There are two distinct moments in my life, thus far, that I wish I would have listened to my parents' advice. The first thing was when they suggested I get a 4 door car and I chose a 2 door car in high school (not the most convenient post-high school when I became a nanny. I was a sweaty, frustrated mess putting carseats and young children in the backseat everyday). The second advice was don't dye your hair. It is expensive. you'll never go back to your normal hair. you have beautiful hair. don't do it until you have grays and need to.
Well...I did it. I regret it. Yes, I will
say type it for the world to see
MOM, YOU WERE RIGHT.
When I was a little girl I had shiny, thick, straight, dirty blonde hair. What I would give to have that hair now...
Somewhere down the road, my hair turned from that dirty
blonde to brown. As you see in
the picture below sporting the 6 inch brown roots. Note: my mom was a huge fan of having me sleep in curlers to achieve those vivacious curls in the AM.
Fast forward a few years. The haircut that generated my fear of getting my hair trimmed for the next 10 years of my life. The hairdresser asked if I wanted a "bob". I said yes.
I cried on the way home. And every other time from then on that I got my hair cut.
No, my main concern was not my one giant toothed smile.
At this point I was unaware that I would have one giant tooth for approximately two more years.
Permission to have pity.
I will spare you from my extremely awkward years. And bring you to 2006-2008.
I had long, thick, beautiful brown hair. The hair that girls envy.
It was beautiful slightly curled.
Apparently we didn't own many dress clothes.
It was beautiful curled.
It was beautiful straightened.
But there were days, like this one, where it was blah. Horse mane. Boring.
One day something came over me. I was tired of long hair that did nothing for me. I wanted some body, something with style. I made a decision (something I rarely do), I was going to chop off my hair and give it to Locks of Love. Let me remind you, it wasn't an exaggeration when I mentioned tears were shed when I got my hair trimmed. So this was a really big deal. If I could go back in time, I would tell this crazy looking, are you taking a poo or scared face girl-- Trust your face, whatever it is trying to express!
Don't do it!!
But I didn't go back and tell her....
( It appears as if I cut this myself, not true, I brought it back from the salon to mail to Locks of Love)
It was chopped. 13 inches.
I felt like a boy. I was a bit in shock. But I liked it. It made my hair look darker. It was definitely a change. I was told it made me look older (a comment I will take any day!).
A few months later (the chopped pony tail might have still been in an envelope on my desk), Mr. B proposed. I wanted long hair for the wedding. Perfect timing.
I had 16 months to grow it out. This is the beginning of month 8.
In my defense, let me share a specific situation that took place resulting in this failure. I was on the fast track to the 18 month hair growth process. I hated (still hate) the shoulder length hair, but I just needed to push through to have beautiful curls for the wedding. One day my mom and I were at the nail salon getting out nails done. Duh. My mom's nails were finished before mine and they told her ::put on your Filipino accent:: "You leave daughter here. Go errands. We watch her." Aw what an offer. You're willing to watch a TWENTY ONE year old while her mommy goes shopping?? As if that wasn't enough, while filing my nails, the technician asks me my age. I then tell him I am 21. He then informs me ::back to Filipino accent:: nooooo you 13. Um, nope. But thank you. Of course, if they are offering to babysit me, it was assumed they think I am incompetent to take care of myself, but I didn't need to know the precise age. Do you want to stay with me in the bathroom and wipe my butt too?? Note to people everywhere: Yes, I know I look young. Yes, I know one day that will be a compliment. I am not at the age yet, please keep comments to yourself. So anyways, as I grumble and possibly give the evil eye I decide that is it. I am getting a make over for my birthday. I need to look older.
I made the decision that short hair for the wedding can be just as beautiful. I researched many ways it could be styled. And just like that... I lost the wedding locks and I lost my virgin hair, all in one night, at the expense of looking older. If I could go back in time I would say: Don't do it!! You're so close to long hair!! Don't do it!! You will never be able to have your natural hair color again!!
But I can't. So hello short, stacked in the back look. Received tons of compliments. Everywhere. Family, friends and strangers. Even a homeless guy on the street in Boston liked my hair! Each time I went to the salon I somehow managed to get blonder and blonder. What started as a few barely noticeable highlights turned into a noticeable highlights...
Which turned into lots of highlights, or back to my natural color, as seen in the first picture, however you choose to look at it....
This color was wonderful in my pre-marriage life. Reality hit me in the face as the newlywed life left little to no funds to keep up with this natural blonde hair of mine. I went 5 months without touch ups. The whole dark brown strip down the middle of my head was not exactly the look I was going for. As soon as I received some birthday money I went right to the salon. Again, if I could go back I would say DON'T DO IT!!! But that doesn't matter....I decided I want to go dark. I wanted a reddish, dark brown/black. Something that wouldn't show my roots, that wouldn't be hard to keep up with. I'm now wondering if I schedule these appointments when I am PMSing and have no control of my actions...
22nd birthday hair makeover. Drastic change.
This cut and color was good for about a week. It quickly grew out into u.g.l.y and the color faded to an orangey red brown nasty color. To top it off, I was getting close to the shoulder length I can't stand. Recently, I have decided to try and grow my hair out and it is SO hard. I really want it long , but it is just an annoying process that I hate. I don't know if I will make it. I loved it long, but reality is it only looked good when I actually did something with it, which was not very often. Plus, I think I have a good year or two until I get it to that length again. Therefore resulting in about a year of the length I despise. On the other hand, I like how short hair is so easy, sassy and takes little work to look good. Currently it is no longer stacked, it has no style and no sass. I am having a difficult time coping. Not sure if it's normal, but hair plays a big part in my self-esteem. This whole hair situation has had quite the toll on me- What was I thinking?? Why didn't I listen??
This is a horrible picture taken in the car before my hair appointment (if that's what that was called) this weekend. How in the world did I go from the above picture and 3 months later look like this??
So for Valentine's Day Mr. B sent me to the salon to get some highlights and try and build up my self-esteem...with hopes that I would stop complaining. A mutual gift. I was going to cut it short again, but decided to try one last time to grow it out (maybe if it was lighter and this length I would like it??) I still couldn't go blonde because we don't have the money to keep going back (hopefully this summer!). Still don't love the cut/length, but I do like the color better and it is definitely better than what it was before.
I know that piece of bang is SO annoying.
It was quickly fixed. No worries.
I can finally put it in a pony tail though. But is it worth it??
Not sure how long "Take 2" of the growing process will last. All I know is I should've listened to mom and I would never be in this situation to begin with.
I can never go back.
I lost my lengthy locks with a chopped off pony tail, intended for a good cause, too lazy and cheap to mail it out it and ended up in the trash
(I thought they might not want hair that has been dead for 4 months).
I will forever face the consequences of my hair losing her virginity to the pressure of the nail technician.