Life as an aging rock star.

"So," Rachey asked in her daily phone call to me, "What's new?"

"Well, I have officaly become an aging rock star. My long hair is just falling out of me in clumps. It just collects on my clothes, and as I pick it off, more comes out in these grodee- cyotee clumps. I refuse to wash it because I don't want to be "that person" whose hair falls out in clumps in the shower. So, I am wearing hats. And I get nervous at the thought of lifting up my hat, coz I'm scared I'm gonna look like and old David Lee Roth."

"Nasty"

"Yup. And, I'm being very willfull at the moment, as I am willing my hair to stay in until Sunday because I want Rima to cut it with the kids."

"Yup. And you are willfull, so I think you will win in the battle with your hair."

"You know, I could have done it last Sunday, but I just wasn't ready to part with it. I thought I might just be that one lucky person who doesn't loose their hair from the TAC protocol. So, I've backed myself into a corner. The only other option is that I cut it myself."

"No Britney. Cutting it yourself is a BAD idea."

I'm going bald anyway... can't god, or whoever cut me some slack and let it stay in until Sunday? Please? I've got cancer for god sake.... pretty please? with sugar on top?

Never in a million years did I think I would be begging to keep my hair in for "just two more days".

Once again... "Waitress, I'd like to have a big ass piece of that Humble Pie over there. In fact, make it two pieces, why the hell not!"