The Transition

Not so long ago I was a hair chameleon. I dyed my hair often. I tried to highlight it once myself. In the process giving myself leopard spots that I had to cover with brown mascara to come to school the next day until I could get to a salon and get it fixed

Then there was the time I dyed my hair this horribly Gothic reddish black. In the sun I looked like Ronald McDonald, but inside I looked like Morticia, or however you spell it, from the Addam's Family. Never to fear, Aaron the "flamboyant" hair dressing minister/kindergarten art teacher cut all my hair off, threw a lovely color in it called campfire and left my hair every possible hair color known to man short of a run in with a bottle of Manic Panic. At the time I thought it was beautiful. Looking back I want to know where my friends were who didn't tell me I had ORANGE hair.

Since that time I have become a little more stable with my hair styles. This time last year, my hair looked like this.

It was half way done my back and I loved it. After a very stressful year of working on prom and the million other things I did for school last year, I had to CUT. IT. OFF. And for the summer I thought I would be bold and add some highlights. (My hair had been in a two year detox from any color.) So at the end of the summer my hair looked like this.

I was feeling the length, but by August the highlights were killing me. I know you can't see them here, but to me they were a big brassy mess. So I made my regular trek to Panache and the talented Amy to trim my hair and cover up the highlights.

Things started out pretty well. We had our consultation about the color, and the processing began. As Amy went to mix more color because it always takes two bottles to do my out of control mane, I noticed Amy's sister's hair (She works in the booth next to Amy)

Her hair cut was so cute, so I bit the bullet and had Amy cut it. This is the end result.

So I now have no hair. I have a love hate relationship with it. Everyone else loves it. I like it sometimes. It is a pain in the but. All this humidity is a pain cause now after I spend forever straightening it, all it does is curl back up. Sometimes I feel like a I look like a page from the Middle Ages, or at the very least Louis XIII of France in the 1500s. Take a look.

I know it doesn't from the pictures above, but when it isn't as straight as a board I look just like Louis XIII. Take away the facial hair and maybe that collar and it is me I tell you. Thoughts? Comments?

I have to decide what to do with it.