Today VigilanteGirl offered to give me a perm. As unlikely as that would be, even less likely would be her reasoning for giving me said perm.

"Because then you'd look hot," she said.

Maybe, in a dark enough room, to a drunk enough observer, while surrounded by lepers and zombies, I might at times be considered not ugly enough to scare children, but I'm enough of a realist to know that about the best I could ever hope for would be simply average.

Not really worth a second look, but also not worth gouging your eyes out to prevent accidental viewing.

Anyway, back to the hair. It's an interesting story. Okay, it's a story. Okay, I'm just killing time here.

Back in June I was in Las Vegas for a work thing. I may have mentioned the trip a couple of times in this 'blog, but one thing I didn't mention was what the hell was going on with my hair after I returned.

When I'm in a strange city like Las Vegas, where nobody knows me, I can afford to come out of my little protective shell a bit. I always figure that I'll never see any of these people again so what does it matter if I make an ass of myself.

Another thing is that it's kind of like taking a little vacation from myself, and I need those too as I can really be annoying sometimes.

During this last particular trip, fueled by Pyramid Tilted Kilt Ale, I dropped a line on one of the Rio's waitresses. Just a stupid line like you'd hear at just about any bar in the world, but this particular time it sort of worked.

By "sort of worked" I mean I didn't get slapped or laughed at. I got invited to go swimming.

After I'd quickly purchased, and changed into, the world's loudest swimtrunks and Hawaiian-style shirt, RioGirl and I went to the pool and soaked and talked for a couple of hours.

By the time RioGirl had to start work, my hair, toweled off but not combed at all, was completely dry. That's when RioGirl said the magic words.

"You should leave your hair like that. It looks good."

Never before had the words "good" and "hair" and "looks" been used to describe me before. I was sure she was joking.

When I got on the elevator to go up to my room (lucky 13013) I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror.

I looked like a completely different person. In my outrageous clothes and my snazzy new shades and with my fashionably mussed-up hair I looked quite hip and young.

For the next three days I went to my conference as my normal boring business-casual self, then at night I'd transform into YoungHipDude, minus the swimming gear but sporting towel-dried no-comb-shall-pass hair.

I felt that my hair looked really cool like that, and I decided to bring YoungHipDude back to Indiana with me.

Since my return I've never touched a comb or a blow dryer. The first time VigilanteGirl saw my mussed up hair was also the first time she ever said more than two words to me. I felt validated. I bought this gel shit that I smear in my hair, then when it dries I just use my fingers to soften it up.

As my hair grew out I've had a few haircuts since June, and I can no longer get the same look. I either look too scraggly or I look boring like I always have. I guess that the haircut I had just before my Vegas trip was some kind of magic haircut - one that was somehow perfect for the mussed up look - and now I'm back to normal haircuts that are only perfect for the straight-hanging short hair I've worn for years and years.

So that's the story of what's been going on with my hair.

Now stop asking.