23 April 2002 - 4:33 p.m.

Anyone who doesn't want to read about my hair woes should scroll no further.

BUT WAIT!!

Before you click the "back" button on your browser, and grumble to yourself, "That bitch doesn't have any hair woes!" know that while that may be the case today, tomorrow may be another story.

You who once publicly stood up and declared you hated me because I had pretty hair and you didn't, may have to find it within your heart to un-hate me and my hideously ugly coif.

I wear metal barette, you know the kind. They're like curved triangles with little bars in the middle. Maybe you don't know the kind, but I promise, you've seen them. And after many years of frequent metal-barette wear, the hair around my face has begin to break a few inches from my head. Which makes it considerable shorter than the hair not held back by barettes.

The key words here are short and long. Put them together, and you have what I may, sooner or later, be sporting.

I thought I could go through my whole life without sporting a femullet. I thought femullets did not happen to girls like me. But, apparently, for my vanity, I am being punished with a business in the front, party in the back kinda 'do.

Whoever said "My God has a sense of humor" should have specified, "which we know because hhe created the platypus and gave jpellecchia a short-long."

At least I got to be a muse when my tresses were still long and lovely. At this rate, by next Carnival, Chris and his partner in crime, aka the British Best Friend, will be writing "Attention Wal-Mart Shoppers: A Musical Drama in Two Acts."

But I will not be nearly as flattered when they tell the world who thier inspiration is.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: