Queer and Screaming: I Hopped Off the Plane at LAX Pt. 3

You know how the old proverb goes: "New summer solstice, new me!" Welp, I decided to live by the oldies and take the plunge I've been gathering the courage to follow through with for a year and a half. On June 21st, I went to my regular hairdresser, a wonderful Greek woman named Suzy, and she chopped off all my hair. How fascinating it was to see it look alive on my head, and seconds later, so dead in my lap. I brushed it to the floor and watched my sister's face for her reaction. It went from contained horror to reluctant approval to vigorous head-nodding. Suzy turned me around and asked if I wanted to go shorter. I said yes, and she took a pair of ragged scissors, grabbed sections of my near nonexistent hair and snipped away. The end result was what you see below.

A new season means a new me means a new time zone. Today, my family trekked out to Los Angeles for the third time to support my sister's (thus far non-profit) lucrative semi-career. We arrived at LAX at 10 am, local time, stopped at our host house, took a two hour nap, and headed out to Rodeo Drive in our red rental car. I kept on what I had worn on the plane and merely added some sunglasses.

We ate at a fancy restaurant and learned that mostly everyone in LA comes from my borough, and then we went to the Miu Miu store and tried on shoes and drank sparkling lemonade until closing. But before we peaced out of Rodeo Drive, I had my sister take a few pictures of my new hair and my flying attire.

[Photos of me by Rachel, photos of my mom by me.]

Tank top: Gap

Pants: Erika

Denim shirt: Solutions Blues

Sunglasses: French

Shoes: Keds

We take no sass in Los Angeles. None at all.

When we sat down at the restaurant at which we had dinner, the waiter knew that we were from New York immediately because of my pants. That is how he knew. I'm glad that oversized green plaid pants are indicative of New York City. Good for us.