Decked Out

Inspirational song: I Feel Pretty (West Side Story)

What a long, busy day. I left early this morning, went to three different cities, and came home an entirely transformed woman. I have a new appearance and new ideas in my head on how to proceed.

My first stop this morning was to the mountain community where my old friend and my new friend (his wife) welcomed me to their table (in both the grandest and humblest senses) and helped me come up with some near term plans for finding volunteer projects and networking groups. I might even follow in my grandfather's footsteps, and join Rotary. He would have been so proud. I just need to figure out which town's Rotary to join. I have options. I also have a chance to meet several volunteer coordinators over the next week, including the one in the mountains who has put my friend to good use already. I don't know how long this burst of energy will last, but for this moment in time, I kind of want to do a lot of little things more often, to get to know more people and help me identify where I can be useful, before I plan my big project for the year. I hope it lasts.

The last time I had a haircut, I persuaded the Bonfire Leader to trim back my hair a few inches, so that when I lay in a hospital bed for a week, miserable from surgery, I wouldn't also be getting tangled up in my own tresses, adding another layer of complexity and pain to the process of shifting in my bed. That was February. My hair had been growing unimpeded ever since, and other than hacking off a few strands to make wispy layers right next to my eyes, absolutely nothing happened to shape or tame it. I have been wearing a single braid or a big bun for months, and my thick hair had gotten so heavy, I could no longer wear it in a pony tail. It tried to rip my scalp off the moment I pulled it back. I had to sleep in a braid, because it would get caught up when I tried to turn from one side to another otherwise. Every time I slipped my purse strap over my shoulder, it tugged, and it was worse when I let bags drop from my shoulder to my elbow. My schoolbag tried to scalp me every time, and I often ended up bent over all the way, lowering my books to the ground directly from my shoulder, and then trying to release the bag quickly, without pulling out my hair. It looked as awkward as it sounds.

Today I met up with a new hair stylist, who works weekends at a salon down at the huge mall one county south of here. My friend who took us to the Lion King goes to her, and she introduced us that weekend. What a fortunate introduction that turned out to be. She took about five and a half inches of hair off the length (I told her, "Tell me five and a half inches, because six inches sounds like too much.") and she layered where it needed to be to make the shape make sense. I feel ten pounds lighter (from the scalp) and about fifteen years younger. The cut is fabulous. This is what a professional working woman looks like, not like that unkempt granola woman look I had been rocking all year.

I closed my day having my picture taken over and over and over. I very rarely pose for pictures, partly because so few people I know are interested in taking them, and partly because I'm so uncomfortable seeing images of myself. My photographer was every bit as talented as my hair stylist, and she brought in a teenager to do full makeup on me. This was a whole new experience for me, and it was a huge stroke to my ego. I felt so girly and stylish, for the first time in ages. I only saw a handful of these pictures on the camera screen, and I will be getting a collection of them to choose from in a few days. The early previews were fantastic. I can't wait to see the finished product, on my business cards. I don't think I had this extensive of a work up since my high school senior photos. It was distinctly narcissistic fun. I kind of want to do it again. Is that wrong?