Friday, April 4, 2008
I've been repeating the same hair pattern all my life. I'm never satisfied. I decide I want to grow my hair out, so I can curl the ends and people will possibly mistake me for Bettie Page. But as soon as it starts getting longer, it loses height. And the way I see it, the bigger, the better. Big hair gives me confidence (not to mention makes me look thinner). As do cigarettes, sunglasses, and holding a hot beverage. So just as its halfway to the Bettie, I decide that the height is now more important, and whack it all off. This I do by myself, in my bathroom, with the same pair of dull scissors that I've used since the beginning. I'll cut, and cut, and cut until really there is nothing left to cut. And its the same choppy mess that I end up with every time. Short on the top and in the back, longer in the front. Only, I'm no hairstylist. So while it looks okay, it also looks like crap. It'll work this time, but come tomorrow when I have to take a shower and then re-style it... god be with me. So the scissors lay by the sink for the next 2 months, as I'm now doing daily touch ups on my horrible disaster of a confidence boost. Not only am I not satisfied with how short it is now, but I'm disappointed in myself for giving up on growing it out. Again. Well, if the length is wrong, then, maybe it doesn't need to be black anymore either! Someone take me to town, I need new color. How about blond? I don't care if my hair is currently jet black, I want it platinum, and I want it platinum today. 5 trips to the beauty school later, my hair is completely wasted, 30% platinum, and definitely falling out. And now that its blond ...does my face look washed out? Ugh. It does. The only way to make my hair look good now, is to wear 40 lbs of makeup 24 hours a day. I can't do that! It sure would be fun, but I'm just way too busy, and lets face it, way too lazy. I could have gotten away with that back before Eleanore landed in my uterus, but now? Wait. I went through all the trouble for these gorgeous country fried golden locks, lets give this makeup thing a go. Lots of powder, lots of blush, tons of eyeliner, bright red lipstick ...the works. Is that a pimple? Is that another one? Great, I'm breaking out. Okay, so now I'm not just wearing the makeup to look good with my hair, I'm wearing it to cover up my breakouts, from wearing too much makeup? This is getting out of control. I've got to put a stop to it. ...How about I color it red? I've never been red! Take me to the store honey, Mama's gettin' new hair! Two hours later, its purple. What went wrong? Who cares, I can rock the purple. I can rock anything. You know what would look good with purple? Bandanas. Lots and lots of bandanas. But, now that its been a week and the purple has faded to a pale old lady gray, I'm not so rockin'. And was that color even bold enough to be called puple in the first place? I think not. Back to the store. Lets go auburn, whatdya think? And since my hair has kind of grown over the past few months, how about v-bangs? I haven't had those in awhile. The combination of auburn and new bangs are a hit with me, and everyone else (oh my gosh doesn't Christopher look so goofy in that picture? hahah, cutie). It looks fantastic. My skin is clearing up. My eyes stand out. I think I'll keep it. Until I come across a box of old photos. ...Look at how close I was to Bettie hair! Oh it looked so good. I miss that hair. I've been auburn for at least 2 months. I could just color it back to black and try again? And maybe trim it, to make it bigger. I know that would take even longer to grow it out, but it'll be black, so it won't be so bad. These are the thoughts that play over and over again on the mix tape inside my head. I can't make it stop. Christopher left for a TDY (temporary duty station) in South Dakota this past February. The day he left I colored it black. And after I did it, I was sure it was the worst hair I had ever had, and I hated it. Only because I bought the ultra cheap box, and it left my hair with a purplish tint. After a few washes the tint was gone. When he got home a month later, he assured me I looked gorgeous and that he loved it. Everyone else loved it. I learned to love it. Before I knew it, my roots had grown out. This could go either way. I could leave it. I could change it. I could pull a Britney and just shave it all off! ...Last night I colored it again. And I did not cut it. I've gone at least 6 months without cutting it myself. I had a slight trim back in December, but that's it. I should have just kept it long and black in the first place. Check in on me again at the end of summer and we'll see where I stand. My name is Tia, and I'm a self destructive hairaholic.