Where My Hairs at

Yesterday I had a “fat day,” and wanted something to make me feel better about that. So I ate 4 Hershey’s kisses and we had breakfast at Winchell’s. So it was a super healthy day, and I have no idea why I feel fatter than I did yesterday.

I hate being a girl on these days. Guys don’t have fat days. They just have days.

I also had an “I hate my hair day.” Back in December, I cut 15 long inches off in one blow.

It was a dark day, heavy, cold. No, really it was. It was December and overcast, and we’d finally had to commit to wearing coats almost most of the time we went out.

Anyway.

It had been a long day, the kids were being atrocious, bouncing quarters off each other faces, pantsing each other, and had had just way too much to drink. Chocolate milk being their drink of choice, they helped themselves to shots all afternoon while I attempted to cook and clean, and they were WILD.

I was pretty much done with everything. Thats what I say when I’m overwhelmed with everything, or don’t want to deal with something anymore, or do something. I’m done when an argument isn’t going my way and Matt refuses to see that my way is both right and the most logical. I’m done a lot when dealing with Matt’s work demanding 40+ hour work days, and I was done dealing with wild, crazy, kids on my own that night.

So I went to do something for myself. I plucked my eyebrows and then decided to brush my hair and take a shower. Except, my hair, which I’d been clinging onto the hope of repairing unrepairable damage for over a year, hadn’t seen scissors in over 9 months. If there was FEMA for hair, they should have been called in. I had a mixture of white girl fro on top, and Bob Marley dreads on the under layer.

I was done.

Done gently, tenderly untangling.

Done briskly raking.

Done crying and drinking while I tried to find, and then subsequently free, the brush from from hair that most resembled a party clown wig.

I’m pretty sure I might have used something on my hair that sent my hair down the path of doom, and the couple weekends before, in New Orleans, when I washed my hair without having enough conditioner, finished it off.

I also might need to admit I have hair that is naturally dry, and actually use products for it, instead of thinking having dry hair is some sort of short falling that will get me kicked out of the popular crowd.

I mean my kids are ruthless, but I don’t think they’d kick me out for dry hair.

I decided to just cut it all off. I looked for scissors, a sharp knife, dull pocket knife, nail clippers. Everything with cutting potential evaded me at the time. They knew I smelt of bad decision and desperation. Or maybe that was my lack of showing because I couldn’t get everyone to stop fighting, running out the front door and down the street, or pooping on themselves long enough to put on fresh underwear, much less do things humans do like shower. I kid, I didn’t have on clean underwear.

I did call the salon and schedule to have it done by a professional, although when I threatened to do it myself upon the initial info they didn’t have anything for a few days and they found an even earlier appointment for me the nest morning, if I promised not to play beauty shop at home.

I didn’t have have the stylist brush it the next day. Just in a ponytail at the base of my neck and then she snipped away. About half way through I had second thoughts, but I stuffed the panic, I want to run out of the chair, Oh My, FUCK WHAT AM I DOING! feelings down.

I loved the cute. It’s cute, flirty and works well with my natural waves and hair texture. I bought an expensive Paul Mitchell Awapui set that promises to protect, love and cherish my hair through sickness and in health, and make me look like a Victoria’s Secret model. I may have just assumed the last part.

So I’m starting over.

Fresh, healthy hair, that I can grow out, treat well, not try weird experimental treatments at home, or leave hair dye on it for a just a few extra minutes for an extreme pop of color. I’ll have long, soft, luscious mermaid waves again one day. Well, actually it’ll be a first time, because I’ve never really had long and soft hair at the same time.

It was always an either or kind of thing.

I go through highs and lows about my hair pretty much all day. Is that normal? I don’t know, but I never claimed I was normal.

I hope my hair grown quickly though.

 

 

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