The Obsession Continues

I do believe that in my former life I was a poodle.

You know all that care for their hair?  Shampooing.  Shaping.  Cutting.  There is no other explanation for the obsession I have with my hair.

My desires are simple.  I want nice looking hair that is straight and pretty.  If I had this, I could spend time obsessing over other things.  Like the makeup that I don't wear.

Unfortunately, I have curly hair that is white.  And I spend a lot of time trying to make it NOT look like that.

Every six weeks, I visit my favorite hairdresser of all time, Jess Cower.  In fact, I need to take a picture of her, because she's a lifesaver in my mind.  I change doctors, and friends, and cars I drive.  But I don't change my hairdresser.

I know more about her than I know about most people, and she knows a heck of a lot about me.  That's what happens when you have a three-hour, no distractions, conversation.  And it's crazy to think that our paths would never cross any other way.  I love Jess.

After my latest SCUBA adventure in March, I decided to just let my hair go blonde.  It turns blonde during week four every single time I color it.  And when I dive, it gets even blonder.  I told her--no more low lights, no more brown.  Just blonde.  She gave me a doubting smirk, asked me if I was sure, and then gave me just a little MORE blonde.  Oh wise Jess, she always knows best.

Ack!  I hated it!  Between it completely washing out my face, and being combined with hair that was too long, I looked like a California beach WITCH!  She could hardly hide her "I told you so" face when I returned after only five weeks, telling her to never let me do that again!

I told her to just color the whole thing brown, and cut it all off.

While she completely agreed with the decision to go back to the dark color with which I was born, she spent a good ten minutes trying to talk me out of cutting it off.  Because, as you might know, I've cut it off before....and HATED it.

She pointed out that every time I cut it, I come crying back to her the next month, telling her that I just want to grow it out.  It's fun in theory, but I like myself with long hair.

I wasn't backing down.  I told her that I wanted it just long enough to go below my chin.  This is a must with my very long face and lack of chin-neck (you know, that area between your chin and your neck, both of which I have, but there is little distance between the two of them).  She waited until my color had processed, at which point she again tried to talk me out of it.

Nope.  No way.  I wanted it all off.

And for once, I was RIGHT!

Okay, let me back up.  Once she had cut my hair, I actually couldn't look at myself in the mirror at the salon, and in all craziness, I started having a panic attack.  That's right, folks.  Fast breathing, heart racing, and nausea.  I felt SICK about what I had done.

And for the next two days, while I let the color settle and didn't wash it, I still couldn't look at myself in the mirror.  It was insanity.

And then I washed it.

And then I loved it.

And it was then that I discovered something wonderful.  While my curly hair is my arch nemesis with long hair, it's actually a delight with short hair.

In fact, as I set my sights on my upcoming trip to Germany where I knew I would have no 220v straightener, I resigned myself to the fact that I would need to let my hair AIR DRY.  And yes, that would mean curls.

And I've never felt better.  Because I'm letting my hair live the life it wants to live, I'm doing less to it, and low and behold, the color is staying in longer.  And the ends aren't dying and burnt.  And I gain those extra ten minutes that I normally spend straightening the heck out of it.

It's an awesome thing.

But I'm still not wearing makeup.