Wednesday September 15, 2004: Despite the fact that my husband claimed my hair was sexy -- "You know, in a European way" -- it had been a year since I decided it would be fun to cut it super short. Sure, it was "easy" if by "easy" you mean you enjoy trimming it weekly and fussing with product on an almost daily basis. After a year of short hair I wanted a change and I thought having a ponytail would be the key to this change.

So, to make an invisible process slightly more narcissistic, I invited the entire Internet to share in the daily progress as I grew out my hair. As you will see if you go through the photos, I actually looked okay for a while, and then I slowly began to look like David Cassidy in drag. (Not that that's a bad thing, but I didn't feel like it expressed the true Me, whoever that is.) On Day Ninety-six I caved and cut it short again.

Day 1 to Day 30

Day One

Not good.

Day Two

This shirt is actually camouflage if I'm standing in front of a bougainvillea bush.

Day Three

You can't see it but the floor is made of lava.

Day Four

God, Mom, you're so embarrassing.

Day Five

I married an ax murderer.

Day Six

Fresh as a daisy.

Day Seven

Jackson actually watching in horror as I grow out my hair.

Day Eight

At work, standing in front of a painting by Susan Venable.

Day Nine

What, WHAT could be more fun than flash photography at 7:00 a.m.?

Day Ten

Photo by Jackson, taken from his car seat. See how excited I am to go buy beer at Costco?

Day Eleven

We're both sick, but only one of us spent the entire day in his jammie shirt.

Day Twelve

Did I tell you? I bought Jackson a George W. Bush punching bag.

Day Thirteen

I like how people's faces flatten out when they lie down.

Day Fourteen

Upside down is also kind of interestingly unattractive.

Day Fifteen

The floor is not lava today, but polished concrete.

Day Sixteen

I had a request for more photos with glasses.

Day Seventeen

In order to maintain balance in the relationship, whenever I have a bad hair day Jack wears his human-hair burka.

Day Eighteen

It's not a fauxhawk, nor is it a chickenhawk: it's a Nemo!

Day Nineteen

Ironically, today a woman in the parking lot of Trader Joe's asked me for detailed instructions on how to make her hair look like this.

Day Twenty

Doc Oc's hair was much better than mine today.

Day Twenty-one

Now I'm stalking myself.

Day Twenty-two

A sign of nastiness to come: the hairy monkey neck.

Day Twenty-three

In the back seat watching Jackson pretend to drive, wondering how long it will take him to use up all the wiper fluid.

Day Twenty-four

At 10:00 p.m. I said, "Whoops, I haven't taken a picture yet," and Jack said, "I have just the hat for you, we're 2 and 1."

Day Twenty-five

Green roses.

Day Twenty-six

Fabulous, FABULOUS morning hair.

Day Twenty-seven

The Beckett.

Day Twenty-eight

Preparing to steal a large, orange squash on the field trip to the pumpkin patch.

Day Twenty-nine

This look works for me, not washing my hair for three days.

Day Thirty

I love the smell of burning pumpkin in the morning.

Day 31 to Day 60

Day Thirty-one

There's nothing funny about helmet head.

Day Thirty-two

Again with the hat. Jack likes to say I'm Irish by injection.

Day Thirty-three

One time, this lady who booked models told me that if I ever wanted to be a model I'd have to have the bridge of my nose narrowed.

Day Thirty-four

Same earrings. And TREMENDOUS hat head.

Day Thirty-five

When I was downloading today's pictures, out popped this one from 2002. My camera is haunted.

Day Thirty-six

My head looks like a chicken's ass.

Day Thirty-seven

Warning: Entering Laurie Anderson Territory. Use EXTREME CAUTION.

Day Thirty-eight

Jackson plays a mean bongo.

Day Thirty-nine

It's better for all of us that my hair is blending into the background on this one.

Day Forty

I took Jackson to the zoo, but I have to say, people stare when you start taking pictures of yourself in front of the turtle exhibit, so I had to do a Mirror Project thing here.

Day Forty-one

While we're watching my hair grow we might also observe that stool in the background that cups your butt like the hand of God.

Day Forty-two

It's raining. We're napping.

Day Forty-three

It hurts like shit when he does that.

Day Forty-four

Crow's feet. Below that, a scar I'll have to tell you about sometime.

Day Forty-five

You cannot aim a camera at Jackson these days without getting an expression straight out of "Calvin and Hobbes."

Day Forty-six

What do you think of my Halloween costume?

Day Forty-seven

I would not accept a pineapple drink from that man.

Day Forty-eight

FLUFFY.

Day Forty-nine

Twice in the last week, at two different grocery stores, the baggers have asked me, "Paper or plastic, sir?"

Day Fifty

Sale Danskos!

Day Fifty-one

Photography lesson: no flash + open shade = blue photo.

Day Fifty-two

Wake me when this hair is over.

Day Fifty-three

A barrette! Because it's really getting in my eyes these days.

Day Fifty-four

Ooooh, a headband. I feel like Cher.

Day Fifty-five

Fully in bushy helmet-head territory now. Plus, Jack hates this sweater. And yet! Despite these terrible obstacles! I had a good day.

Day Fifty-six

Hat free with purchase of "Shrek 2" DVD.

Day Fifty-seven

Beautiful, beautiful post-yoga hair.

Day Fifty-eight

Meet my new friend, hair gel.

Day Fifty-nine

Too tired to do it, but not too tired to talk about it.

Day Sixty

Hey! It's Day Sixty!

Day 61 to Day 97

Day Sixty-one

Now I'm getting lazy.

Day Sixty-two

I'm thinking of burning off my freckles this way.

Day Sixty-three

It's a shag, baby.

Day Sixty-four

THIS is the phase I'm looking forward to, when I can write "Sock It To Me!" on my butt with lipstick and look just like an older, crabbier Judy Carne.

Day Sixty-five

Driving to Pismo.

Day Sixty-six

At the Best Western Shelter Cove in Pismo Beach, every room has an ocean view and bunnies hop around on the lawn at dusk.

Day Sixty-seven

The Monterey Aquarium does not allow flash photography.

Day Sixty-eight

A G-rated tribute to Nan Goldin.

Day Sixty-nine

Could not have cared less about my hair today. Sweater from Cross Dress For Less.

Day Seventy

I won't lie to you. It hurts a little.

Day Seventy-one

With Jackson's spotted eagle ray from the aquarium gift shop. I never knew fish could be so cuddly.

Day Seventy-two

Embracing the darkness.

Day Seventy-three

Doesn't everyone have a shelf full of knickknacks from their trip to Mexico eight years ago? Ours is in the kitchen.

Day Seventy-four

Hi, sort of phoning this one in, sorry.

Day Seventy-five

My monkey doesn't believe you, Mr. Bond.

Day Seventy-six

I think I'm almost unbeatable in the morning hair department.

Day Seventy-seven

This photo doesn't capture the true haystack quality of today's hair.

Day Seventy-eight

If I thought I was in a bad mood here, I should have seen myself after trying to get to sleep for two hours and finally getting up to read on the couch until one a.m.

Day Seventy-nine

Waiting in the car for Jack to come out of the Barney's outlet in Camarillo, where I'd just seen Kelsey "not as tall as I thought he'd be" Grammer and his wife and shreiky little girl. Salesgirl: "You'd be amazed how many celebrities we get in this outlet mall. Everybody wants a bargain."

Day Eighty

"Unit twelve to base, I have found a WMD!! Repeat, I have found a waffle of mass deliciousness! Current location my stomach, over."

Day Eighty-one

This one won't make the Victoria's Secret catalogue.

Day Eighty-two

Here I feign excitement at the suggestion that we watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze one more time.

Day Eighty-three

Visiting the job site in Jack's new truck.

Day Eighty-four

Why is my hair coming to a point? Because it spent the ENTIRE DAY HIDING UNDER A HAT.

Day Eighty-five

The camera is not capturing the amazing Suzanne Pleshette vibe my hair is currently giving off.

Day Eighty-six

I'm going to have quite a hangover in the morning.

Day Eighty-seven

Just skip past this one as quickly as possible.

Day Eighty-eight

Is there a product that will make my hair look like I've just stepped right out of the shower? Because that might be the only way I'm going to make it through the new year without a bag over my head.

Day Eighty-nine

This is how I actually look after another night of insomnia.

Day Ninety

About two minutes before I took this I accidentally clocked Jackson in the face with my elbow. That little wet spot on my t-shirt is a tear. And that clock radio is the one that sounds like someone's pissing in a garbage can.

Day Ninety-one

We were watching Raging Bull.

Day Ninety-two

Lens blow-out: it's what happens when your hair starts to look like Liza Minelli's.

Day Ninety-three

This is what happens the morning after Roger Daltrey and Mick Jagger have a mod fistfight, then drink a bunch of Southern Comfort and give birth to a middle-aged love child.

Day Ninety-four

Quickly moving into "mad housewife" territory.

Day Ninety-five

I can't take it anymore.

Day Ninety-six

Day 1.2

Having a very important conversation with Batman.

School Portraits and Other Hair Highlights

Kindergarten

Recovering from my first attempt at cutting my own hair!

The dress is another story. I was driving with my mother and father when suddenly I insisted that they stop right now take me into that dress shop over there. For some reason, my dad pulled into the lot and my mom took me in. I found the rack that held my size, pointed at this dress, and my mom bought it for me. The whole event still makes no sense to me, but serves to show the enormous power that the whims of small insane children can have over some parents.

First Grade

Pink dress, white polka dots, a Peter Pan collar, and swingin' hair.

Second Grade

My mother knitted this dress for me. I still have a spare ball of the yarn.

Third Grade

Check out the asymmetrical barrette. And the skunk pin I got from the Avon lady; it had perfume inside.

Fourth Grade

Just growing out my bangs, and yet so modern! Also, another perfume pin from the Avon lady.

Fifth Grade

There's a word for what I was aiming at with those wispy bangs, and that word is Incredibly Romantic. My friend Jenny had the same dress, except in yellow, and we would call each other and coordinate so we'd wear them on the same day.

Sixth Grade

It finally grew out, and I rewarded myself with orange yarn hair ties. Can you see my earrings? They're Shrinky Dinks, made by me with an orange Sharpie. They're Mushrooms. It was the seventies.

Seventh Grade

I think a neighbor mom gave me this haircut in her kitchen. But look how good I was with a curling iron. Pinched, no-teeth smile indicates confusion at being in a big new school with unaccustomed beta-female status. This was also the year I experimentally shaved my arms.

Eighth Grade

Brimming with confidence. Check out the feathered hair. Charlie's Angels was at its height. This was the year I was elected Head Girl. I went to some meetings; I may have helped us get chocolate milk on Wednesdays.

Ninth Grade

Growing out the feathering. The transition to high school wasn't bad. It helped having a best friend who wore the same shirt for her picture.

Tenth Grade

Oh My God. And this was the re-take. Can you just smell the hairspray.

And then for eleventh and twelfth grades I switched to a private school that didn't adhere to the forced picture-taking philosophy.

Nine years old

The summer after third grade. The guy who took this picture didn't know if I was a boy or a girl. I guess a lot of boys were wearing purple Danskin shorts, white knee highs, and red clogs that year?

Ten years old

Field day, fourth grade. I always thought I was a better athlete than Kristen, and yet look who has more blue ribbons. (Not me.)

Seventeen years old

The summer between tenth and eleventh grade. Worst summer on record. I had a job I loved at the concession stand of a movie theater, but my mom didn't love that I wouldn't get home until 1:00 a.m. some nights, so when I had to take time off to get my tonsils out, she called my boss and quit for me. When I got home from the hospital and found out what she'd done, I promptly decided to stop talking to both of my parents and develop an eating disorder. Throwing up is a lot of fun when your throat is sore after surgery, I recommend it. My parents thought I might stop scowling and hiding in my room if they took me to the Renaissance Faire in Colorado Springs. I forced a bare-bones smile for this photo, but maybe you can still feel the waves of disdain rolling toward my father through his camera lens. Huzzah!

Twenty-six years old

This hair-do won a prize at a party when the gay and lesbian judges discovered that I had cut off fourteen inches of curly, curly hair and dyed it red just for them. This was the summer after my roommate killed himself, and my other roommate and I went a little haywire after that.

Age twenty-six

And then a month later I dyed it black, pierced my nose, and went to my cousin's wedding in Duluth. My Aunt Joyce said, "What do they call that hair cut, a butch?" Yes, Aunt Joyce, they do. But look how cute my mom is here!

Eden M. Kennedy has acted impulsively in ways she now regrets.