My hair and I have had a life long love/hate relationship. I love that is soft and silky, and that is about it. Sometimes I think it is a wonder I have any hair left on my head after all the changes it’s been through. It’s been long, short, permed, home permed, cut at home, cut by me, cut by someone who did not speak english, red, blonde, with bangs, without bangs and around again and again. I was just looking back through all my photo albums and it is funny how much it changes only to come back to the same thing. It is also funny how there are very few pictures where I actually like the way it looks.

I’ve learned over the years that there are a few things that just do not look good on me. Super short with layers is not a good look for me for instance. Neither are perms—as several old photos will attest to. But the one thing I can’t seem to accept not looking good on me—bangs. They look so good on other people. When a new style comes out, I somehow convince myself that this will by the style that looks good on me. But alas, it is never true. I’m not bang people despite hoping against hope. They always do some wierd curly cue thing even though my hair is stick straight everwhere else. I have actually told Patrick that if I ever tell him I want bangs, he has to remind me of my Jersey Mall hair trama. (see earlier post)

Patrick is always laughing at me when it comes to my hair. Every time it is time for me to get it cut it becomes this life or death question as to whether I should cut it off or keep growing it. I ask, even though I know his answer. He likes it short and blonde. And I ask, even though I know I’m not going to listen to what he says unless it is actually what I really want to do. So now, he just laughs and shakes his head.

But it is thanks to Patrick that I actually have a stylist I like. She’s more than I’d like to spend on a haircut, but worth every penny. I grew up getting haircuts at home and then moving up to cheap haircuts. When I was 18 I colored my hair for the first time by myself and an addiction was born. ( Yes Jeff, if you still read this, this is where you insert globhead comments about my glintz days.) Sometime after Patrick and I got engaged, fairly close to our wedding I think, I had a very lovely dark auburn color on my hair, but for some reason felt the need to change it. Now my hair takes most color as red, so it could be blonde, but if it isn’t the right blonde, it will come out red. That has been another thing I’ve had to learn. Well, I’m not really sure what happened, but it came out orange. I blame it on the dye, ferria is no good for me! Patrick had been trying to get me to go see his regular stylist forever and after the orange fiasco, I had to admit, maybe it was time to splurge on my hair. She fixed it and it was great. So I’ve been going to her ever since (with the exception of the Jersey days when I was seriously considering how to afford flying home every 6 weeks.)

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve been trying to decide that very question lately. I have a haircut appointment tomorrow and I still don’t know what I’m going to ask her to do. Maybe it’s a me thing, maybe it’s an all girl thing (even though I like to think I’m not a girly girl) but if I don’t like the way my hair looks, I don’t like the way I look.

For now, I think I will just get an inch off even though I’m really wanting to cut it to my chin. I’ve worked so hard over the past two years to get it this long, that I don’t want to go chopping it off and then regret it. So there, that is my decision. That is unless of course I come home with it short!

So that is a lot to write about my looks for someone who generally gets ready in about 5 minutes, but hopefully it was entertaining!