Bibbety Bobbety Boo

Every once in a while, it’s realized that one must have a “Come to Jesus” meeting with herself. It can be for a single or multitude of reasons, but waking yourself up to the reality of a situation is the prudent thing to do. And so, late the other night in front of the bathroom mirror, I decided it had to come off.

I have been growing out the same accidental shag I got after my trip to Ireland. Yes. It’s been going on that long. A couple of month’s ago, I actually whipped out my driver’s license to show my new hair stylist what I meant when I said that I was sick of having the same haircut. “That photo,” I told her, “was taken in 2005.” I wanted to make it clear that I was trying to let my hair grow. I did not want layers. I didn’t want the faux bangs to be there anymore. My singular goal came in two words: One Length.

“Oh, your hair was so long,” the dental hygienist said when she caught a glimpse of my previous license photo that was attached to my record file. Even I had forgotten how long it had been, cascading over my shoulders, down my back. Sigh. I missed my mane. One would have thought it would have been that long again by now, but no. Sadly, no.

Later that night, while I was doing a DIY facial, I took a good look at my tresses. I realized, like it or not, there was only one thing to do. I wiped off my masque and pinned back my hair, measuring the length that I could live with.

“You hair is getting so long,” my hairstylist smiled as I pulled my locks out of the elastic tie, letting it drop. It was, I thought, as she played with it, pulling it forward and down. “We are cutting it off,” I told her. Her eyes went wide. Who could blame her for being confused? After my assertions two months before, I knew the woman would only take off “just the very ends” for fear of her life. “Really?” she asked. “To here,” I said and pointed to the freckle on my neck.

Four inches later, almost all of my layers were gone and I was bobbing. This isn’t my first blunt cut. I’ve worn it before. But it is a bit of a high-maintenance style for me. I have two wicked cowlicks at the nape of my neck that I have to fight with a round brush and blow-dryer. If I let it air-dry (which I love to do on lazy days), my hair goes wild rather than into the loose waves it would when long. And, sadly, not sexy-wild. More like scary clown wild. If I don’t take the flat iron to it, it gets a little soccer-mom. Ugh. But, it is long enough to go back into a ponytail for the gym, or a French twist when in a pinch. And I know it will grow. Hopefully a lot faster than the last haircut I had.

Let There Be Light

I don’t understand all the bitching that goes on around the time change. “We lose an hour!” Seriously? I’m sure it was time that would’ve been wasted anyway. “I’m screwed out of sleep!” Not if you go to bed early or grab a nap. “Why do we do this?” Take a look outside your window. Notice that the sun is still there and you are on your way home. Lovely, ain’t it?

If we were to abolish anything, let it be Standard Time. I never thought I would agree with anything Arizona did (childhood trauma caused by seeing colored rocks instead of lawn — which was no fun to play on — and the blasphemy of day-glo, lime-green fire engines), but the fact that they said, “Screw the rest of you, we are staying on Daylight Saving Time,” was somewhat impressive. And I think we all should consider following in their rebellious footsteps.

Even with them being “longer”, the days just move faster. I love looking at the clock and thinking, “Where did the time go?” Next thing you know, it’s quitting time and we can actually enjoy happy hour in broad daylight. How can there be anything wrong with that?

I’ve been told it was Benny Franklin who came up with the concept. He must’ve liked drinking in the daylight, too. Supposedly, he came up with the idea in Paris, so wine was surely involved...as it is with many good ideas, or good-ideas-at-the-time. This was back in 1784. However, a Londoner builder called William Willett wrote about the “Waste of Daylight” in 1907. This little pamphlet offered the crazy idea of waking up an hour earlier so as to not waste the daylight. Knowing how Brits love their pubs, and how my contractor stepfather loved his brews, no doubt a lager or many were involved in his writing. So, I’m sticking by my theory that people like to drink during the day and that’s really why we are doing this.

For a long time in the US, DST was used mostly during wartime, then some states did it and others didn’t, then it was brought back officially in the 70s (a law signed by Nixon, another avid imbiber) because it was supposed to help us conserve energy and prevent accidents. Now we’ve got cranky people saying that we actually use more energy and have more accidents during DST (and don’t you dare say that’s because of happy hour — responsible people walk there and take cabs back). Hhrmph.

So, why do we really “spring forward”? Who gives a toss? It’s after six peeyem and the Sun’s still out. And happy hour is still going for at least another hour. Drink up! Enjoy the sunshine while it lasts, because autumn comes too quickly, if you ask me. And I just might keep on Daylight Saving Time even after California “falls back”. Why not? For me, it’s always some version of Miller time, anyway.