, no. I want dark and managable and stylish without saying "I'm trying too hard" and blow-dryable, but no intricate/dangerous-looking brush needed.

Just that.

Not so much, right?

So, (every 7 weeks, every 7 weeks) seems to come so quickly (and today it fell on a day when I talked to my therapist-ish and worked with my trainer. Today was a very expensive personal maintanance day and quite frankly, I'm exhausted and broke just thinking about/admitting it.

So... yeah, today was beauty parlor/salon day and we went in (my girl and I, in case you forgot, since I mentioned her 17 paragraphs ago) and we changed into the black nylon-ish robes that snap AND tie in the front (i think it was supposed to be the front) and paraded (no float, just waving) back to our hair-girl and sat ourselves down in side by side chairs like the good little lesbians that we are. NOTE: We have completely DIFFERENT HAIR STYLES. We in NO WAY match each other and NEVER WEAR VISORS.

My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lesbian-lover/meal-ticket has cute, short-short, piece-y kind of hair. No blow-dry, just product, scrunch, mess-up and off she goes.

Lucky she.

Me, I'm a pain in the ass.

Believe me. Please, won't you?

So, today, I wanted my usual DARK, DARK, DARK SMOKEY-DARK BROWN and then I wanted a change in the hair. I wanted piecey-er. I wanted choppier... (and i still wanted shoulder length, mind you). So, i looked my hair-girl right in the eye and said: A bit shorter, choppy, fresh--- and please, please for the love of Ann B. Davis, not the least bit DYKEY.

She understood. Completely.

It's FRESH. It's choppy. She got it.

That's why we go to her.

That's why she's our hair-girl.

We love our hair-girl.

We must.

(every 7 weeks, every 7 weeks).

By the way...she just bought a new BMW.

(every 7 weeks, every 7 weeks).

xoxox