Bad Hair Life

My hair is alarmingly grey. Presently, I desperately need to dye my hair and have decided on the D.I.Y version to save  a few dollars.  Micky Blue Eyes recently resigned from his job (recently as in six months ago) so this means I need to be thrifty and economical as opposed to the opulent, lavish lifestyle I used to lead.  Damn, there go the trips to Paris and designer clothes. Sighhhh...

Anyhow, I'm not sure why I even bother, over the years my hair has almost had a life of it's own.  First of all, it was interesting enough growing up being a 'Ranga' the scathing affectionate term for a red haired person.  This meant putting up with all the usual jibes like: "Red Head Match!" or "Carrots!" Or, my personal favourite: "Aw ya, red headed rat rooter!", as I was innocently minding my own business.  That, or they would gaze at my hair (when it was very long) with worshipful eyes, sigh and say: "Gee your hair's nice.  Pity it's not blonde."

On the flip side, occasionally some old dear would stop my brother and I to ooh and ah over our hair and announce: "People  pay a fortune to make their hair that colour you know." before slipping us the odd 20 cents.  Which was a fortune back then.  You could buy a whole bag of lollies with it.  Now you wouldn't even get a single black jelly bean.  

I've lost count of all the bad hairstyles I've had over the years.  I've gone from having very long, straight hair, long enough to sit on, as a girl. Then, quite long, with a daggy sort of a fringe (a bit like Agnetha from ABBA). Incidentally, why do Americans call a fringe 'bangs'?

Mullet Perm. I don't know why I'm smiling.

Then, I had the first of many truly hideous perms, including the woeful 'mullet-perm'. See above.  In my defence it was the 80's so I was suffering from a severe case of T.E.S (ie. Tragic Eighties Syndrome).  In my early 20' s I progressed to the spiral or 'poodle' perm when I was frequently mistaken for Nicole Kidman.  Oh okay, never. Not once. I still don't get it.  I mean, the resemblance was uncanny.

Nicole Kidman eat your heart out.

In my mid 20's I sported a preppy bob, and being the height of the X-Files craze I was frequently mistaken for Gillian Anderson.  Oh okay, only once, and the person was being totally sarcastic and me being typically Aspie, I didn't pick up on it.  So it was nice to have that illusion for a while.

At age 30, I sported a short blonde crop and a pregnancy I remained clueless about, but that's another story.   Yes, too many bad hairstyles and bad hair days to mention.

Blonde crop. Also pregnant and clueless. Noice.

The problem is I have absolutely no idea what to request at the hairdressers.  I totally blame this on some of the idiotic books I read as a girl. This time in the form of teen romances.  The heroine was usually a shy, nerdy sort of girl who gets dragged along the hairdressers by her more outgoing sister or bestie.  Once at the salon, the hairdresser takes one look at her and knows in a nano-second the perfect style and cut to transform her from nerd to fox instantly.  Suddenly revealing cheek bones she never knew she had and perfect almond shaped eyes.

Nerd-girl walks out of the salon a new person, gorgeous, confident and naturally she gets the guy. I kept on expecting a similar experience of being transformed from the tragic nerd I was to super chic.
Imagine my consternation when on one occasion, at around age 15, I was transformed into Leo Sayer with a singed scalp instead.

I was far too shy to say anything to the hairdresser who had blessed me with this beautiful look.  Instead, I actually paid them money for the indignation and scurried home, mortified.  My mum took one look and went ballistic, dragging me back and demanding they fix it.  They must have permanently damaged some brain cells with the perming solution however, as, years later I happily sported a do that wasn't entirely dissimilar.  I don't know what I was thinking.

To achieve this look simply channel Leo Sayer. Or not.

Some years after I had left a job, I met up with a former work colleague. By then, I had cut my hair short. Surprised, she commented "What happened to your curls?" I then told her that I  used to perm it. She clearly couldn't believe that I had actually paid money to have my hair look like that, replying "Oh, I thought it was natural." Nope. I did actually pay for bad hair. So, why pay for it, when I can acheive the same thing at home, with a cheap and nasty DIY dye job. I think I'll give the home perms a miss though. I am off to cling wrap my hair. Classy.

I STILL have bad hair, without the perms. Sigh.

.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

 

I'm also linking up with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday, after deciding I haven't embarrassed myself quite enough.

 

 

 

Do you have a 'Bad Hair Life'? Or do you love your locks?