I have been having a series of bad hair days lately. Having bad hair puts me in the worst funk, I tell ya. I could do without having make-up on (though my appearance IS vastly improved by its presence) and I can do without being dressed to the nines, but if my hair looks like crap, then I cannot help but feel my entire existence is marred by its disarray. My hair is, if nothing else, not straight. There is no part of my hair that is remotely straight or smooth naturally. If you see me with gloriously shiny, flowing waves of ginger hair, then know that I probably spent between 1-2 hours to get it that way. Shit, I’m not even a natural redhead.
If I left things up to nature I would have a frizzy, half crinkled half curly, coarse, somewhere in the dirty blonde vicinity, mass of mess on my head.
I’ve done everything imaginable to my hair save for a perm because, SERIOUSLY? That’s the last thing I need. I’ve had hair 2 inches long and 2 inches short of my ass. I’ve bleached it platinum blonde, black (so NOT recommended if your skin is already 2 shades lighter than snow), blonde on top, brown underneath, brown all over with a bleached stripe a’la Sweeney Todd, a skunk, or a Wino and literally every shade between tangerine and fire engine red.
Before I first started fucking with my follicles I was advised by a friend to “never cut your hair!”. She had always had straight hair, cut into a perfect and what I imagine was a totally manageable “bob”, so as much as she enjoyed the looks of my hair from afar, she never had to deal with the dark side of having ALL THAT HAIR. Before I hacked it off, my hair was always long long loooooooooooong. So long in fact that I was cast as Rapunzel in the 8th Grade musical because I didn’t require a wig. I shit you not.
For the first time in ages, I haven’t dyed my hair. I calculate the last time I took a bottle to my head was at least 6 months ago. So now my hair is in this weird, not really sure what is going on with it, phase. I sort of came to the decision that I wanted my hair to be at least somewhat natural for when we get married. Though every time I see someone with truly carrot colored hair my black eyes go green and I want to dash into the nearest drug store for a bottle of Autumn Sunrise.
I’m thinking this might all mean something more than me simply tiring of having to do my roots every few weeks. I’m thinking this might all be indicative of the whole “growing up” thing. Like, what’s really important here, kid? Spending 2 hours ironing out the kinks or using it to SLEEP which lately, it seems there is never enough time for? Also, I just can’t be bothered to care about my hair right now. That’s right, world; I demand you accept me and my rat’s nest once and for all as I no longer have the strength to uphold the guise of attractiveness.
So now you know.
Cat, meet the outside of the bag.