December 05, 2011

OMG, WTF, SOB and other Three Letter Words I Want to Scream

Y'all.  It's bad.  It's really, really bad.  Bad enough that every time I look in the mirror I mutter OMG under my breath (or as Noah would say, OMCheese).

It's my hair.  I have effed it up.  Effed is not a strong enough word, but I am trying to remain calm. 

About 6 weeks ago I walked into the salon and told Maggie (my hairdresser) that I wanted to go blonder.  I find that the more weight I gain, the blonder I want my hair to be.  Perhaps to counteract the cellulite?  Who knows.  And I also went all psychotic and told her that I wanted BANGS.  What was I thinking?  I hadn't had bangs since...

...since little girls evidently dressed like pilgrims and their mothers dressed in 
slinky off the shoulder dresses in the background circa 1988

I made the decision and followed through with it.  I got bangs.  And I came home and took a picture to send to a friend and I LOVED them... for about 24 hours. 

After that I was soooooo over them.  They wouldn't lay right, they stuck out and made my cowlicks have cowlicks and it was just awful.  I thought about cutting them off at the scalp and pretending like it was just a bad dream.  I decided that I would just have to wait it out and let them grow back.  I was good for a couple of weeks and then my bad hair juju started to get to me and since I couldn't change my bangs I decided to change my hair color.  Since I had just paid a ton of money at the salon a few weeks prior, I decided that this would be a do it yourself experiment.  I picked up a bottle of color and came home and slapped it on. (Mistake number 1)  It turned a dreadful shade of orange.  I ran right back out to the store and picked up another bottle of color.  (mistake number 2)  It turned my hair red instead of the beautiful warm brown ash it said on the box.  Damn box full of lies.  You would think that I would have learned after two failed attempts that a third would NOT be good, but I am slow to pick up these life lessons.  A few days later, I picked up another bottle of color (mistake number 3) and went at it again.  It made my hair only a slightly less disgusting shade of reddish funkiness and completely fried it like a chicken.

I have very thick hair.  Typically, in between cuts, I'll pick up my thinning shears and pull some of the heaviness out of my hair.  It was time to do that little trick on my reddish atrocity.  I thought that I picked up the thinning scissors.  In error, I picked up the regular scissors and proceeded to cut a giant chunk out of the side of my hair. (mistake number 4).  It was very, very horrible.  I may have panicked a bit.  I mean, first the God forsaken color and then this- the cut heard round the neighborhood.  In my panic, I thought, I can salvage this!  If only I thin out the chunk, it won't be as noticeable! (Mistake number 357)  

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuudge.  Thinning out the chunk did not salvage it! (Now I seriously wonder why I ever thought it would.)  And now that it has rained for a solid week and the humidity has taken over- my hair has been thinned and chunked and fried to the point that it just sticks up all over the place on the left side.  In fact, my hair now sounds like something you'd order at waffle house (I'll have the hair scattered, smothered, fried and chunked please.)  No amount of heat or hairspray can tame it.  It is taking on a life of it's own.    
It's very, very, very scary.  I want to crawl in a cave full of m&m's and not come out until St. Patty's Day.  While in the cave I'm going to shout obsenities to make myself feel better.  SOB will echo nicely off of cave walls, I'm sure.  
I have thought many times over the course of this debacle (that has now been three weeks in the making) that I should call the hairdresser and make an appointment for an emergency haircut.  Only the hair has already been cut, so maybe I'll just call her and scream "EMERGENCY" into the phone and see what happens.  

Let this be a lesson unto thee.  Do not cut your own hair.  There is a reason that people go to school for years to learn how to do it!  I'm going to start introducing myself as "Megan- the cautionary tale for self created hair disasters."

I will be the one wearing a hat to family functions unless a Christmas miracle occurs.  This is the one that I have my eye on.   I think it will be actually less noticeable than the look that I am currently sporting.

Baz Luhrmann once said, "Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85."  I hear you now, Baz!  Oh boy, do me and my 85 year old hair hear you now!

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