Channeling Aileen Quinn

I got a haircut. Remember last time when I wandered into the East Village and a man magically made bangs appear on my head? I went back to see what else he had up his sleeve.

My initial reaction after a haircut is to panic and become insecure. How long will this last? What will my family think? Can I still morph this into the ever-comfortable, old standby, boyfriend-repellant, librarian bun? Change is a big deal for me. I still remember the horror of learning that I was too old in pictures to strike my Adorable pose (chin down, eyes looking up) and had to switch to Friendly Goodtimes (eyes squinted, head tilted to the side). I wore the same ponytail for nine years. I once hummed "Taps" as I placed a broken banana comb in the trash can.

Unfortunately, I had no time to stew over the new 'do because I was scheduled to perform immediately after the hair appointment. Getting on stage in front of people who are supposed to laugh at you is the best way to get over yourself.

I'm past the Stranger in the Mirror phase, and I'm moving into the This Won't Look Right When the Roots Come In, Will It? phase. All in all, I'm happy to say that color and length alterations don't have to wait for the summer. They can happen on a whim. For those of you who aren't ready for the look, don't worry. It's just a matter of time before it grows in, I become boring again, and have to lie about my health to spice things up.