I have a creepy cougar crush on Justin Bieber.

It's true. It's a little pedophilic, in an "I'm-old-enough-to-be-your-mother" way, but I'm more than a little obsessed with him. I'm even contemplating going see the JB movie in the theaters by myself. (Any takers? I won't judge you, I promise. It can be a secret date.)

But I've got to be honest: the Biebs gets a haircut and it makes front-page news? You've got to be kidding me. I think even JB himself would agree that's a little ridiculous. Aren't there more important things going on in the world? Like Charlie Sheen waving around a machete?

Can you IMAGINE the pressure if your haircuts got front page news? It's terrifying enough to sit in that chair and let someone with pointy scissors come at your noggin full force. But what if the paparazzi were staring in at you through the window, documenting every inch snipped? You'd REALLY have to make sure you wore a long enough shirt so your plumber wouldn't show up on PerezHilton.com.

We've all had terrible haircuts in the past... (pixie cut, anyone?) and I'll tell you what, I wouldn't want that documented on CNN. It's bad enough that I have school pictures from every year of high school showcasing the veritable transformation of my locks through the ages. Poor Biebs. I don't think that Canadian munchkin alien superstar will ever be the same again. It must be one hell of a distorted reality to live in where your haircuts get front page news.

Why I had a pixie cut in high school

I had a pixie cut in high school. It was the hotness. Some people thought I was a boy, so once I graduated I grew it out porn star long to make up for the lost years of mistaken gender identity.

I'm going to give you a run down of my daily routine to explain why I buzzed my locks during my adolescent years. It takes me about an hour to blow dry this mop. Brush in shower, towel dry, put on heat protectant stuff so I don't get those little squiggly hairs all up on my noggin like a baby with peach fuzz, blow dry until I'm sweating so bad I have to change my shirt again, more heat protectant stuff, then curling iron. And trust me... the curling iron (or straightener) is EXTREMELY necessary. Otherwise I'm taking it back to the '70s with my afro puff.

I do my hair in front of a white-curtained window. This is strategic for two reasons:
1.) it lets enough light in that I can see the smoke rising up from my head if I've held the curling iron on it for JUST too long (hence the baby peach fuzz.) And 2.) I know when my hair is done when I look at it against the white background and I figure it would be easy enough to Photoshop a silhouette around the old bean with the pen tool. (Graphic design is both a curse and a blessing.)

Because of the high maintenance diva wig, summer is flat out scrunch season. My blow dryer will not be turned on from June 1st to October 1st. I go through about 4 cans of mousse a month. Good thing my favorite is White Rain (dollar store, what what!)

So during high school when I had to get up at the butt crack o' dawn, scarf down my Lucky Charms during a quick episode of Sister Sister and speed out the door, the pixie cut was a necessary and practical move for this lady.

So there you have it, folks. That's the story of the pixie cut. Not that I'm insecure about the fact that I was mistaken for a boy and felt the need to explain myself. Not at all.

My friend El and I after a softball game. Hawt!

Hair cuts are terrifying.

Hair cuts are terrifying. If you are anything like me, when you are sitting in that chair watching the woman behind you approach your carefully preserved locks with that sharp pair of scissors and a black comb, you start sweating. Because of this, I always choose my haircut outfits accordingly. No shirts too short, because it will inevitably ride up on my back, leaving skin exposed through that open section of the chair. No hoods, no shorts, (otherwise you're never getting OUT of that leather chair) and long sleeves so I have something to clutch onto when I see her cut those initial inches off and I get scared.

Now you would THINK that I've got the haircut thing down. In high school, I had a pixie cut. That's right kids... a bonafied pixie cut. Hey, it was cool back in the day, okay? But now, I've started to grow it out pretty long (meaning I slam it in the car door and get it caught in my armpit.) I like it long, but the other day when I trapped myself in bed by pinning my hair to the pillow with my elbow and couldn't get up, I decided it was a safety hazard.

It doesn't matter how long I go between haircuts, I always get nervous. I can't tell you why, I haven't had a traumatizing hair experience of any kind, but I suppose it really is the first thing people notice about you. And part of me is terrified that the stylist is going to get caught up in her chatter about how loud the Christmas music is, and accidentally lop my locks into a mohawk.

My other fear was this: I live in a small town. Now, I know I'm judging here, but I've grown accustomed to fancy salons (since I only go once in a blue moon), and I was a little scared to try a new place (next to the PriceChopper in a plaza, no less.) My sister and I went in beforehand to scope it out and determined it was less Fantastic Sams and more salon than we originally thought. But let me tell you, she did an awesome job. She totally blew me and my prejudgments about small town hair stylists away. Right off the bat, she knew my blonde streak was natural (the last stylist in my "fancy salon" thought I dyed it. Come on people.) She walked me through each step in the process, and cut each layer with precision. I was impressed, and I will definitely go back there. The other thing I liked is that she didn't try to sell me the products. Now I know this is part of any stylist's job, but let's be honest here, I'm not about to spend $50 on hair products that I could get at Walmart. So I appreciated that she was honest with me and didn't try to push. And because the place was a smaller salon in a small town, the prices were totally reasonable, and I didn't have to pay an arm and a leg for my new cut.

So I woke up this morning with a great (and inexpensive) haircut, and all prenotions I had about small town salons pushed aside. My advice to anyone is to check out those small salons, they do a great job. And also don't forget to wear your Mom jeans and a long hoodless sweatshirt so your plumber doesn't show through that hole in the leather chair.