Saturday, mar. 15, 2008 | 0 commentsbout two months ago, my hair started falling out. I was in LA at the time, at my best friend's wedding (not the movie), and every time I ran my hand through my hair (as is my wont, flirt that I am: "Ohmygod that's a cute top you're wearing! [toss of the mane, finger comb, wriggle]"), I'd end up with a baby fistful entwined in my fingers. And when I brushed, it was worse - after a few good strokes (ahem) you couldn't even see the bristles for all the blonde.
At first I thought it was stress. I mean, ten minutes before the ceremony was supposed to begin, I, the maid of honor, was dressed in sweats and unloading ice from the car. Or maybe it was the pollution? But as the fallout persisted, I started thinking it might be a life-wide issue.
But how depressing would that be if my hair fell out when my life finally took a turn for the better, after all those dues I've been paying?
And then I started noticing that my (remaining) hair was giving off this dirty wet sponge smell, even right after the shower when I knew it was clean. Super freaky. I was beginning to get rull tense about the whole thing until I actually took a good look at one of the deserter hair clumps and noticed that it wasn't falling out, it was falling off. The root of the matter wasn't at the roots. My poor hair was just up and breaking off after years of bleach abuse.
Fee-you! I wasn't allergic to happiness, it was just that my hair was breaking up with me. That, and it was, well, rotting. I went to my tres cute hair woman Amy (who also cuts Jill, Heidi, Richard, Laura, and Tom's hair), and she said that since my hair is so thick, and I kept putting it up right after I washed it (blow drying the stuff took over two hours), it was never actually drying. So it started molding. She says it happens to one of her clients that has dreadlocks, and he has to rinse his rotting clumps with Listerine. But since my hair was already way past the mouthwash phase, I just cut off the whole kit and kaboodle.
And now I'm featuring that same old blonde bob. A personal retro look that brings me right back to senior year in high school.
Just in time for reunion (or, as Megan calls it, rue-union).