Last month I got a new haircut. I'd had the same cut for nearly three years, and while it was still the cute haircut with highlights, I was kinda tired of it. I told my stylist that I wanted something a little different, and she had me flip through photos to find what I liked. I settled on about seven different (but similar) photos, and told her to give me some combination of them.

Whatever it was she did, I LOVED it. I wasn't sure at first, while I was still at the salon, because she always poofs and fluffs my hair too much when she styles it, so that my hair looks exactly like Jon Bon Jovi's. But the next day when I'd washed it and styled it myself, I realized that I LOVED this haircut.

Last week I went back to get a trim before a trip we were taking to Chicago. I sat down in her chair and exclaimed, "I LOVED the haircut you gave me! LOVED it! So just do whatever you did before."

And she gave me a blank look.

"Please tell me you remember the haircut," I said, smiling, but with panic rising in my chest.

"Oh my god, I totally don't!" she laughed. "Normally I would lie and say I do, but I know you well enough to be honest. I have NO CLUE what we did last time."

Well fuck.

In her defense, she's pregnant and claims she's suffering from preggo brain. So, I tried to jog her memory a little. "Um, okay, so I came in and said I wanted something a little different. And then we looked at a bunch of photos? And I don't know exactly what you did, but I think you put in some more layers or something?"

Still the blank look.

"And cut it all a little shorter?"

The blank look shifted to one of confusion.

At this point I thought I might cry, because I'd had in my possession the most awesome haircut ever and it seemed I would never again attain it. So I searched my brain for more clues.

"Ooh! I remember that you used that razor thingy! On the layers! All over my head!"

Her eyes brightened at this, a gleam of recognition. She pulled out a razor. "This one?"

"No. I'm pretty sure it was silver."

"Okay, it must have been this one, then."

"Yes! That one! You used that, all over my head! For the layers! Which you made shorter than before!"

"Okay, I'm starting to remember now. Yeah, I think I've got it."

She totally didn't remember. But I let her cut my hair anyway. Because I trust her that much.

When she finished, she asked, "Does this look right?" She had frizzed it and floofed it such that I wasn't sure if it was right or not, but I did resemble Jon Bon Jovi so I figured that was a good sign.

It was. Turns out the cut she gave me was just like the last one, only even better. Who knew that was possible?! I have been getting compliments left and right on this cut! I even had a stranger stop me at the freaking Lincoln Park Zoo to tell me she loved my hair.

But this whole thing has been a reminder that I am going to be DEVASTATED if my stylist ever leaves. I mean, if she can't even remember what she did, how will I ever find someone else who can replicate it? I'm not concerned about her maternity leave, because she's promised to schedule me for a cut right before her due date and first thing when she gets back. She gives me special treatment because I'm her favorite client. (Her nickname for me is "Bubbles" because apparently I'm bubbly. No, really.) Or maybe I'm her favorite because I tip well. That's probably mostly it.

But she's also mentioned that she's considering going to school for nursing. Which....gah! I have not been encouraging her to do this, which I know is wrong and selfish of me. But I NEED her. Yes, nursing is noble. Yes, nurses help people. But so do stylists! I'm just saying. And is there anything more noble than creating really great hair? I don't think so.

I feel the need to brag that I am still the #1 Google search result for "cute haircut with highlights". I am also the #5 result for, simply, "cute haircut". I would say that this is a bit extreme, that my haircut is not that cute, but it seems that perhaps it just might be.

I had a streak for awhile there with doctor's offices. In a span of several weeks I went to multiple doctor's offices, and the receptionist at every single one commented on my hair. I would walk in, give my name, and the receptionist would exclaim, "I love your hair!" Or maybe they just greet everyone that way?

I even got a compliment when we were in Dubai. The woman working the guest relations desk at the Burj al Arab told me, with a shy smile, "I like your hair coloring." It pleased me to know that my hair is globally fabulous.

One morning two weeks ago, I had parked in the public lot I always park in for work and had just gotten out of my car when a woman approached me and said, "Hi. Um, I've seen you here a few times before. And I just love your hair. Can you tell me who does it?" I can't wait to tell my hair stylist that people are now stalking me in parking lots in order to get her name.

And then, last Friday, the best compliment yet. We were at Rob's company holiday party. There were about 350 people there. I was introduced to a girl my age whose husband also works at the company, and she said, "I swear to god, earlier this evening I pointed you out to my husband and said, 'That girl has the best haircut in the room.'"

It's almost as if Google makes it so. Become the #1 search result for something and suddenly you possess it!

In which case, John Stamos John Stamos John Stamos!

Since when are hair stylists allowed to take a freaking vacation without prior notice? Because I definitely called to schedule an appointment and I was definitely told that my stylist is on vacation. For two weeks. Two weeks! That's practically half a lifetime in haircut years!

I mean, can she do that? Can she just up and vacate without warning me? Because, hello! I have a freaking haircut schedule to maintain here! Not to mention my cute haircut with highlights reputation! Plus I have work meetings to lead and social outings to attend and Target shopping to do and general charm to exude. How the hell am I supposed to do any of that with shaggy hair? I get my power from my hair! You know, like Samson. Except different, because dude's strength was in having much hair, whereas mine is in having cute hair. (Can I just say? If I'd authored the Old Testament, I'd have made that story a lesson about quality over quantity. And about choosing the right stylist.)

I mean, I don't expect a personal phone call or anything. Wait, you know what, yes I do. I expect a goddamn personal phone call! (Ooh, that reminds me! Hot Yoga Instructor decided to cancel Sunday's class since it was Easter. She sent me an email AND called our house. I answered the phone and she was all, "Kelly?" You know, all flirty, with a slight lilt in her voice for the "ly?" part. God, she would be so good at phone sex.) I mean, considering the exorbitant tips I pay her (I'm back to the hair stylist - you with me?) I think she owes me a personal phone call. AND a postcard from wherever the hell she's vacationing because my highlights alone probably paid for her plane ticket.

And considering I've made her pinky-promise to never ever leave the area (unless I move, of course, in which case I'd pay her relocation fees), she should KNOW that I would not react well to her up and leaving for two weeks. You know, without notice! Right at the very time the cute haircut with highlights is reaching its expiration date! What was she thinking?!

In two weeks I'm totally going to look like I live with wolves. People will be all, "Check out that over there. She totally looks like she lives with wolves."

Gah.

Guess who is the #6 MSN search result for John Stamos? NILBO. Yeah, the man who hates John Stamos, the man who embraces every possible opportunity to sacrilegiously mock His Heinieness. Number 6!!! (And he doesn't even mention John Stamos in his motherfucking post! What the fuckity fuck fuck is going on?!)

You can just imagine how completely pleased Nilbo was to share this news with me. Dude is the king of giddy gloating, I can tell you that. But seriously, how am I supposed to believe that there is still good in the world when seriously fucked up shit like this happens?! I mean, if this isn't a bitch slap from the universe then I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS.

1. Guess who's back as the #1 and #2 Google search results for cute haircut with highlights AND is also among the top five results for cute haircut? That's right, folks - I AM! Despite switching web addresses, I am still the google goddess. And, still shallow enough to care.




2. And now I have Eminem in my head. [Guess who's back? (back back) Back again? ('gain 'gain) / Shady's back (back back) Tell a friend (friend friend)] And shit, now I just let the cat out of the bag that I listen to Eminem. SOMETIMES. It's not something I'm proud of, okay? But the thing is? Dude rocks the assonance. His word play is brilliant. And well, I have to respect that. So sue me. [I just settled all my lawsuits - Fuck you, Debbie!] Okay yes, perhaps an intervention is necessary.

   (I saw him once when I was in New York. All these teeny boppers were on the street holding signs that said I (HEART) EMINEM and EMINEM FOR PRESIDENT 2008. And I looked up to the hotel window at which they were all gazing and he was standing there, inside, scowling down at everyone. That is all.)




3. John Stamos, John Stamos, John Stamos. On ER. JOHN STAMOS. Stat.

Ern asked to see the cute haircut with highlights, so here it be. In certain light (like the second pic) the red really comes out. I like the red.

(I never know whether or not to open comments for a self-portrait post, because I don't want it to look like I'm fishing for compliments but I also don't want to shut people out if they want to comment on say, my shirt or something. But this time there is a purpose - I need to regain my google goddess status. So if you do comment, maybe mention CUTE HAIRCUT WITH HIGHLIGHTS once. Or maybe even twice. You know, if the spirit moves you.)

Big announcement. (NO, I'm NOT pregnant.) Klog has moved. I've been wanting to separate myself from our last name domain pretty much ever since I started this blog. And now we've gone and done it. Klog can now be found at www.imjustsaying.org.

You're already there, actually. You've been automatically redirected. But this handy little redirect won't last forever, so UPDATE YOUR BOOKMARKS, LINKS, AND RSS FEEDS! Don't procrastinate - do it NOW. I don't want to lose any of you.

And yes, I realize this will pretty much cripple the John Stamos campaign, as well as fuck with the rest of my super-cool search results. But I'm the google goddess - I'll get my mojo back.

As always, much thanks to the geek genius for all of this.