When I was back at my 'rent's house over the weekend, I spent a little time digging through a box in the hall closet that was filled with crap (almost literally) from college and from when I was living in Hell-A with the band. I came across a letter from my mom, circa 1988-89, that had this brilliant paragraph:
First of all, I'm not sure but I think my very own mother was suggesting that I cultivate some mulletude. Were I not in my twenties at the time, such a suggestion would be tantamount to child abuse. I did, however, recall that my hair was highly ridiculous in the 80s (and on through the 90s), but I had to see just what hair era, "hair-a" if you will, she was referring to. Then I found the motherlode. This is, most likely, the coif to which my mother was reacting:
Holy fuckshit! That 'do is so fucking ludicrous on so many levels, I have no idea where to start. First off, I have about a gallon can of shellac in the thing -- if I had run into a low door jamb, that lid would've shattered into a million pieces. Two, where's the fucking chinstrap on that thing? I can just imagine lifting that helmet off of my head at night and gently resting it atop a styrofoam head next to the bed. Holy carp, the top of my head looks like the centerfold from "Untamed Hippie Pubic Mound Monthly." And nice red and brown lentil necklace. Man, I wish I knew someone with a time machine so I could travel back to 1989 and kick myself in the nuts. What a douche.
Here's the band publicity pic from the same hair-a:
And we wondered why we never got a record deal. Looks like the line for the mensroom at a "Flock of Assholes" concert.
I will never question my mom's judgement again.
By the way, Miss O did indeed stay home from school today. I took her to the doc to make sure she didn't have strep throat (she didn't) and then we played Groovy Girls for the rest of the day. It was fun, except for the her-being-sick part. She even let me be the horse. And the flying dog. She stopped short of letting me be an actual Groovy Girl, though. I mean, she only has FIVE of them. Why can't I be a Groovy Girl, goddammit?! I think she doesn't like how I do their hair: