One year later I could be found working alongside a D.J. traveling from club to club operating the lights for the dance floor.  This gave me the license to become the Sybil of the hair world.  Life was good, until one morning.  I wanted to throw on a baseball cap and run out for coffee.  I couldn't do it; 

the thought of

 leaving the apartment without "perfect hair"

 peeking out from under that cap

paralyzed me.