My friend suggested I plant some seeds a couple weeks ago when I was moaning for the 100th millionth time about getting dumped. (Really I will have new topics soon. Otherwise I will have to change this blog to Break Up Station or something totally cheesy and more annoying than this has already become.) Anyway, she said by the time I had sprouts I’d be ready to date again. I like that in theory, but seeing as how I can barely keep a mature plant alive, I’m not so sure I’d ever date again if it were strictly dependent on me coaxing seeds to poke out of soil.
So I bit my nails.
I figured by the time I wouldn’t be embarrassed to go get a manicure, it’d be time to date again. They seem to be growing pretty quickly though. So now I’m basing my ready-to-date date on my hair. I got it cut last night. 5 inches — gone. I came home and cried. Not because of the length so much, but because it wasn’t really what I wanted. So I re-wet it and played with it to see if I could figure out some sort of style. I couldn’t. I cried some more. Weeped in fact. Then I remembered that guys like long hair, not short hair. I cried again because no guy would ever like me ever again.
And then I took pictures of my hair to see if maybe I just didn’t have the right perspective in the mirror. Okay, if you’re looking to take a nice picture of yourself and feel good about the way you look, probably don’t want to do that when your nose is a big swollen red ball and your frown holds the weight of the world in despair. This led to more crying and possibly some of the worst pictures I’ve ever seen of myself (think Nick Nolte’s mug shot on thesmokinggun.com).
With the strength of some unknown force, I was able to pull myself in the shower for a re-wash and then broke out the first aid kit of bobby pins, headbands and curling iron to see what could be done. And then I went to sleep. And with some sprinkle magic from the same unknown force that brought me will to shower, I woke up with awesome hair. And got lots of compliments, which is why a post-break-up haircut is so money. Rebuilds the confidence that silently seeps out. I still think I need to go back and get it shaped up a little more. But that’s ok. Gives me something else to focus on instead of being dumped.
To hell with getting dumped. Hair and confidence. They’re growing back already. Right now. As we speak. See?
And besides, men are calling me. Literally, as I write this post, a man is calling me. My phone is blowing up. So what if it’s the guy who didn’t want to date me because of the book and now won’t leave me alone? So what if he’s asking me to help him go buy running shoes and then just happened to slip in there that he missed me? Sweet love. We dated for 2 weeks. A YEAR AGO.
They always come back. But I’m fucking busy. I’m growing out my fucking hair.