.prepster, that's me.

I haven't had my haircut in a ridiculously long time.  My hair had become so long that it was impossible for any item of clothing in our house to not have at least one strand of my hair on it somewhere.  Leif's clothes were even coming out of the dryer with my hair still all over the place.  You don't even want me to describe the size of the dust/hair bunnies that we've found in the corners of our hardwood floor. 

So Thursday morning, the morning that I woke up with the stomach ache, I went to get my haircut by a new-to-me stylist.  I am nothing if not consistent in my hair stylist-hopping.  The last time I got my hair cut by the same person twice in a row was sometime when the novelty of legally buying alcohol had not yet worn off for me.  I guess that would be, like, nine years ago.

This one I liked even before she cut my hair.  I like the self-deprecating hipster and she was a pretty good one.  It was her comment about how she was at her limit of cutting mullets for Silver Lake hipsters.  You see, the hipsters have ruined Silver Lake and now have their sights on Echo Park, where she grew up (not my words).  But she said that the gangsters in Echo Park would make sure that didn't happen.  I believe her.  Her dad is the largest pot grower in Maui. 

Then she cut my hair and I liked her even more.  Six inches gone.  Felt pretty good.  It was the highlight of what was to be a shitty day.

 Returning to the topic of hipsters for just a moment...

Last night Leif and I jokingly coined the word "prepster" to describe ourselves.  We wear way too much J. Crew and Banana Republic to be called hip but we often find ourselves at the same venues as the hipsters, listening to the same bands.  If hipsters and prepsters were at a family reunion, they would be the hip cousins from Hollywood and we would be the blazer-wearing cousins from Upstate New York.

By the way, those photos of my new haircut were taken with the Hipstamatic application for my iPhone.  Fitting.

Yesterday I went to see my therapist.  Good news is that I am not crazy, just in case anyone was concerned.  I'm actually quite normal and all the anxiety I have been feeling about passing the exam, finding a job and (most likely) moving are all just compounded by my grief for George.

We can all sigh a collective sigh of relief.