Read an Excerpt: 'Dump 'Em'

March 27, 2009 — -- When you have a relationship with someone for a long time, letting go can be tough.

Finding the words, standing by your feelings, doing what you think is right -- the dumper has to search for corrects way to do it and the courage to follow through.

Luckily, Jodyne L. Speyer figured out the many, many ways to break it off with just about anyone, from your best friend to your hairdresser, and is sharing her dumping advice in her book "Dump 'Em."

Read an excerpt of the book below and then check out more excerpts at the "Good Morning America" Library.

THE HAIRDRESSER

Signs It's Time to Dump Your Hairdresser

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

While attending college in New York City, I got my hair cut at atrendy little boutique in the East Village. My hairdresser, Gina,was a plain Jane from Staten Island, and that was exactly whatI liked about her. Unlike a lot of my previous hairstylists—whopretended to listen while they plotted to give me (usually successfully)the haircut they wanted—Gina actually listened to meand gave me the cut I asked for—which is why I was devastatedwhen she told me that she was leaving for six months to go on aspirit ual journey to India.

Within days of returning from her trip, I made an appointmentat her apartment. Graduation was coming up and I wanteda new look. I raced up her stairwell two steps at a time, excitedfor the hairstyle that would take me to the next stage of my life:my career.

As I reached the top of her staircase, I nearly choked on theheavy cloud of incense smoke that invaded my lungs. The smellof Nag Champa overwhelmed me. Waving it away, I pushed openGina's front door and entered what I can only describe as somekind of medieval dungeon fi lled with giant candelabras, enormouscrosses, leering gargoyles, and black sheets draped overhuge gothic columns. I should have turned around and left then;the smell of incense makes me want to vomit (I already had, justa tiny bit). Not to mention that goth scares me. It was so darkthat I could barely see my feet—and if I couldn't see, how wouldGina be able to cut my hair?

"Hello?" I shouted. Out of the darkness came Gina, fully coveredin piercings, hair in long dreads, and wearing a black, freeflowing, Stevie Nicks–style dress. Who was this woman? Thiswas not my Gina from Staten Island—Coney Island, perhaps.

What exactly did they teach her in that ashram? She made hermove toward me.

"Jodyne! My queen! At last! I've waited my whole life foryou!" Then she broke into a Mary J. Blige song. "My life. My life.My life. In the sunshine. If you look at my life, and see what I'veseen." India had apparently turned Gina into a hippie goth—agippie?—but that still didn't explain why she was singing MaryJ. Blige to me. "Let's go, mamma!" she said as she grabbed myhand and led me to her sink.

My whole plan of talking to her first, going over my hair—thestyle, the number of inches and layers—all of it washed rightdown that sink of hers. I completely shut down. To make mattersworse, I also couldn't see, because I had made the mistake ofwearing my glasses instead of my contacts that day. Gina hadtaken my glasses and set them on top of one of her scary gargoyles.I was having a total out- of- body experience. I watched hercut my hair, was engaged in conversation, yet I don't rememberanything I said. What I do remember is her saying things like, "Itotally get it. I so know what to do with you. Oh, I just love givingpeople new looks. You're gonna love it!"—and then anotherMary J. Blige song. "Ohhhhh, sweet thing. Don't you know you'remy everything. Woe oh, hooooh, sweet thing."

Fast- forward twenty minutes. My smock came off, and I wasstaring at myself in the mirror. All I could see was a blurry cloudof incense smoke. I frantically grabbed my glasses, almost knockingthe gargoyle off the table (which I suspect was actually a coffin). "Well, what do you think, rock goddess?" asked Gina. Staringback at me in the mirror was a complete stranger. I was speechless.I blinked my eyes fi ve times to make sure it was me. It wasme alright; me wearing a mullet. That's right, a mullet—I couldn'tget away from that mirror fast enough.