Free as my hai-ai-ai-ai-ai-air

I have a confession to make. If you've been reading my blog, you may already know this.

I'm sort of a closet Lady Gaga fan.

Kind of.

That is, I would be a fan of hers if she were more virtuous. But she's not virtuous, which leaves me occasionally downloading her songs, occasionally listening to her on Pandora, and avoiding watching her music videos. It was Presidents' Day weekend last year when I first heard "Born This Way" on the radio. I thought it was really weird and I didn't care for it. But I kept hearing it, and it would get stuck in my head, and I liked it more and more. It's been stuck in my head for a year now. On May 3, I broke down and downloaded the song, hoping it would make it get stuck in my head less. It actually made it worse. But it's better now.

In August I downloaded "The Edge of Glory" and in September I downloaded "Hair." The latter song is one you've probably not heard of; it's not very popular. It's kind of a dumb song, but I like it. But that I would have it is rather unlikely. First of all, it's unlikely I would like Lady Gaga in the first place. Second, it's especially unlikely I would have such an obscure song when I only have a few of hers. But what makes it most unlikely is the subject matter.

I don't like talking about hair.

I think this aversion to talking about hair comes from the fact that I am unstylish and I don't know how to do my hair. I have ideas of what I want it to look like, but I don't know how to do those ideas, or else my hair doesn't cooperate. I often end up with two curved horns in the front and a claw on top of my head. I'm not a Little Monster, and even if I were, I don't think that's what Mother Monster had in mind.

There are some styles I could probably do, but they are Christmas ornaments. If you put a Christmas ornament on a verdant evergreen tree, it looks good. But if you put that same Christmas ornament on a black, dead, ugly Halloween tree, it does not look good. Halloween trees need Halloween ornaments. I'm a Halloween tree, so I can't have Christmas ornaments.

As a result of my hair problems, I've started hoping that people don't pay attention to or notice my hair. Which has led me to believe it's invisible.

So when my TA told me and a classmate that the only way she tells us apart is by our hair color, it kind of freaked me out.

I hate doing things that might draw attention to my hair. Thus I hate talking about getting haircuts or buying shampoo. I hate talking about hair in general, especially men's hair. For me, hair has become like underwear--everyone has it, but it's not something you talk about. I hate describing someone by their hair. I hate saying they have light or dark hair, curly or straight hair, or long or short hair. I even hate saying someone is bald, because that implies they might otherwise have hair.

In fact, I would rather talk about hair elsewhere on my body (since I am a very hirsute individual) than the hair on my head. This week I pulled a splendid hair out of my nose, so thick and black it looked like it was plastic. But body hair is not quite the same thing. In French there are two separate words, cheveux referring to the hair on your head and poil referring to the hair on your body.

But references to hair aren't even anything new. In the Bible we read that Nazarites (such as Samson) were forbidden to cut their hair. And who could forget about the two she-bears who killed the youths for calling Elisha bald? So I know my disdain for talking about hair is ridiculous--but it still exists.

Which means this has been a very painful post to write.