probably the weirdest part of my day was when i told the man who cuts my hair that i am in the midst of an elaborate, sometimes tricky, sometimes simple, sometimes poke your eyeballs out, sometimes poke someone else's eyeballs out, sometimes clean out the closet like i'm a bulemic mistaking it for a refrigerator, process of weening myself off of cigarettes by first cutting my intake to 35 percent and never doing it in the car.
"i didn't know you smoke," he said, then invited me to go with him on a smoke break while we waited for my hair to absorb shades of red not nearly close enough to molly ringwald red for my taste, but as close to it as he was comfortable going and still attaching his name to the project.
"why not?" i said. we had nothing else to do for the next 12 minutes. and he was in the middle of a story ...
so he opened the back door and ushered me through the lower level of the mall complex, where i shuffled through the people wearing a black drape, squares of tinfoil jutting out of my brain like something you'd set on top of your tv.
i thought: "if i saw me now, i'd laugh."
other topics we discussed:
* whether i should consider getting some sort of hair extensions to give myself volumn in this ever-thinning mess. no, he said. my hair is so thin that the glue or braids would be obvious. try rogain, he suggested.
rogain. huh. that's creepy.
* if it's possible to just give in and get grey highlights. could look cool, right? not possible, said he.
but it wasn't all take-take. i had the opportunity to say to him, when told about various issues he is facing that could be solved via the world wide web:
BUY THE INTERNET FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!
i told him i wanted to look more irish.