Hello Gorgeous

Tags

blue hair, gray hair, hair, humour, music

They say blondes have more fun, and I’m going to have to take them at their word because I’m happy being blue.

People in whose circle I don’t usually run, make the same statement: “still blue, huh?”

It’s been just over 2 months since I decided to rebel and I have no regrets. I also have no intention of changing any time soon. Get used to it!

But just in case you’re considering rebelling too, there are a few things you might want to know first.

1. Wash it in cold water. Hot water lifts the outer cuticle layer of your hair, releasing the colour faster. There’s nothing more refreshing than soaking your head under the tap with ice cold water first thing in the morning. So I usually have a hot shower with a shower cap…and wash my hair later in the day once the caffeine from my first pot of tea has kicked in.
2. Be committed to your colour. Get used to blue fingernails, blue hair brushes, and blue towels. Like most home dyes, the colour comes out…and not just under the tap. Oh, it often washes out with a bit of scrubbing when it’s fresh, but if you want pretty nails, I suggest getting a manicure and invest in nail polish.
3. Speaking of things turning blue…rain is not your friend. Neither are night sweats. Wet hair can sometimes run, especially if you’ve just refreshed the colour. The first time I refreshed my colour at home, I remembered to put a towel on my pillows. Imagine my horror when I woke up with a blue neck. What can I say? It was a sultry, summer night and I am still wrestling with the raging inferno of my dying youth.  It washed off, but it was a terrific way to kickstart my day. Right up there with ice cold water, baby!
4. Pay attention. Just like the seasons, colours change. Or rather, like my motivation, they fade. Which isn’t so bad until it’s bad. One day, you’re sporting electric blue…the next, you’re sporting a gross shade of algae-covered pool water. Just like those pesky extra pounds that keep coming back (and bringing friends), you have to be vigilant and refresh before little kids refer to your haircolour as “cotton candy”.

Invest in your hair. It is the crown you never take off.

1. Make time. Make time to refresh it, and maybe plan a relaxing activity for the 20-30 minutes you’re waiting for the dye to work its magic! Hair dyes have improved a lot, even from the days that I started experimenting. They have cream dyes now. Less mess…but still a mess. Wear old gloves. Wear old clothes (or none at all). And keep assorted old towels, face cloths, and plastic hair clips handy. Blue ears are only cute on a smurf. And no one wants to explain the blue hand prints on your porcelain sink 5 years from now.

It will never look as good as the moment you step from the salon feeling like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

And it doesn’t matter. Whatever the style. Whatever the length. Whatever the colour.

 Be your own kind of beautiful!

 

Happy Weekend!

The Golden Touch

Tags

hair, haircuts, humour, little old ladies, midlife crisis

Spring has sprung, and I have no longer lost my will to live…outside of the confines of my warm bed. Another inevitable year has passed, so I decided it was time to kick-start my midlife crisis again, before I’m starting my golden years.

When I start my golden years, however, I don’t intend to be like the “lady” I met today on my commute home from work. She was in a pretty ordinary blue sedan, and crawling along at 40 km/hr in a 70 km/hr.  I waved a couple times, as if shooshing a fly, and then I changed lanes to pass her. No biggie! As I passed her, I glanced over to see who was driving. Was the driver new? 112 years old? That’s when this well-healed, mature woman with white hair and Jackie O sunglasses, gave me the finger. I didn’t tailgate or peep the horn. I didn’t gesture in any rude manner, or swerve around her like a crazy person. I may become a sassy old broad who intentionally crosses at a crosswalk slowly out of spite, but that was just rude!

So back to my midlife crisis… Every stereotypical cartoon old lady either has silver hair or blue hair. So naturally, I had to choose one or the other. Flip a coin (and consult my hair stylist)!

My stylist’s last name is Golden, so I can now say, I’ve received “The Golden Touch”!  Time to start planning some adventures for this year! Any suggestions?

Happy Wednesday!

For Better or For Worse…

Tags

family, gray hair, hair, humour

I mentioned it earlier this week…I got my hair butchered cut…and I’m not happy about it.

In my first blog post in January 2012, I wrote “I wore my “new” sassy green boots on Saturday – an incredible find- and was feeling fabulous, when it dawned on me – I need a new hair style too, edgy with colour? Hmm…” Well, the blog continues, my mid-life crisis is happening, and I’m still feeling fabulous in my sassy green boots…but the haircut didn’t happen.

I’ve almost always had long hair. I grew up with a twisted notion that guys like to get their hands tangled up in a thick mane of lustrous locks. I have always thought that scene in the gag-me-with-a-dump-truck until-I-vomit-my-insides-out movies where a guy gently traces a girl’s face and sweeps a lock of hair off before uttering some nonsense that makes her melt, was romantic. I’ve been married 18 years; if those moments haven’t happened now, they’re not going to happen. I’m over 40 now. It’s time to grow up and move on.

I booked the appointment. I researched the requirements for donating hair to the Cancer Society and medium-length haircuts. I washed it and asked my Mom to snap a “before” picture…

I thought I was prepared. It was only hair after all. It would grow back. I had already confirmed that the stylist couldn’t do the colour as well, but I could add it later. I only had to lose 8”.

I thought I had been clear; I had a picture after all…

But hair is never just hair. It’s a woman’s nemesis and her definition. It’s sexuality and beauty, a “crowning glory”. It’s not just hair…

She cut off 12”.

“Once upon a time there was light in my life, but now there’s only love in the dark…nothing I can say, a total eclipse of the heart” – Bonnie Tyler/Jim Steinman, Total Eclipse of the Heart

My mother thought it was “cute”. She kept saying it over and over again, as if that somehow made it all better. I hate the word “cute”…have always hated it. Kittens are cute. Little girls with curls are cute. 40 year old women are not “cute”.

I looked like a used Q-tip. I looked like I was wearing a brown helmet. Where’s that dump truck?

Hubby first saw my new haircut Saturday evening. He never said he didn’t like it…but what he did say built upon my rapidly diminishing ability to keep a stiff upper lip, and his words haunted me until bedtime…that hour when all reason slips away quietly, just like the setting sun. And faced with my reflection in the glare of the fluorescent bathroom lights, I could see the truth.

First, came the gentle weeping, the slow trickle of tears from the corners of my eyes. But like a summer storm, the heavens opened with a torrential outpouring of unreasonable sorrow. I breathlessly sobbed a cacophony of unintelligible words behind my hands. I knew Hubby was probably panicking, grasping for something to say while knowing fully that nothing was going to stem this flow. His wife had turned into a monstrous behemoth of volatile emotions, and he may or may not be partly responsible. (I’m pretty sure he was amused as well, so don’t feel too sorry for him). Like a banshee, I cried , “I just wanted to be pretty…this is where you’re supposed to say ‘you are pretty’…even if (repeating Hubby’s humiliating statement)”, which succeeded in making us both laugh, even as I was hiccupping into my damp pillow. I fell asleep hoping my pillow didn’t grow mould in the humid room as I slept.

I wanted to stay in bed the next day but I had to help lead worship. I had to start facing my world again…So, here I am world. Smiling on the outside…while still dying a little inside.

It’ll grow back, right?

I should have reminded Hubby he married me for better or for worse…

 

 

Now I remember why…

Tags

gray hair, hair, humour

Now I remember why I don’t wear my hair down very often.

Determined not to look like the walking dead (even if I still felt like it), I got up a bit early and straightened my hair. For the one time this year, my hair had actually dried before bed last night and it had stayed relatively untangled and frizz-free, so it was an easy job. But would it last?

By the time Little Guy and I left the house, my hair was still perfect – perfectly smooth, perfectly shiny, perfectly in place. Then I opened the door. The wind hit me first and made the air feel close to -30C. So a few strands were blown out of place, it was still good, right?

The parking lot at the school was relatively empty; the school yard was completely empty. I popped the buckle on the seat belt and as it retracted, I felt a sudden tug and then…then it slowly dawned on me, as the tug turned to pain, that a large fistful of my hair had retracted with the seat belt and I was now hopelessly snarled. My claustrophobia started to kick just as Little Guy started singing “Everything is awesome” for the quadrillionth time…Everything was not awesome…

I walked Little Guy to the school door, with tears streaming down my white face, as I nursed the balding spot on the side of my head. I was still confident that I could run a comb through it when I got to work; it could still be alright.

I needed caffeine so I stopped at the grocery store, which just happened to have a Tim Horton’s. I bought my strong and steaming elixir of heavenly morning goodness. Then I headed to the back to grab a 2L carton of lactose-free milk and a dozen large eggs (might as well make the trip really worthwhile). Tim Horton’s used to double-cup their hot tea, but not anymore. It required a delicate balancing act to carry a 2L carton of milk, 12 eggs and a very hot, very large tea from the back of the store to the only cashier open at that hour…on the farthest side of the store possible. By now, I could feel the frizz started to build up. As I struggled to pack my one bag, juggle keys and mittens, and fight with the purse strap that kept sliding off my shoulder (my hair must have been shinier than I realized), I dropped a tissue. Not wanting to litter, I bent down to pick it up. As I bent down, my purse strap snagged a hunk of hair on the opposite side to where my head was still smarting…I roared, scaring the aging gentleman behind me. I apologized profusely, confessed I wasn’t have a very good day, and stormed out to the car. Too bad the hairs that were ripped out weren’t gray. I wouldn’t have minded so much…

By the time I got to work, over a dozen single strands of hair clung to my face. It was stuck in my lip gloss. It was hooked in the hinges of my glasses. I tried to wipe it off with my red woolen hands, only to end up gagging at least one hair. It didn’t taste good. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a gray one…

Fortunately, I didn’t meet anyone when I first arrived at work. I was able to head to the bathroom relatively quickly to see if my beautiful hairstyle could be redeemed. It couldn’t! I looked worse than if I had just climbed out of bed after a really bad night.

And that – that is why I now remember why I don’t wear my hair down.

Bad Hair

Tags

fashion, hair, humour

So here’s the “before” self-portrait…before my radical hair cut yesterday. Frizzy!

And here’s the “after” self-portrait” about 2 hours after the hair cut…in the car at the school while waiting for Little Guy to get out…

Ok, so not that radical but I’m probably 10 lbs lighter. There have been worse styles…

Pigtails, pony tails, the “Princess Diana” flip, and the curly “mop top” of my youth. And who can forget ringlets?!?!

There were several years of the ’80’s permed “Big Hair”…

And the various shades of red – carrot red, copper red, oxblood red (do you think I like red?)…combined with 80’s “Big Hair” (I really wish it would come back…)

…and more red…

By 2005, my hair was down to my waist, but I cut it shorter when Little Guy was on the way. And then I tried blonde highlights, that turned my hair pink…which led to very blonde….

Ugh! And we’re back to the present. I have no point. I hate my hair – regardless of the length, style or colour. Maybe I really should just shave it all off?