Drum Roll, please. There is an important announcement to make.
I have only one more day until the event I have waited for since longer than I can remember--a hair appointment with Meghan, stylist extraordinary and stand-in therapist, for a cut and color.
Don't worry about my hopes being dashed after tomorrow. Meghan, talented as she may be, isn't a miracle worker. I'm not expecting much from the cut, or "shaping," she will perform on my lifeless hairstyle. Because my head hosts so little hair since the shaving, I do fear the onset of a panic attack the first time I see those clippers coming at me. Post Traumatic Shaving Disorder--if there is such I thing, I most certainly have it.
On the other hand, I hold great expectations on the color portion of my hair appointment. This dull, thin, mousy brown mop has to go. In its place, I seek what Mother Nature only once teased me with long ago when I was just a child--blond hair. My philosophy on hair is much like it would be on child birth. If it ain't coming naturally, seek the easy and pain free route. In the case of hair, bottle blond is better than no blond at all.
So bring on those blond jokes in the comments portion, if you wish. I haven't had them come my way in a looonnnggg time. And, I sure have missed 'em.
Showing posts with label shaving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shaving. Show all posts
6.20.2006
5.18.2006
Hair Milestones
It's been 54 very long days since I shaved my head bald to raise money for cancer. My short, blond Sharon Stone-like hairdo has been replaced by not so blond stubble. I've taken my vitamins; I've even talked to my hair. But nothing, it seems, has inspired my follicles to flourish.
People use the metaphor "like watching grass to grow" to describe something that is painfully slow. Let me assure you that today I wish my hair were grass. I'd have been able to cut it more than a few times by now if it were. Instead, my hairdresser/therapist Meghan has informed me that she doesn't need to see me for at least another month. There just isn't enough hair to work with. Sigh. The aftermath of shaving my head has been a slow, fashion-destructive experience.
But today--a glimmer of hope. I actually used hair product this morning. I moused my hair to give it a semblence of style. Actually, my moused hair is reminiscent of a very 80's "wet look." Still, I'll take what I can get. Bad style is better than no style, at this point.
Now if only I could find my old Flash Dance sweatshirt and leggings?
People use the metaphor "like watching grass to grow" to describe something that is painfully slow. Let me assure you that today I wish my hair were grass. I'd have been able to cut it more than a few times by now if it were. Instead, my hairdresser/therapist Meghan has informed me that she doesn't need to see me for at least another month. There just isn't enough hair to work with. Sigh. The aftermath of shaving my head has been a slow, fashion-destructive experience.
But today--a glimmer of hope. I actually used hair product this morning. I moused my hair to give it a semblence of style. Actually, my moused hair is reminiscent of a very 80's "wet look." Still, I'll take what I can get. Bad style is better than no style, at this point.
Now if only I could find my old Flash Dance sweatshirt and leggings?
3.30.2006
3.28.2006
Free to be me
Why didn't anyone warn me that wigs aren't all that comfortable? While I'm a true believer in the saying "comfort for the sake of fashion"-- having endured salsa dancing in 3-inch spiked heels, bare legs in 30-degree weather, and bras that wear like a boa constricter-- I've learned that everyone has their limits. I reached mine on Friday after less than one day of wigging it.
I made it through eight hours at the office with the brunette tresses, but later in the day and especially at the pub, I'd grown weary of running to the bathroom to check on the hair. So, I approached the four tables I was serving.
"Hi, this is a little awkward but... Do you mind if I lose the rug? See, I shaved my head the other day and this wig is about to drive me crazy..."
After a few strange looks and a couple laughs, my customers graciously agreed that the wig should come off. And, it's stayed off ever since. Cocktail waitressing, eating out at a trendy sushi restaurant, grocery shopping, running meetings at the office, banking, housecleaning -- I'm doing it all in the raw. And, it isn't as bad as you'd think.
Sure, I have gotten more than my share of double takes. I have heard parents whispering to children warning them not to stare. But overall, I am surprised by how positive most folks have been. Maybe it's more that friends and strangers are just being kind. But that, in itself, is a wonderful statement about people.
Bolstered by all the goodwill, I decided to e-mail Max the photos from Thursday night's head shaving and then anxiously waited for his phone call.
"Wow! I knew you'd look good, but you're sexier than I imagined," he said.
"Huh? Very funny, Max." I retorted,
"I'm being serious. Better be glad that I'm in California right now, because you'd be in so much trouble," Max teased. "Hey! Do you mind if I e-mail these to my friends? I want them to see how beautiful you are. I am so proud of you."
Maybe Max was just being kind, too. Though, I am not so sure. All weekend at the pub I was bombarded by men trying to hit on me. Personally, I don't see the attraction and could easily blame it on alcohol consumption. But then again, perhaps my change in hairstyle sends a signal that I am the adventurous sort of gal. What do you think? Why is it that men (other than Utenzi) seem to be digging the new look?
Regardless, there are a few things I am sure about when it comes to my bald head. First, I am probably going to have to hit someone the next time he or she calls me Sinead O'Conner or goes to rub my head without permission. And second, that it will be a very sweet, if not adventurous, reunion with Max come Sunday.
I made it through eight hours at the office with the brunette tresses, but later in the day and especially at the pub, I'd grown weary of running to the bathroom to check on the hair. So, I approached the four tables I was serving.
"Hi, this is a little awkward but... Do you mind if I lose the rug? See, I shaved my head the other day and this wig is about to drive me crazy..."
After a few strange looks and a couple laughs, my customers graciously agreed that the wig should come off. And, it's stayed off ever since. Cocktail waitressing, eating out at a trendy sushi restaurant, grocery shopping, running meetings at the office, banking, housecleaning -- I'm doing it all in the raw. And, it isn't as bad as you'd think.
Sure, I have gotten more than my share of double takes. I have heard parents whispering to children warning them not to stare. But overall, I am surprised by how positive most folks have been. Maybe it's more that friends and strangers are just being kind. But that, in itself, is a wonderful statement about people.
Bolstered by all the goodwill, I decided to e-mail Max the photos from Thursday night's head shaving and then anxiously waited for his phone call.
"Wow! I knew you'd look good, but you're sexier than I imagined," he said.
"Huh? Very funny, Max." I retorted,
"I'm being serious. Better be glad that I'm in California right now, because you'd be in so much trouble," Max teased. "Hey! Do you mind if I e-mail these to my friends? I want them to see how beautiful you are. I am so proud of you."
Maybe Max was just being kind, too. Though, I am not so sure. All weekend at the pub I was bombarded by men trying to hit on me. Personally, I don't see the attraction and could easily blame it on alcohol consumption. But then again, perhaps my change in hairstyle sends a signal that I am the adventurous sort of gal. What do you think? Why is it that men (other than Utenzi) seem to be digging the new look?
Regardless, there are a few things I am sure about when it comes to my bald head. First, I am probably going to have to hit someone the next time he or she calls me Sinead O'Conner or goes to rub my head without permission. And second, that it will be a very sweet, if not adventurous, reunion with Max come Sunday.
3.23.2006
Bald is...You be the judge
Though I cringe inside just looking at myself in these pictures, here is the proof that I lived up to my word and fulfilled my commitment to St. Baldrick's by shaving my head. The event itself was quite an experience. Although the pub had over 57 shavees, I was one of only 2 women (the other female was a 12-year old girl) to participate. Many friends and colleagues came along to cheer me on and partake in some traditional Irish food and drink. In fact, we ended up having to reserve a room for 20 to accommodate "Diane Mandy's posse."
Though the mood was festive, the greater reason for the gathering was evident. Before I took the stage, the local TV personality who hosted the event took a moment to speak to me. "I want to thank you for doing this," she began. Do you see that little girl in the poster above you? That's my daughter. She died this fall of leukemia at 10 months old."I nodded, but couldn't express anything. I wasn't going to cry as my head was being shaved. I just wasn't.
Some in the audience did cry. Other friends laughed and cheered me on. I flashed a victory sign back to them all to let the world know that I was fine and happy to be part of this important charity event.
After it was over, I was amazed at the reaction of strangers around me. As I made my way through the pub, people thanked me and pulled out pictures of sons and daughters who had died of cancer. 
Others bought me drinks and congratulated me on my bravery. More than a few men even hit on me. I wish I had charged a dollar every time my head was rubbed.
I want to send a special thank you to all of you who contributed to this worth charity. Although the Baldrick's website does not yet reflect cash and check donations, I managed to raise almost $1700 dollars to date for childhood cancer research. I could not have done this without your support and encouragement.Although I cannot say at this moment whether I would do it again, it does feel good to know that I contributed to something greater than myself. I hope and pray that these research dollars aid in better understanding the causes and treatment of cancer whether childhood or otherwise.
Until there is a cure...
3.22.2006
Last thoughts before the head shaving
I know, I know. My hair counter was a little off. Tomorrow is the head-shaving event, not tonight.
How does someone host send-off for his or her hair? Being someone who believes in having parties for the sake of having parties, I gave the matter a great deal of thought. But in the end, I've decided that the hair and I need to spend our last night alone together. I'm going to miss my hair. I hope she comes back soon.
Someone suggested I take prenatal vitamins as a way to speed up the hair growth. Having never been in the market for prenatal anything, I am not well-versed in benefits of the vitamins. What do you think? Is there any truth to the fact that prenatal vitamins might help my hair grow back faster?
However, just the thought of heading to the Wal-Mart counter with pre-natal vitamins in my possession gives me the heebie-jeebies. In fact, this could feel more awkward than the first time I headed to the counter with condoms in hand.
Still, hair is a good thing. And if prenatal vitamins will help foster growth, than a trip to the Wal-Mart counter might be worth it. I just hope I am not spotted by someone I know. Can you imagine the rumors?
How does someone host send-off for his or her hair? Being someone who believes in having parties for the sake of having parties, I gave the matter a great deal of thought. But in the end, I've decided that the hair and I need to spend our last night alone together. I'm going to miss my hair. I hope she comes back soon.
Someone suggested I take prenatal vitamins as a way to speed up the hair growth. Having never been in the market for prenatal anything, I am not well-versed in benefits of the vitamins. What do you think? Is there any truth to the fact that prenatal vitamins might help my hair grow back faster?
However, just the thought of heading to the Wal-Mart counter with pre-natal vitamins in my possession gives me the heebie-jeebies. In fact, this could feel more awkward than the first time I headed to the counter with condoms in hand.
Still, hair is a good thing. And if prenatal vitamins will help foster growth, than a trip to the Wal-Mart counter might be worth it. I just hope I am not spotted by someone I know. Can you imagine the rumors?
3.08.2006
It's just hair
In two more weeks, I will be bald. Every day I am reminded of this fact by a friend or coworker who asks about the date, my reasons, or how they can help support the cause. To be honest, I am more than a little nervous about this experience. With only two weeks left, the anticipation grows. I keep humoring myself by saying that I will have two whole months to play dress-up with my new wigs.
For those of you wondering, I ended up purchasing three wigs so far--a long blond, a medium-length brunette, and a short red-headed wig. This way, on any given day, I can be whichever Charlie's Angel I want to be-- Farrah, Jaclyn, or the other one! I picked styles and colors that are far different than what I currently sport. If I am going to be wigging it, I might as have some fun along the way.
Even though I made the informed decision to participate in St. Baldrick's, silly thoughts run through my head as I prepare for this event. For example, I spend a lot of time worrying about the process of washing my wigs. Just how washable are synthetic wigs anyway? Will the styles keep after washing? And if not, how do I style them? Since I can't use my blow dryer, how long will it take for my wigs to dry?
No longer is it a matter a jumping in the shower and washing my hair each morning. For at least two months, I will actually have to schedule washing and drying my various hairs. Then, when I inevitably tell a fellow that I can't go out with him that night because I have to "wash my hair"--I'll be totally serious. Yet, he'll think I'm just blowing him off.
I think about any upcoming appointments at the office and what sort of impression I'll be making with my daily wig of choice. I think about meeting new friends or even friends of friends. "I don't look like this in real life," I can hear myself saying. "In two months I'll be myself again."
I wonder what it will feel like to sleep on a bald head and whether it will itch as it grows out. I worry that I have some unknown dent in my head or a scary-looking mole. I wonder if I will have to forgo salsa dancing or miss riding in a car with the hood down. I wonder if my hair will be back in time for my 20th class reunion.
Then, I have dinner with my friend Faith, who is battling cancer. Or hear a news report about the loss of Dana Reeves.
It's just hair.
All my silly and obsessive thoughts are muted. I'm reminded of what's really important, how lucky I am, and how unfair this life can be. I'd certainly give up more than my hair if it would keep Faith here with her family and with me. And I wish that I really knew Charlie ,or anyone else who knew an angel or two, so that I could beg, barter, or do whatever it took to rid us of this burden called Cancer.
2.21.2006
2.20.2006
Yes
"My parents want to sponsor you. Are you serious about this?" My co-worker Jenna, shocked me with her urgent tone.
"Yes. I'm doing it." I replied without the slightest hesitation.
There's no turning back now. In exactly one month I'll be at the pub, not as a waitress, but as a "shavee" for St Baldrick's, a world-wide charity event to raise money for childhood cancers.
It wasn't a half hour after committing to Jenna, that a few of the pub's regular customers approached me.
"Are you really going to do this? You know we'll sponsor you."
The comments and support have been overwhelming. I feel motivated. I feel at peace. With this small, if not silly gesture, I can make a contribution to a worthy cause.
Given my mood of the last week, this choice seemed inevitable. I was devastated to learn that my dear friend Faith's cancer has grown worse over a short period of time. Doctors discovered more tumors, and she has returned to the hospital for her fourth time in as many months. Faith's cancer had already caused a fracture in her neck, forcing her to wear a neck brace when she was not in bed. Tumors have also formed in her brain, hip, back, bones, and now her breasts. Radiation and chemotherapy have not stopped the onslaught of this terrible disease.
But here is the worst part. In all my cowardly ways, I haven't mustered up the nerve to call my friend in a week. I'm afraid that I'll breakdown and cry at the sound of her voice. This display of emotion, this pity and sadness, are something Faith finds unbearable. I understand her feelings. I'd be exactly the same way if our situations were reversed. I need to call her when I feel strong enough to handle the conversation. Maybe this small gesture will give me strength and ease my sorrow just enough to make that call.
So you understand-- the source of Faith's cancer has never been determined. Doctors cannot treat her cancer specifically. So, since I can't volunteer or make a donation for her specific type of cancer, I choose childhood cancer research as the cause I'll take up in my friend's honor. As a mother of two boys, Faith would appreciate this choice. Besides, Faith wouldn't want the fuss made over her anyway. She's just not that way.
In another painful reminder of just how pervasive this illness is, the Queen of Sass and I attended "Hoops for Hope" today. It is an annual woman's college basketball game, which raises money for breast cancer research. Fans of the game and supporters of the cause abandoned traditional school colors in favor of pink t-shirts. And as a result, the crowd of 5,000 in the stands looked more like pink patchwork quilt that warmed and cuddled the basketball players.
During the event, I noted more than one woman whose head was bald (no doubt from the chemotherapy offered to save their lives). Nevertheless, these women looked both brave and beautiful to me. As these cancer survivors made their way to the floor during the halftime event, I could only groan inside "And you can't even be strong enough to make one important phone call. How pathetic, Diane." I thought to myself.
Cheer me on as I embark on this little adventure. But please don't mistake this stunt for even a hint of courage on my part. Come this March 23rd, I may be bald, but will never be as brave as both cancer sufferers and survivors. Still, with this act, I will salute them.
"Yes. I'm doing it." I replied without the slightest hesitation.
There's no turning back now. In exactly one month I'll be at the pub, not as a waitress, but as a "shavee" for St Baldrick's, a world-wide charity event to raise money for childhood cancers.
It wasn't a half hour after committing to Jenna, that a few of the pub's regular customers approached me.
"Are you really going to do this? You know we'll sponsor you."
The comments and support have been overwhelming. I feel motivated. I feel at peace. With this small, if not silly gesture, I can make a contribution to a worthy cause.
Given my mood of the last week, this choice seemed inevitable. I was devastated to learn that my dear friend Faith's cancer has grown worse over a short period of time. Doctors discovered more tumors, and she has returned to the hospital for her fourth time in as many months. Faith's cancer had already caused a fracture in her neck, forcing her to wear a neck brace when she was not in bed. Tumors have also formed in her brain, hip, back, bones, and now her breasts. Radiation and chemotherapy have not stopped the onslaught of this terrible disease.
But here is the worst part. In all my cowardly ways, I haven't mustered up the nerve to call my friend in a week. I'm afraid that I'll breakdown and cry at the sound of her voice. This display of emotion, this pity and sadness, are something Faith finds unbearable. I understand her feelings. I'd be exactly the same way if our situations were reversed. I need to call her when I feel strong enough to handle the conversation. Maybe this small gesture will give me strength and ease my sorrow just enough to make that call.
So you understand-- the source of Faith's cancer has never been determined. Doctors cannot treat her cancer specifically. So, since I can't volunteer or make a donation for her specific type of cancer, I choose childhood cancer research as the cause I'll take up in my friend's honor. As a mother of two boys, Faith would appreciate this choice. Besides, Faith wouldn't want the fuss made over her anyway. She's just not that way.
In another painful reminder of just how pervasive this illness is, the Queen of Sass and I attended "Hoops for Hope" today. It is an annual woman's college basketball game, which raises money for breast cancer research. Fans of the game and supporters of the cause abandoned traditional school colors in favor of pink t-shirts. And as a result, the crowd of 5,000 in the stands looked more like pink patchwork quilt that warmed and cuddled the basketball players.
During the event, I noted more than one woman whose head was bald (no doubt from the chemotherapy offered to save their lives). Nevertheless, these women looked both brave and beautiful to me. As these cancer survivors made their way to the floor during the halftime event, I could only groan inside "And you can't even be strong enough to make one important phone call. How pathetic, Diane." I thought to myself.
Cheer me on as I embark on this little adventure. But please don't mistake this stunt for even a hint of courage on my part. Come this March 23rd, I may be bald, but will never be as brave as both cancer sufferers and survivors. Still, with this act, I will salute them.
2.10.2006
Do I dare to go bare?
So... I am seriously thinking of shaving my head. I'm not angry. I'm not acting out. I'm not trying to do the Sinead O'Connor thing (that is so 90s, anyway).
But I am thinking of shaving my head to raise money for a cure for children's cancers. Of course, before I could really go through with it, I'd have to find a very slick wig. Maybe a red one--like the kind Jennifer Garner wore in Alias??
I need help in making this decision, so I am posing this question on both my sites and including a poll on Martinis For One, which I will run for the next week or so.
Do I dare to go bare?
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