Where is my hair? My hair is not there! Oh please do not stare at my missing hair; try not to care that my hair was once there but now is nowhere and certainly not there. I sat in a chair, cut it off on a dare – I did not prepare to feel so bare without all that hair .. oh, Molière!

And yet, here we are.

I’ve had layers in my hair since I chopped it all off in 2001. I’ve tried to grow them out, but have always gotten tired of desperately wispy ends long before my goal of one length could come to fruition.  Actually, “one length” is a bit of a misnomer – I’ve got some sort of weird angle thing going on that is definitely not the same all around, but I’m kind of okay with that.

Yesterday I visited Michelle at East Vanity Parlour, and she obliged my disgust at my head by cutting off most of my hair. It’s very short everywhere except the front, which I like long so’s I can hide:

so short

I’m going to grow it out a little and see what happens. Worst case scenario, I hate it and get some layers cut back into it. It’s a little short for my liking right now, but nothing I can’t adapt to with the help of some feathers and flowers.

Twestival – a global Twitter Festival for charity – is tonight, and even though my usual suspects opted out of the Social Media Circle Jerk, I decided I would attend. I missed out last year due to illness, but tonight my boobs and I will make an appearance. I’m apprehensive about it only because my safety net won’t be there, but I am sure I will find someone else to cling to in terror.

This is the last official plan I have for this week. That is weird.

OH! I bought two magazines last night from a used bookstore for my Smuttons. I was getting annoyed because I had visited three places – two used book stores and one comic store – but none of them had any magazines. At the last second, the guy at the third store remembered a couple of magazines he had in the back and sold them to me for a few bucks each. I wasn’t sure they would work for button making until I got home and flipped through them . They’re the July and September issues of Chic from 1977 – never heard of it, but when I got to the hilarious spreads of naked women sporting a great deal of labia, I checked the cover again – Chic was a Larry Flint production meant to compete with Playboy; a magazine aimed at a more “upscale clientele” than Hustler or Penthouse. Yes, I think I can make this work. I’ll be spending my rainy weekend cutting out genitals from an old skin rag – how about you?