Well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool.

I'm officially a boy. Last night we had this discussion as we watched the Pats game (sorry New England fans, that was rough . . .) at Tommy's. I watch football. I yell at the game. Chris and I had a discussion about which of my female Shuck's workers I hang out with. The answer would be: Sara. Seriously, I think that's it. Now if you look at the male co-workers, there's kind of a bunch of them.

Know why? Because I'm that girl. I am the girl who every male puts in their "friend" slot and forgets is a girl. I suppose I'm okay with this. I'd rather be friends with all my guy friends than be nothing at all. On the other hand, if somebody could at some point look at me and think, "You know? She's actually kind of date potential," that would be a rare treat that I would really appreciate.

To make things better, Chris said, "Well, you could be like Elisa, she is clueless about sports." Elisa is also gorgeous. Gorgeous girls don't need to worry about sports or drink lots of beer or anything because they're gorgeous. She also happens to have a killer personality that just doesn't involve football. Elisa happens to have told me many times that she thinks I am pretty. That's good. I like it when nice pretty people take pity on that girl and tell her she is attractive. I'll take it where I can get it.

No, this is not the world's biggest pity party. This is actually just a lead in to just another reason why I am that girl. I cut my own hair today. I've done this before. The first time was when Max and I broke up. I drank a few glasses of wine and went into our bathroom and hacked out some bangs. While they weren't exactly beautiful, they weren't exactly terrible. I have since been cutting my own bangs for about a year.

This time I went crazy, though. And here's why. In August I went to the salon where I used to go in high school. My old hair lady was gone, but the owner was still there and she went ahead and cut my hair. She gave me a great color, but the cut was something that made me kind of tear up a little bit. And by a little bit, I mean to say that I had a fit. I mean, she charged me 130 dollars for a cut that frankly, was not cute. She then tried to tell me that it was very chic and all the women in France were wearing their hair the same way. I tried to smile graciously, but I think she could tell that I was a litttttle bit sad. When I walked home that afternoon, my father eyed me from the porch,

"You cut your hair."
"Wednesday Addams would prefer not to discuss her hair at the moment."
"You don't look like Wednesday Addams. Her hair is longer."

Dave thought this was funny. I did not.

Long story short, I have come to this conclusion: getting your hair cut is a complete crapshoot. Even if you like your stylist, she could be having a day where her thoughts don't jive with yours and in the end, things get ugly. So, you could pay $100 for a haircut you love, or you could pay $100 for a haircut you hate. Why not just cut your own hair and if you hate it, at least it was free?

But cutting my own hair still kind of makes me one of those girls. Self-respecting pretty girls do not cut their own hair, even if it is on a whim and because it seems to make sense to them. Taking such a drastic risk with your own hands and scissors is just not a girl thing to do.

That said, I present my somewhat successful (and completely free) haircut. I may not be a master stylist, but I actually think it's an improvement upon some of the cuts of the past.