Sort of gross. Sorry. But I need your help.

So. Are we all familiar with the Neti Pot?

No?

Well, allow me to provide you with a visual:

(I love the guy's super excited expression. Considering that his account of using the Neti Pot includes phrases like "nasal burning/drowning sensation," I don't trust that perky thumbs-up so much.)

Anyway.

It's supposed to flush out your sinuses. And friends, gross as it may be, that's what I need. The things happening in my nose and beyond would frighten small children.

I've tried things like Mucinex in the past -- it serves only to move the problem from my head to my lungs, which, frankly, I can do without. I've tried nasal sprays, both saline and prescription (antihistamine and steroid). I've tried blowing my nose until it's raw and I'm lightheaded.

It ain't working.

Please tell me someone out there has either tried this, or has some kind of advice about this, or has some other, better, preferably-homeopathic remedy for sinuses filled with rubber cement? (I know. Ew. Sorry.)

Because before I try something called The Nose Bidet, I really feel that I need a personal recommendation.

The Reveal (and Some Revelations)

So, before you scroll down (or just look down, depending on how big your monitor/phone screen is) to see the glorious new 'do, please allow me to share a few revelations with you:

1. I don't know how it happens, but every time I get a haircut and I think this is going to be THE greatest haircut ever because the stylist did something completely different this time, and wow, is my life going to be different... Yeah. It somehow ends up looking like the same hair I had before, only shorter. So the impact is kind of...wanting.
2. It's apparently really hard for me to take a picture of myself that A) isn't from a weird angle, B) shows the actual thing I'm trying to show (in this case, the hair), and C) doesn't make me look like an absolute weirdo. The faces below would seem to range from "bewildered surprise/bemusement" to "mugshot." And these were the GOOD ones.
3. I...like my haircut. :) Even though the stylist was an absolute lunatic with only a tenuous grasp on reality, miracle of miracles, she did a good job. I think the straight (which I did for the wedding) looks better than the curly (which I do for the everyday, since I don't like spending 45 minutes with a flatiron), but overall, I'm pleased.

So now that I've placed way more importance on this than could ever be warranted, I give you:

"Yes, I will give you my kidney, kind sir!
As soon as I remember how to blink."

"I'm ready to serve my time, warden.
With strength, and quiet dignity. And frizz.
Amen."

(A side shot of the curls.)

A request and a promise

First, the request:

Tomorrow, my cousin S is getting married. Yay, S! I couldn't be more thrilled for her, so of course I will be there with bells on! However, it's in Indiana, so T will be on Bubba duty while I attend stag. (Zero problem with this, as the T is not so much a wedding person, anyway; I barely managed to get him to agree to attend a non-Elvis-officiated wedding for US.)

Plus my parents and grandparents are going, so it'll be some good, quality family time.

The wedding's being held at the groom's family farm somewhere smack-dab in the middle of rural Indiana. Since it's a bit of a haul, the wedding isn't until 4:00 and it's literally in the middle of nowhere, the plan is to drive out tomorrow, attend said festivities, stay the night and return Sunday.

See where this is going?

ROAD TRIP! With my parents. And grandparents. And NOT with my husband or my brother or his wife.

In other words: I'm 10 years old again.

The original plan, God help us all, was for all five of us to drive in one car. I had visions of myself on the dreaded b-tch seat in the back, sandwiched between my (perfectly lovely) grandparents, singing 500 choruses of "I've Been Working on the Railroad" and "You Are My Sunshine" like the family road trips of my youth, only this time peppered with long stretches of conversations that begin with, "So, why haven't you had any babies yet?"

I started panicking.

So I casually suggested to my mother that PERHAPS we could caravan -- I'll drive my nice, roomy car, she can drive her equally roomy car, and we can swap passengers. You know, to maximize the family fun.

Is it the greenest solution? Perhaps not. But is it the sanest? Hoo-yes.

(Incidentally, when my mom pitched the idea to Grandma, here was her response: "Oh. Hm. Um...is Shannon a good driver?" My mother's response, God love her: "No, she's awful. We're all going to crash in a ditch and go up in a ball of flames." Clearly I've taught her well.)

So the request? Say a prayer for us and/or me. For as much as I love and adore my family (and I do, I really REALLY do), I fear this may be a true test of my sanity. When you're a kid, a road trip is A) kind of an adventure and B) not exactly something you can opt of out because, well, you're 10 and your parents kind of rule your life. At 33, I can barely tolerate a road trip with MYSELF. To KROGER.

And now, the promise:

I realize it was WHOLLY unfair of me to post the reenactment of my bizarre salon encounter without saying how I felt about the actual haircut or ponying up some pics. Please accept my apology.

So let me tell you:

1. Against all odds and the laws of nature and/or reason, Little Miss Cuckoopants somehow managed to turn out a decent haircut. I KNOW! I was as surprised as you are. As baffled as she appeared to be throughout the entirety of the process, somehow my instructions soaked in amid the lack of understanding of what holiday it actually was, and she did a good job. (And I tipped her accordingly, even after she implied I might be old enough to receive Social Security benefits. I'm not made of stone, people.)
2. As with any new cut I get, I've spent the better part of this week trying to figure out how best to style it, which is my excuse for not showing you any pictures up to this point. This weekend, however, I'm snap some glamour shots and on Monday, I'll give you the goods. I may even try a few different styles just for funsies.

But you have to hold up your end of the bargain. And if you aren't the praying or meditating type, just hum a few choruses of "The Wheels on the Bus" in your head and have a little chuckle at my expense. Either/or.

"No Appointment (or Personality) Necessary": A Play in One Act

SCENE 1

T's car, en route to the nearest largish town. It's the Sunday before Labor Day. My objective is singular in nature. It's been a long time coming, and, with an afternoon free, at long last I'm out of excuses.

And it's not as though I had to make an appointment or anything.

ME: (inner monologue whilst driving) I'm just going to pull up to the first one I see and go in. Enough already.

In less than five seconds, I spot one surrounded by familiar neighbors: Game Stop, Starbucks, a Verizon store. I park in front of the plate glass windows.

ME: (still with the inner monologue; I know it seems weird, but just go with it) It's going to be fine. Just because you ended up with a head that looked like one of those orange traffic cones last time, it doesn't mean something bad will happen THIS time. I'm sure the people here are extremely talented.

And anyway, you aren't asking for much. A quick cut. No frills. No 30-minute blow-dry. No overpriced products. Easy peasy. (Exits car, walks hesitantly across the sidewalk and grips the door handle, steels self, then goes inside.)

~*~*~

SCENE 2

Best Cuts. With the exception of its name, it's virtually interchangeable with all the other walk-in hair salons: Great Clips, Fiesta Hair, Fantastic Sam's -- who is in charge of choosing the horrible names for these establishments?
Then again, no one's going here for the name.

In fact, I'm here for one reason and one reason only: I'm cheap. I'm buying what they're selling: No frills and no perks. Unfortunately, in my experience, that tends to extend to the stylists themselves, at least in terms of personality. Well, you know. Generally. Today I'm greeted by...we'll call her Confused-Looking Spiky Bob. Much like her predecessors, she does not disappoint.

CONFUSED-LOOKING SPIKY BOB: (Seating me in the washing-hair station chair, for which there's probably a technical name but which I'm too lazy to look up, and beginning to wash my hair) Is that too hot?

ME: (Unable to hear as scalding water is thundering around my ear holes) I'm sorry?

CLSB: WA-TER. TOO. HOT?

ME: (Slightly taken aback at being spoken to like a two-year-old) Uh...no. No, it's fine.

Silence.

Washing.

Washing, washing, washing.

More silence.

Odd hair flicking for undetermined reason.

CLSB: (Abruptly) Got kids?

ME: (Tearing focus away from odd hair flicking) Um...no. Not yet. We have dogs. You know, for now. They're like our practice babies. And we think of them as our kids, so...

CLSB: Oh.

Silence.

Conditioning.

ME: So...do you? Uh, have kids?

CLSB launches into a long explanation of each of her three children, their ages, the origins of their names, what they are best at in school and what their hair looks like, during which my responses of "Oh?" and "Uh-huh" are completely ignored.

As my eyes are hitting full-glaze mode, she leads me to her styling chair, capes me and gets down to business.

CLSB: So, what are we looking to do here today?

ME: Well, I want to get rid of some of this length--

CLSB: So you want to chop it all off, huh?

ME: ...n...no. I'd like to cut it shorter, but I still want to be able to pull it back. And still have some layers--

CLSB: So shorter layers all around the crown of your head, yeah?

ME: (Breathing deeply and trying to avoid rolling eyes) ...uh...no. Long layers. And some pieces around my face that are sort of bang-like, but not really bangs--

CLSB: So short with layers and bangs. Got it.

ME: Wait. Not bangs. just a few shorter pieces around my face. LONG layers. Still long enough to pull back. And I'd like it to be sort of choppy. Not all one length and flat or blunt or whatever.

Silence.

More silence during which CLSB looks even more confused than ever.

CLSB: ...what?

After repeating my description of my desired haircut, this time with fewer interruptions, she appears to understand. A few snipperoos later, the floor is littered with dark brown hair, my head feels about three pounds lighter and I'm politely refusing her offer to style my hair before I leave.

"No, thank you," I only think and don't say out loud, "I've seen your colleagues' attempts at 'styling' before, and while you may be the exception, I'd prefer to go through the rest of the day NOT coaxing a big brown, hairy football helmet through every doorway I encounter."

~*~*~

On the way to settle my bill, the subject of Labor Day weekend plans is broached. After listening to her perfectly lovely plans of pizza and the Wii with the kids, I mention that we'd just attended a party the day before and were still recovering.

ME: Yeah, we just need some rest. I retired early, but my husband stayed out pretty late, and we're both exhausted--

CLSB: Wow, you're retired? You don't look THAT old.

Silence.

ME: ...right. No. I'm not retired. I just went to bed early.

Silence, during which CLSB appears to be thinking really, really hard.

CLSB: ...right. OK. I'm, like, not good with ages. But you look really young and stuff. And, well, anyway, thanks for coming! And have a happy Memorial Day!


Exactly.

FIN

And now for something completely shallow...

My hair looks absolutely nothing like this.

Well, unless it counts that my hair is long, dark and wavy.

(In truth, I only chose this picture because I think the model's expression is HILARIOUS. She either looks completely void of thought, or just really, really hungry. I'm going to say it's a little from Column A, a little from Column B...) (Also, I'm pretty sure that's a wig.)

So. Anyway.

Aside from a brief, year-long flirtation with a short, stacked, highlighted-beyond-all-reason bob shortly after I got married in 2002, my hair has been basically the same since 1993.

Long. Dark brown. All one length or with LONG layers (I could never pull off The Rachel).

In short: B.O.R.I.N.G.

But when I actually do try something new, like cutting it all off or dyeing it orange (the latter of which was unintentional, and has scared me away from those "no need to make an appointment we are always here and have sometimes sketchy qualifications" salons), I hate it.

If it's too short or too layered, I can't pull it back, which infuriates me. 99 percent of the time, I just want my hair out of my face. And it requires too much styling, whereas I'm from the school of "throw some product in my hair, scrunch and leave."

If it's some wonky color (read: orange; and I'm talking traffic-cone orange), I feel like it clashes with everything I wear, and it just doesn't feel like me.

Which is why I always end up...here.

Long, dark and wavy.

At this point in my life, I'm feeling OK about embracing my hair the way *I* feel comfortable with it. I'm into long, dark and wavy.

But the "long" part...well, it's getting out of hand. When it gets this long (halfway down my back), I shed like CRAZY. And it's becoming a problem.

Places I have found one or more strands of my hair JUST today:

1. Under my mousepad
2. In my pocket
3. Woven between the keys of my keyboard
4. In my dog's mouth
5. At the bottom of my lunch bag
6. Tangled in my husband's beard
7. Hanging from a lamp
8. Wound around my necklace
9. (I'm not even counting the carpet, my clothes or the shower drain. EW.)
   

So I'm thinking it's time to do some chopping. And I need opinions. And possibly links to photos. (Note: I would LOVE to do Locks of Love or something similar, but my hair breaks off at a certain point, and I'd have to literally shave my head to get the required number of inches. I know I probably should do it anyway, but I work in a professional office and...yeah.)

Here's what I'm thinking:

• Cut off about 4 inches
• Choppy layers, possibly longer in the front, but still long enough in the back that I can pull it back (the idea of an asymmetrical cut appeals to me, but I'm not sure if I can pull off something super weird, and again: I don't want anything that needs a lot of styling)
• Shorter layers right by my face (not really bangs, but kind of)

Thoughts? Advice? Cautionary tales? Cautionary photos?

Bring it.