So here is the story about how my new hairdresser almost had to go into therapy when he saw me this morning because he had to inform me a lot of my hair had died.

No, I’m not lying. Exaggerating, possibly but not lying campers.

This year has been a bit of a booger and I guess I went into Trace-Is-Sad land and the bullshitometer broke. You know how it goes. These things happens.  And, of course, the last thing on my mind was my hair. I mean I was just throwing it under a hat and lumbering around going through the motions smiling with a distant gaze in my eyes.

Tomorrow night I have a speaking gig so I thought to quote John Jay Hooker, I needed to look like a “proper” grown up so I decided to go get a trim. If you have never heard John Jay Hooker say the word “proper” you should immediately. He says it with an accent that is like molasses on a hot buttered biscuit.

I agree I just digressed there.

On with the hairpocalypse, I didn’t realize until this morning I haven’t had a haircut in almost a year. Now guys, my hair is curly. It’s a big ol’ curly mess and there has been the recent addition that some wiry gray hair wanted to come and live on my head. There is more than you would think.

You see, I wasn’t paying attention so what did I care? I was having a rough patch and it wasn’t a priority.

And as it goes I have a pal who said “Go to my guy” and so I did. I walked in and you would have thought that a bucket of blood had just been poured on me at the prom and my name was Carrie (another slight exaggeration but I do not apologize.)

This guy was great. I really liked him. My instructions were simple. “Give me a haircut and don’t make me look like Honey BooBoo Child.”

What happened was what I thought was going to be a simple trim turned into me losing about five inches of dead hair (not an exaggeration). I don’t know how this happened. I may put a camera in my bedroom and see if there is a hair demon barber messing with me as I sleep. You know, the Paranormal Activity Follicle Demon messing with my REM moments (and also giving me night sweats. Damn menopause.)

Alas, the hair is gone and the poor hairdresser is a man of honor that didn’t sugar coat things for me, which I appreciate. I’m not bald, so that is a good thing. The gray isn’t going away and I’m not dyeing it so I’m going to just embrace it.

You know, it’s kind of cathartic to write about this and I have no idea why.

Anyway, I’m headed to Hoots tomorrow for a speaking thingy and then a day with my pals. Sometimes you need to go to the trough and drink, and next time I get depressed would someone just my a beer and get me out of my funk so my hair won’t die.

I know, my fault, but you always get by with a little help from your friends.