1920's hair

I sat for 2 1/2 hours at the salon yesterday, nodding off under the hairdryer. The friend I went to the festival with Sunday also cuts my hair. As soon as I sat in the chair we immediately started talking about the festival, then Birdie and playing in some old school band, then the 1920's which led to my book Bound for Glory which led to the Great Depression and cotton dresses, and 1920'2 NYC jazz dance clubs.

She gave me my favorite A-line 1920's flapper hair-cut, and sat and carefully fingerwaved my hair and placed me under the dryer. Everyone in the salon stares at my hair the whole time I'm there, peering over things, clients just stare unflinching, and stylists watch smiling, it's very embarrassing for me. The next time I see my friend she tells me the conversations my hair starts once I leave, and that's what I hate, the silence of my presence is just them waiting, then when I walk out the door the chatter starts up. Upon departing she gave me a big hug and told me to go home and put vintage clips in my hair and don a simple1920's cotton dress and play my old time banjo.


If only I felt beautiful yesterday, but I didn't so instead I went home and my raging pms forced me to shake out the perfect waves into a messy afro. I always photograph/document my new haircuts, and when I saw that I destroyed her hard work I started crying from shame, and the fact that I looked disgustingly pale and bloated, and my eyes looked tired and wrinkly and old - no that didn't help me. Luckily the phone rang and an old familiar voice was on the other end. I kept crying and explaining rapidly the process which reduced me to these tears and she started laughing really hard telling me she missed me so fucking much. I started laughing with her and then lit up a cigarette. "You're still smoking!" she yelled - to which "only when I'm going mad! Only when I'm fucking going crazy in my head!"

I was a loser. Hubby called my cell and told me his boys night turned into mixed night and that I should meet them all out for dinner. I walked to the bathroom mirror looked at my face holding both phones to either ear and declined his invitation - explaining the guilt over my hair and how I'd be horrified if I went out and saw my friend, that I didn't feel I had deserved a fancy dinner right then. Then I eventually hung up both phones and lay back on my couch praying for salvation when my phone rang again and another good friend called saying she was on the train heading to my hood to meet me after all for that drink we casually mentioned the day before.


I threw a bandana over the mess I created and met her down at the piano bar at a yummy local restaurant (seems to be where I'm dragging everyone these days). There we sat with a sake cocktail and a glass of champagne at the tiny candlelit bar. When it became painfully clear that the restaurant was fully shut down, we stood outside and she smiled wide and said she didn't want to go home so I pointed down the street to another place and we went and had 2 more drinks at a gay bar.

1am rolled around quickly and we went outside where then I watched my friend climb into her cab across the street after waving and shouting goodbye once again to me. I turned and walked home slowly. When I walked into my bedroom hubby lay under the covers with his light left on overhead for me. He woke suddenly and said "waah" and I couldn't wait to crawl in next to him to place a kiss on his cheek before turning out his light. Then I stared widely into the darkness waiting for the thoughts circling overhead to fall suddenly over me, hoping that their enormous weight would push me into the deepest sleep.

It did. And I went to my favorite vintage 20's store and shopped for hair clips to place in my perfectly fingerwaved hair and then I spotted my grandfather's fedora on a tall shelf and I stood reaching up on tiptoes to grab it, then placed it gently on my head, closed my eyes and flashed a big red smile because I realized that I was still a smooth-skinned little girl.