I have recently discovered that I usually start hating my hair two weeks after it’s cut. Science says that hair grows half an inch every month, but I feel like mine’s more like twice that. Well, at least my fingernails don’t grow after I’ve cut them off, leading my supernaturally-powerful college roomie to try to kill me or something.

I last cut off a large portion of my hair in February so that it was a wee bit above my chin. (Does anyone else pronounce that extra ‘r’ in February? No, just me? Damn, I hope a ninja doesn’t come after me, because I feel like I also say com-fort-table instead of comf-ter-ble.) And now it’s ridiculously long. Well, maybe not Rapunzel long or even really Mord-Sith-y long, but well below my chin.

So, when I first got my hair cut, it would flip out to the side like I was headlining a Farrah Fawcett convention. Or, as I liked to call it, THE LUKE SKYWALKER. I mean, sure he’s a little whiny, but the dude has some skills. However, it grew out, and so now I call it THE RICHARD CYPHER. The Season 2 Richard Cypher, you know, the one where he sort of looks like a cross between Shaggy and Kurt Russell’s mullet.

And then the horror struck. My hair doesn’t actually look like either of those, but instead, has become THE CONNOR. Angel’s whiny, Irish-named, super-power-wielding, oh-I-need-to-sleep-with-my-father’s-once-love-because-this-is-all-a-big-Freudian/Oedipal-complex-and-almost-destroy-the-world son’s hair. There’s a word for this: SHAZBOT.

The only way this can get better is if I develop some superpowers. Preferably without the help of radiation, lighting strikes, or hellish experimentation. Let’s see, I’ll just take The Force, a sweet sword, and the ability to ruin an entire season of an awesome show.

Oh, and my hairdryer broke. Oh, fudge.