How to Cut Your Own Hair

I have been liberated.

In the span of one evening, I have gone from having long(ish) hair (OK, so it wasn’t long, at all ... but it was a couple of inches long, which, for me, IS long!) to having hair that is back to its usual less-than-half-an-inch-in-some-places length.

And: I did it myself.

And: I don’t have any bald spots.

I had been debating the whole idea of giving myself a haircut over the past few weeks. I used to cut my own hair all the time when I was in college, and I did just fine with the top and sides but could never manage to get the back part cut. Then I became an adult and had to find a “real” hairstylist, and eventually I got someone who would actually cut my hair the way I asked ... using clippers, just as I requested.

And then, well ... we parted ways, hopefully temporarily, but in the meantime: I needed a haircut. Could have gotten away with a trim, probably, but the longer/more unkempt my hair got, the more I wanted to cut it all off.

So I bought me some clippers: The CONAIR Model HC318D. Twenty bucks or thereabouts at Wally World, which actually had a small section of the store devoted to hair clippers. I selected the HC318D because of its cord/cordless feature, and it also came with 10 guard attachments, a couple of combs, “professional” scissors (well, not quite, but they DO cut) and a cape!

“I am Super Stylist!”

I read the instructions and even watched the enclosed CD: “Haircuts at Home.” Learned all I needed to know about the flatttop, the mushroom cut and the blunt cut. None of which was what I wanted to do to my own hair, however, so I actually googled the topic, “How to Cut Your Own Hair.” Ran across a couple of not-so-helpful Web sites and one particularly cool online journal, none of which was all that helpful, though the journal gave me just the boost of confidence I needed to attempt my own haircut.

I decided that Friday night was the night ... in part because I had no other plans (go figure!), and in part because I knew that if I really botched it, I would have at least a couple of days to “fix it” before I had to return to civilization (work).

I charged my HC318D for the required 16 hours. I laid out my supplies on top of the (closed) toilet. I angled the medicine cabinet door so that the mirror would reflect off the mirror on the bathroom door, allowing me to supervise myself as I cut. Or rather, clipped.

And clipped, and clipped.

And my hair turned out perfect! Well, OK, it is WAY short, the way I usually wear it, but honestly, I think it looks just as good (or at least as short) as when I have it “professionally cut.” I could not be happier!

: )

So, here is my step-by-step method to giving yourself a haircut. Keep in mind that in order to enjoy the full benefits of this haircut, you must be a girl who likes to wear your hair very, very short. Or a boy. Who also likes to wear your hair very, very short.

1. Thoroughly wet your hair and then towel dry so that your hair remains damp. Comb your hair.

2. Put the No. 3 (3/8-inch) attachment onto the clippers. In an upward motion, run the clippers through the hair above and around both ears. (My clippers have tapered guards for the left and right ears, but I was not brave enough to use them.)

3. Run the clippers through the hair on the back of your head. Make sure to watch yourself in the mirror to make sure that you are clipping your hair evenly.

4. Step back, take a quick glance into the mirror and admire how great of a job you are doing!

5. Set the clippers aside and take out the scissors. Hold up a clump of hair between the forefinger and middle finger of your left hand (or your right hand, if you happen to be left-handed) about an inch above your scalp and prepare to cut.

6. Before making an actual cut, decide that using scissors is too complicated. Set the scissors aside and attach the No. 8 (1-inch) guard onto the clippers.

7. Decide to use gravity as your assistant: Lean forward and bend over until the hair on top of your head is hanging straight down. Run the clippers through your hair until it has reached a uniform length. (This is a mighty brave step, and it is a good idea to stop and check a few times to make sure you are not inadvertently scalping yourself!)

8. Look in the mirror to be sure that your hair looks OK ... and that you have no (huge) bald patches ... and that you have not accidentally cut yourself (you and your hair should be JUST fine, provided you have halfway decent clippers). Use your scissors to trim any stray hairs along the sides, back or top of your head.

9. Remove your hair-covered clothes and begin the clean-up process, as you will likely have hair EVERYWHERE!

10. Hop into the shower to wash your freshly cut hair. Shave the back of your neck with the razor you normally use to shave your legs. Wash and dry yourself. Style hair with styling gel (optional).

There you go! Make sure you do not forget to clean your blade guards, clean and oil your blades, put away all your hair-cutting supplies (you will need them again in a couple of weeks, for your “trim”) and plug in your HC318D to recharge.

Oh, and next time: Wear the cape! Not only will it help keep you from getting COVERED with hair ... it will also make you feel a bit like a hair-cuttin’ superhero!

: )

Politics

Yeah. I HATE ’em. Matter of fact, watching snippets of the Democratic National Convention makes me want to gag. NOT that I have anything against Democrats, and truth be told, that is usually the way I vote; I would be feeling the same regurgitory (??) urge if these were Republicans I was watching.

Honestly, though, who cares? Michael Moore? And I know my pal Patti wants me to go see Fahrenheit 9/11, and so I probably will, but does any of it matter? I have predicted all along that President Bush will be re-elected, and the margin of victory probably will not even be close.

Is it normal to feel this apathetic? I harkened back to the Class of 1983’s motto, “Apathy is bliss,” in an earlier post on the parent journal, and then received a 10-paragraph e-mail from a complete stranger/fellow Blogger *major cringe over the use of the word “blog,” in any of its various forms* detailing the petty details of her love life. And did I actually care about the boyfriend who had dumped her, kept her on a string, proposed to someone else and then told the first girlfriend that he wanted to remain “friends,” which she found offensive and impossible and hurtful?

No. No, I did not. I was apathetic. Possibly because I was predisposed not to care because she was attacking, albeit mildly, my use of “apathy is bliss” to apply to my own outlook at that particular moment. My own life. Which had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else.

Which is/was kind of the point, really.

Truthfully, what is bothering me most as I (barely) listen to Michael Moore being interviewed by Ted Koppel is that I cannot quite decide if the baseball cap Moore is wearing is a Michigan State University Spartans cap. Which would be kinda cool, since my pals K.J. and Jeff went to school there (at least Jeff did, to get his MBA; not sure if Kara attended or not, but they did live in East Lansing for a while), plus I am still convinced that Tom Izzo is the “separated at birth” twin with this girl Kelli that I worked with last year.

Hmm. Just saw a preview for an ABC show called Desperate Housewives that is supposed to air this fall. And I am reminded of a short story by my aforementioned friend/soulmate-of-sorts, Patti, titled “Bored Housewives.” Which was one of those National Enquirer stories where you find an especially intriguing or outlandish tabloid headline and then sort of write your own story to go with it ... kind of like the real-life tabloid journalists do, or so I have heard.

: )

Anyhoo, Patti used MY last name for her lead character, the “bored housewife” in question. And I always loved that, that she would incorporate ME into the story. Plus, it was a pretty good story (about a bored housewife who starts having sex with her grocery delivery boys). Of course, during the various moves from college dorm to apartment to parents’ house, Patti misplaced the story, never to be found again, apparently, so it will forever be only a memory.

Now THAT I cared about, that story!

: )

Just when I was sort of celebrating the fact that, for the first time since I was 5, I am not thinking of my life in terms of when summer ends/when school starts, I found myself looking at the fall schedule for the community college where I used to teach, checking on the time/days for a creative writing class! And I could probably fit it into my schedule; after all, taking a class is much less time-consuming than teaching one, I have found ... depending on the class, anyway ... but do I really want to? Do I really need to?

Do I need a structured set of writing assignments to make me write? Am I that lacking in discipline? I mean, look at me now ... look at me go! A good solid 20 minutes of uninterrupted writing so far, for no reason other than I felt like it. Why would I want to give up any extra time AND money (now that I am no longer teaching there, I would have to pay tuition, obviously) for something I really do not want/need?

Miscellaneity

Not sure if that title is even a word.

Not sure that I care.

: )

First things first: Yes, indeed, my hibiscus did bloom on Thursday and in fact has bloomed (or, as Tee-Hee and I might say: bloomt) every day since. Five blooms so far, with more to follow, and soon.



That bloom is dedicated to Matt. The soon-to-be Demolition Derby king. Just wait.

: )

I have turned into a concert whore. Two shows in the last week: Josh Groban last Sunday, Annie Lennox/Sting last night. No need for me to review; I know how I felt about each show.

The minute Josh began singing, I had goosebumps ... and got them several more times during the show. His voice: AMAZING. And here I was not even all that excited about going.

As for Annie/Sting: Annie is incredible. She so outdid Sting ... in part because I know every song she sang, and had no clue for about half of the set by Sting. Which Karl and I cut out on early to avoid the rush. And because, quite frankly, we were a little bored by it all.

And now, moving on to sports:

This is my favorite ballplayer of all time: My sister, Debra. She is the one who used to play pitch and catch with me in the yard; she is the one with whom I also learned to play Frisbee and badminton and tennis. If she had chosen to pursue any form of athletics (she won intramural championships in ... well, two sports, one of them water polo, the other I cannot remember, might have been flag football), she would have been a college star and, who knows, maybe even a pro. I managed to get her to make a few tosses on a 90-degree day at HER NEW HOUSE, which she was very excited about. And she should be: She has found the perfect house. And I took all kinds of pictures and managed to mail some off to her, even ... though I also managed to put the wrong postage on one of the envelopes, so we shall see if she even receives it ... but hopefully, she will get them all in some kind of timely manner. (The effort was there, but, as usual, the execution was a little less than perfect.)

* sigh *

Rainy and cloudy and cold today. Odd, for July. Makes me tired.

Still trying to get used to the idea that my life is no longer centered around quarters/semesters, and that the length of my summer is not determined by “when school starts.”

My hibiscus will bloom tomorrow.

For the first time this summer. Which makes me very, very happy.

: )

And I think I may have just figured out how to make my quotes go the “right” way. Albeit with the use of cut ’n’ paste, which could get VERY annoying.

Still, this, too, makes me very, very happy.

Hibiscus pics forthcoming.

Vacation, Part IV

I cannot remember how many vacation days I have this year. Nor how many I have used up. I do know that instead of my regularly allotted 15 (basically, three weeks), thanks to some kind of company glitch, I received 30 for 2004.

Anyhoo, I am on vacation. I have been on vacation since last Friday. I can already sense that when next Monday rolls around, I will not want to go back to work.

I will deal with that when the time comes.

For now, let us rewind ...



Mona told me about this patch of sunflowers, so Thursday night, after tennis, I drove down to it. Had to hike through a field (freshly mowed, thank God!) and then make my way down a somewhat steep hill. But, what the heck, I was still hot and sweaty from tennis, so it was all good.

I have no idea how many sunflowers were/are there, but they are beautiful. And it was getting close to 8 p.m., and the evening sun was going down, but there was just enough light to snap several shots before I saw it:

The monarch.

And I had taken a few pictures of some bumblebees/yellowjackets, and I was feeling quite happy about that, but when the butterfly appeared: That was it. I kept following the monarch; it would land on a sunflower and do whatever butterflies do on sunflowers (are they pollinating?), and then a bumblebee would hover nearby, and the monarch would fly to another sunflower. And repeat the process. And so I started trying to predict when it would fly away and snap a shot of the butterfly, midflight, but usually I would fire the shutter just as it was flying away ... and I got 2 pictures with, like, half a butterfly, off to the left.

And then I got my shot. And so I had to leave because, well, how could I even hope to get another one?

: )

That was the beginning of my vacation. The next day, I slept in until 11:30 a.m., then awoke to find that traffic on my normally busy-in-a-smalltown-busy-sorta-way street was busier than usual. Cars and lots of semis. So I knew something had happened on the interstate.

A train derailment. Off a bridge on an overpass. Dumping at least 8 train cars and lots of coal onto the roadway.



Amazingly, no one was killed. Or hurt, even. No cars were buried/smashed in the wreckage; no train crew members were affected.

Just a matter of something went wrong, and a near-disaster occurred, but no one was injured, and hopefully the problem will be fixed.

Miraculous, really.

: )

I saw 2 Cubs-Cardinals games in a 3-day span. And when the Cubs lost by a score of, what, 6-1 (?) on Friday, by playing as if they were too hot to work up a decent sweat or something, I decided that I was officially writing them off. Until late-August. Unless they had shown any signs that they were going to make more than a half-hearted attempt at winning the National League Central.

Then, over the next 2 days, I decided that the Cubs needed my support now more than ever! How could I possibly give up on my team? So, on Sunday, I threw on my Cubbie bear jersey and headed out to Busch Stadium.

Cubs 8, Cardinals 4.

The 2nd half of the season is gonna be fun, I have decided.

Oh, and during the game, for a few minutes, Kameron had ahold of the sleeve of my jersey.

Hair Issues

Yup. I am having some hair issues.

I decided a few weeks ago that I wanted to grow out my hair. Which for me means anything more than an inch or two long because I wear my hair very very short (shortly?). I prefer to have hair that requires approximately 2.5 minutes to dry and a quick brush-through (if at all), and allows no one but no one to grab ahold of it and lift me off the ground. (Not that anyone COULD lift me off the ground by my hair, necessarily, but I saw it done to my step-cousin Skip one time when we were kids, and it sort of stuck with me.)

It is quite possible that I do not have the right face for such extremely short hair (someone like Annie Lennox has no problemo pulling it off), but I do not care. I am of the notion that hair should be of the utmost low-maintenance: no-maintenance.

The only real problem with having very short hair is that to keep it that way, you need to get your hair cut every 3 or 4 weeks. And I usually go 5 or 6 weeks, sometimes a little longer, so by the time I get a haircut, I am feeling a little scraggly.

Right now, my hair is a good 2 months away from being anything even resembling longish, but I am well into the scraggly phrase. Yet my hair alternates: Sometimes, it looks just great (well, OK, just fine), and other times, total scraggliness.

Another problem is that I have just hit the point where I usually give up on growing it out. I run my hands through my hair and think, Hmmm, I kinda like my hair like this, but it is just not me. And I call my stylist or beautician or whatever and she cuts my hair and I am happy again for another month or so.

And now I am estranged, sort of by default, from my hair-cutter. And I have no idea how long this will last, or if it will ever actually end, and I sit here wondering, Will she ever cut my hair again? And if not: What will I do? She has been cutting my hair for at least the last 10 years, maybe a little longer. How do you transfer that intimacy, that closeness, that trust, to someone else?

I look at myself in the mirrow, and I know I need a haircut.

I wonder if Wal-Mart sells clippers and professional scissors? Because, I must be honest: The only other person besides her that I trust with my hair is me. Or I. Or whatever.

* Skulking off to find a baseball cap. *

In Dreams

Awoke too early this morning for my annual Breakfast at Wimbledon, which will occur again in just about 8 hours. Spent 4.5 hours tonight on the lake with friends, our primary goal being the annual Taste of Freedom Festival fireworks, which turned out to be a great disappointment. No doubt in part because we missed the first 5 minutes or so because we were IN THE BATHROOM! (Oops!)

: )

In-between, sometime before 1 p.m., I decided I needed to nap ... and did so, until nearly 4.

Whilst I slept ...

You were in my dream. And for some unknown reason, I was sitting on your family room floor with someone else (my sister?), watching TV. I was not supposed to be there, but you saw me and appeared aggravated, and then later, when I was leaving, you called to me.

And we talked.

And somehow, later, I knew I could not let this moment end without kissing you ... so I grabbed your hand and kissed your fingers. I said something about how I had a feeling that I would get to relive every moment of my life that involved you (the ultimate do-over, perhaps?), and it made perfect sense. Then I took your face in my hands and kissed your lips.

In dreams, everything works out.

(I am going to bed now.)