Robert Geldoff Doesn't Live Here Anymore

This blog is coming to you live from Abez's house. She just dyed my hair a color that the box called hazelnut blonde. It's amazing what passes for blonde here in Mid-East hair dye packageing. The color sample book had 3 shades that I would call blonde and about 20 shades I would call brown that were all labled as various shades of blonde. Some were very dark, and I have to assume that any color that had warm undertones was labled as "blonde".

I have to report that this week I got a hair cut. Now, my long term readers will know that I have a hate/hate relationship with my hair and I blog about various hair battles. The fact that I got a hair cut and the first sentence of this blog doen't mention typing through tear-blinded eyes should clue you that the cut was a success. Not the greatest cut I ever had (Sept, 1992 Fantastic Sam's: Washington, Indiana) but any hair cut that doesn't invoke tears, cursing and tantrums on my part is a hair success. So, now you know that even a "simple hair cut" is a BIG thing for me. I live my life from hair disaster to disaster: a wizened and hardened veteran of many campaigns. Consequently, I try to minimalize the emotional trauma by getting just one hair cut per year.

But it had been about 18 months since my last cut & cry so I was looking quite wild and unkept. In fact, I had begun to notice an eerie similarity between Bob Geldof's hair and mine.

The social impact of Live Aide aside: Bob became my hair hero. If he could address press confrence after press conference with his grey, uncut and unkept mop of hair with confidence and courage, I could surely face my mundane and normal life with equally mismanaged tresses. In an effort to increase the similarities, instead of combing and conditioning my hair daily, I would just run my fingers through my hair and give it a big scrunch. When I entered the mirrored elevator of my apartment building where I had a 36o degree view of my hair, I would twist a few locks and throw them over my face and imagine that the elevator doors would open and I would step on stage to an arena full of adoring and screaming fans at my latest rock concert.

I began to imagine I was one of the few and the priviledged humans who could live above social norms. The club includes the mega rich... The Donald is the king of this branch, Rock and Rollers are all members of "The Club" and creative thinkers, such as the beloved Albert Einstein. I, humble and human daMomma was in exculsive company.

My inclusion in The Club was cut short last week when life threw me a reality check. I was called to be a substitute Sunday School teacher at my new congregation in Dubai. I'd only attended twice when they asked me to teach the adult class. The challenge of facing and teaching a class of my peers was enough to throw me back into reality and send me running to the salon for a hair cut. My fantasy of being above social norms was over. I needed the comfort of looking like a normal, middle aged lady with presentable hair. So I got a haircut.

Abezsez: Momma has left the building with her new, darker, shorter hair. I say she looks awesome, but that's because I am her stylist. :p If I get a chance I'll take a picture of her new 'do. And no matter what it looks like, tell her she's gorgeous anyway, y'hear?