Thursday, September 23, 2010


Okay, ya ready for a hairowing walk down memory lane?

First off, I need to explain that I was a little bit doomed from the start. My entire childhood was shaped by a succession of bad haircuts. Por ejemplo:

Ya see? Even at four I thought I looked like a boy in this picture.
(My momma just did her first tsk and head shake. She will now continue to tsk and head shake throughout this post.)

Let's just get the unpleasantness out of the way with one fell swoop, shall we?

Go ahead. Say it. 
Bless. Her. Heart.

What can I say, it was the Carter Years. And what could be more patriotic than having the same haircut as your president?

PS - Mom, if I've never told you thanks before for getting me braces, I'm telling you now.

Moving along.

My Ugly Stage (do you hear the tsking?) continued right through sixth grade, where I pulled my long hair back on one side only and clipped on a "hair diddy" that I made myself with lace and novelty buttons my mom bought for me at the Cloth World.

Finally in seventh grade I was allowed to get contacts (and I had to pay $60 every time I lost one - I lost many. It was worth it.) and along came the bangs. Which were painstakingly curled just right and then plastered to a fine crunch with Final Net each and every morning before school.  

And where I considered myself cursed, CURSED by first period gym which threatened to dampen my meticulous bang crisping.

Then, eighth grade, and the photo you've all been waiting for:

We were young. No one could tell us we're wrong. 
Searching our hearts for so long. 
Love is a mulletfield.

On to high school. Where I got a little funkier and adventurous. I mean, I'd hit my peak with the the above coif, might as well perm the heck out of it and strike a pose in the bathroom

Here's a closeup of the hair art for you:

Nothing says style like some frizz.
From there I hacked it off

Then shaved one side of it.

And if that picture doesn't make you want to groove to some Flock of Seagulls, I just don't know what will.

Another angle for your viewing pleasure:

Yes, my homecoming date Dracula liked it as well. And just how fabulous is Dracula's white suit? I sure wish Walker had a white suit. And a skinny tie to go along with it. And put a whole lotta gel in his hair.

Just one more I found while digging through the photo albums:

Speaking of Dracula, meet his bride.  I HATED that do. I had a friend's brother do it for me, and after he did it, I HATED it, but I didn't realize that I could have combed it out, if I wanted to. So I kept it. But I HATED it all night long. And it was my bestie Garth's prom, and poor thing took me with that ridiculous hair to his prom. Ugh. Ugh! And yes, that's his daddy's Caddie that he was allowed to use for the evening.
Then came the 90s, the blessed, blessed 90s, and boring hair was back.

But now, at the age of 40, in an effort NOT to have a momcut, it seems history is repeating itself:


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