Multiple Bang Style Personality Disorder

I'd like to show you the only movie star with whom I'll ever have a physical trait in common: Carole Lombard, who also was a Hoosier, by the way.

I bet you can guess what it is. It's certainly not a smoldering, sexy glare, now, is it.

It's that thing. That billboard over my eyes. "The Lombard," as I call it. I've disliked it all my life, along with other facial things (long nose, huge nostrils, moon face). In photos, I literally have to have George place his head BEHIND my head so that I don't appear to be two inches from the camera while he is at normal range. He knows the drill: we get a photo, he backs up a smidge.

 My head has always been big.


                             Exhibit A: Baby picture.
                   Dang. How did my neck hold that up?                                                                    

Normally, I wear bangs of some kind. Lately I've been sporting what would normally be a heavy, blunt bang, except 14 hairs that make up bangs can never look heavy:

But then I started to feel like I was reincarnating this:

I think I look rather pensive for a second grader, don't you? I was probably dreaming of being the line leader again, the best classroom job ever.

I'm not big on side swept bangs for myself. I think it reminds me of 8th grade. Yikes.

George never has much to say about what I wear or how I wear my hair. I just can't get an honest opinion out of him. In 29 years of marriage, the only preference he ever uttered was that he liked me with bangs better than without.

So I guess that's another reason I've kept the fringe.

But I just can't settle the issue, and every day of my life, I decide to let them grow out and then promptly trim them. Anyone else have Multiple Bang Style Personality Disorder?

Hair

I got highlights today for the first time ever. I've only had all-over color before. It was an experiment. An expensive experiment. What you see here is my blonde with low lights of 7CG, or something like that. "Reddish,"  in English. I know that even with color-care shampoo, this will not last. Red has the least staying power. But I have always loved red hair and always will. If I were doing this again, I would add a 3rd color called "The Color My Roots Are" in order to give it some depth. I also had them take 2" off. So that will be grown out by 2015, roughly. I exaggerate a little bit. I can get 3" in about a year. Seriously.

Same day, same hair, different room & lighting.  My mother will not like this. Will not like red, will not like the flatness of this. I will have to face the music at some point. Note that I am nearly 50 years old and worried that my mother will not approve. Oh well. I just needed a change. A pick me up. Girlfriends will understand. What do you do when you need a girly pick me up?

Month Three in the "My Hair Does Not Grow" Series

INITIAL CUT, ONE MONTH, TWO MONTHS ...

THREE:

ARE YOU SERIOUS???

Scientific proof: My hair does not grow. If it does look the tiniest bit longer, it's because it's limper. Which rhymes with "whimper."

I take supplements. I eat protein. I treat my hair with the tenderness of caring for a newborn premie. I'm careful not to over process it, over heat it, etc. I condition it. I talk to it in the hopes it will grow like a well-attended to plant.

Stubbornly stunted.

What do I really want? About this length again:


I'd also like to be two years younger, as in these pics. I want this length not because I think this is beautiful hair; I do not. But I felt like a girl then. I have not felt like a girl in 3 months. Sigh. Plus, I gained weight. Double sigh.

But ...

There is hope.

I have a little trick up my sleeve I can't wait to tell you about. I'm working out the details tomorrow. Until then, I will not talk about the hair again until "something" has changed. Winky-wink.

One More Hairy Detail ....

This is how it looked yesterday morning after the root color and style. I teased it a bit more, but I cannot make it be Tutorial Lady hair. I realized she probably has a few more hairs on her head than I do, plus my layers are shorter. Anyhoo ... this is my favorite top, a Maurice's purchase. Love the feminine stuff. OK, that's all about hair for four more weeks.

Rootie Tootie Freshen The Rooties -Month 2

This is installment 2 of the scientific experiment which stems from my thesis: "My hair does not grow." I have hypothesized that when I get a haircut, I will sport that cut for three years before anyone can tell a difference in length.

I took pics at month one as seen in this riveting post: I Got My Hur Did & It Don't Grow to prove my point. I wanted a pic at 4 weeks and then 8 weeks.

Eight weeks. Wow. The roots, they are a showin'... like those of the old oak which got blown over by the "Big Storm of Aught-Seven," or something Ingalls like that.

My sister-in-law posted a message on Facebook about coloring the roots: "Your natural color is beautiful."

Beautiful? Yes, if you like the color "cement." I mean, look at that black and white pic. That is basically the color of my real hair.






You don't see this shade offered very often.







So even though I'm technically 5 days early, I just couldn't take the gray on gray anymore. Tonight was the night.







So I chose L'Oreal 8G, Golden Blonde. I go a little more brassy in the Fall/Winter. Note how this product instantly turns your hair into Taylor Swift hair.


Now, I just happened to find this beautiful person with equally beautiful hair at The Small Things through Pinterest. She has a tutorial on how to work this miracle on your own head. (Please don't fail me, Tutorial Lady!) I bought the duck bill clips she suggested. I colored the hair while watching Biggest Loser. And then I styled it according to Tutorial Lady. Here is what it looked like. I have on no make up. That's not true. I put on lip gloss. (Don't say a word).

Ok, so hers is going back and mine is going forward. Funny thing is, mine usually wants to go backward. Oh well. If I had a cute little Barbie nose like that, mine would lay right, too. And hers is fuller, but I didn't want to tease mine up so much at bedtime. I told George, "I think I'm OK-happy with my hair. Wow. I bet you haven't heard that in a long time. When is the last time you heard that?"

George: "Never. Ever. In my life. I think I need to lie down."


So yeah, on the left is my root growth last month. On the right is this month. You'll notice .... NOT MUCH DIFFERENCE.


And here is the collage: day of cut in August, 4 wks, 8wks. NO DISCERNIBLE GROWTH. However, a very discernible loss of tan.

Oh well. At least I have my duck clips for tomorrow morning. Bring it, Wednesday!

Splitting Hairs Over ... Hair

Remember this post: I Hate My Hair (or something like that?)
I said I was going to let the new haircut grow out and do periodic "check-ins" on here to prove how slowly my hair grows, which would legitimize my whining about my haircut, mainly that once I get it cut, it stays cut for like, a year. And then it sort of grows a little, if it feels like it. Or it might just decide to break off and give me that natural layered look, like Madge, here:












She can say, "I meant to look this way," and it's cool. That doesn't work for you when you're a 49 year old church secretary. You just end up looking like Ramona Quimby:

But I don't know if I can do this--that is, not color the roots.

Not that my natural hair color isn't a lovely shade of back-of-the-writing-tablet cardboard gray, because it's just awesome, if you like the "recycled paper on your head" look.

But it is taking all the willpower I have in the world to wait to color these roots until October 16, the 2 month marker of the haircut.

Is this proof that my hair is indeed growing?

Not so fast. I am one who cannot stand any rootage showing. So I colored my roots probably entirely too often. Which may explain the Ramona look.

But I'm hanging in there, in the interest of science (rate of growth, empirical evidence), social science (How will others treat me when they notice the line of mushroom colored hair in my part), and psychology (How long can I mentally stand it before I grab a box of L'Oreal 9G and get after it?)

This could be the longest 10 days of my life, excluding the 10 days I was overdue for Katie or the 10 days before Donny Osmond came to the Indiana State Fair in 1973. You get the idea. This is monumental.

Haircut: 1 Month

This is my "one month checkup," thus the #1 in the pic. Let me explain. Maybe you can relate.

It has never been thick or luxurious. I joke that I have the same exact amount as I did when I was 6 months old. But I guess I'm more attached to it than just by the root.

Oh, the hair woes of cut and color that I have known.

On August 16, I got it cut, and I have been mentally flogging myself ever since. I do not like the haircut.

"What?" you say. "Big deal! Get over it! It's only hair! It will grow back! Be thankful that you have some!"

Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes.

But I don't like the haircut. Never doing it again. I will let it grow into three long scraggly strands and braid them up on my head-- or whatever I do in the future, I will NOT cut it like this again.

We went to the Columbus Zoo a few days before the cut. Here is what it looked like. Again, not great hair, but OK hair.



Then I went to see my new stylist (who fixed me up for Katie's wedding in June, as seen here. I loved this look):



So I LOVE my stylist. She is a great person and great stylist. This unhappiness is not her doing. I agreed we should take up the back a little to make it look healthier and a little more trendy. And here is what it looked like the next day:



I had cutter's remorse. I felt like a 50 year old boy, which is bad, since A)I'm a woman and B) I'm only 48. Somehow, I just felt less feminine, and a little exposed.

I felt like:



And that weekend, I had my 30th class reunion, and here's what it looked like:



Oh good merciful heavens. I hate that above pic with a white-hot hatred rivaled only by the white-hot hatred of my ghostly white skin.

The thing is, my hair grows very slowly. Some people swear it all grows about the same length per month, but I disagree. I will have this length for MONTHS.

So to prove myself either right or wrong, I'm going to take a pic every month to chronicle the growth or nongrowth, whichever.

So here is Month 1:



Yes, it's brassy. That's because I desire a warm blonde, not ashy or champagne. I'm ok with brassy.



And just in case you can't tell how much growth there is, here it is in "heat map."



I am not happy wearing it straight. I am not happy turning it under. I am not happy flipping it back, as it is here:



This is how I feel when I leave every morning for work: "I hope this doesn't look too weird." And every time I see myself in the mirror, on the inside, I'm making this face.



So here is haircut vs. 1 month. NOT MUCH DIFFERENCE.



I've had worse. I've had orange hair done by a salon of high reputation. I've cut my own hair worse. I've won a "Worst Bed Head" contest. Still, I am not a happy haircut camper. It's my blog, and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry if I want to ....

I'm living with it because I have to. If I weren't an old lady, I'd get extensions.

So what can I do? Nothing. I just can't wait to see how long it actually takes to grow out again. And so, being a glutton for punishment, I'm chronicling the re-growth here.

What's your bad cut/color story?

Hair's the Thing:

No, I'm not showing the real picture. I'm showing the cover-up.

But here's the story:

My daughter is getting married in June. I'm starting the hair maintenance on all three of the hairs on my head now.

I went for a trim yesterday. I left with a radical, random cut just outside my left eye that is the very same length as the bangs in front. I did not request this.

There are bigger problems to stew about in life; this is true.

But I am still trying to wrap my head around this, no pun intended.

What was she thinking? Parakeets have eyes on the sides of their heads; perhaps they need bangs on the sides of their heads. Last time I checked my three hairs, they were not feathers but indeed hair. And my eyes are on the front of my head.

Evidence: Parakeet, eyes on sides of head:



Me: Eyes on front of head.


So now I'm swooping the two hairs on the right side of my head over to the left in an attempt to cover up the carnage, which wants to curl up like the section of hair in this pic:



Picture the rest of the hair behind that swoop shoulder length. It's just so RANDOM.

OK, rant over. For now.

Tweet, tweet.

My Hair Won't Do the Bump. Maybe I Should Call Margaret.

I have no idea what this picture is about, but it fits this post so well I had to lead off with it. I did not add "Lid" to this pic. It's destiny, that's all.

When I was a little girl, around 1969, 1970 or so, every Friday my mom would take me to her hairdresser's who had a little shop added to her home just on the outskirts of our town.

Bored out of my mind for a solid hour, I paid intermittent attention to the exchanges between Margaret the hairdresser and my mother and little more attention to Margaret's pretty white dog in her back yard and a few "baby toys" in her shop.

I tried to entertain myself in a room void of anything remotely interesting except the comb and brush sanitizer machine which promised to magically clean those instruments by bathing them in an eerie light on a rotating shelf that reminded me of the rotisseries in the grocery store. Let me remind you that I had never seen a microwave yet.

Part of what Margaret did to my mom each week included a "back-combing" of the hair on the crown of my mom's head, an activity otherwise known as "teasing" or "ratting," two terms my mother did not prefer. She called it "backcombing," but I saw it as the most painful-looking beauty treatment I could imagine. After all, I don't think anyone even thought of waxing anything in 60s. Well, at least good Nazarene women didn't.

I remember Margaret throwing her whole upper body into backcombing while standing on the balls of her feet for extra force. Her upper arms would reverberate with every attack of the narrow toothed comb which had a long pointy end for lifting the teased hair.

The routine: Lift, tease, tease, tease ... gently comb the poof down ... lift, tease, tease, tease ...

Margaret: Paused to talk with comb slanted in the air, head cocked to one side the same angle as the comb.

Mom: Tuft of hair sticking straight up, patiently listening, watching Margaret in the mirror.

Then: Lift, tease, tease, tease ....

All through my teen years, even though Mom went through a couple of hairdressers, she kept the same basic style.

And I was mortified.

Remember the late 60s early 70s? Long, straight hair was in style, the flatter the better.

And here was my mom, poofed to the hilt. I could not understand why women made their hair do something so unnatural. How did that style ever become popular? "Old people" were so ... slow to change, so out of touch with anything current, so "dumb."

I AM "old people" now. I'm pretty sure my kids have those moments concerning me, too, and you know what? I don't care so much. Chalk that up to "old people don't care about anything important." But that's another post.

The point is, I'm old enough now that I have seen styles come and go for years. Biggest case in point: flared jeans versus skinny jeans. I wonder how many times I'll see these styles revolve in my lifetime?

Anyway, for a couple of years now, girls have been bringing back the teased crown look. I was surprised when I first saw it, wondered if they knew it was a "retro" look or thought someone at Style World Headquarters recently made it up.

Seriously? "Bumped" hair? What was next ... teenagers wearing girdles again?

Fast forward a few months to this week, and I confess that I have made my first-ever serious attempt at The Bump. A couple of my contemporaries wear it well. I'm feeling the retro vibe. I like both Samantha Stevens' AND Duffy's hair bumps.










But not Gladys Kravitz' Cotton Candy Bump. Gladys's bump definitely looks like the handiwork of Margaret.



And not 80s big hair. There is a big difference in big hair.







I bought a doohickey to stick under the hair to make it bump up, but alas, it did not work for me or my lovely daughters. I guess I'll have to stick with Margaret's tried and true technique, upper arms flailing and all.

Whaddya think? Mom's hair and my Go-Go boots, and my current attempt at The Bump. How about you, bloggers. Do you bump?