The Whole Consciousness: Day 24 - Part 7.
Jan. 24th, 2011 03:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
duckduckthrallOoo, the next two subjects are just *so* interesting. My hair, and how I feel about lactose intolerance. Well, at least it's better than the one on chairs? Yeah, that one went nowhere quite fast, apparently.
So, I have brown hair, normally. It's currently blonde. I don't think that it has set out to try and be my natural colour for a few years now. It seems like every time my roots grow back in, I choose another hair shade. Some have been successful: I was purple for my sister's wedding, bright pink for TSE, blonde leading up to TSE, a really ugly bluish black sometime before the blonde, and a purple that faded and faded and faded until it was kind of the colour of red wine. It's not that I have a problem with my natural colour, I just happen to like all of the other colours better.
However, due to the subtle undercolourings of my brown hair, my blonde never seems to get past this slight reddish tint. I mean, the front of my hair is currently kind of flaxen, but the overall effect is one of strawberry blonde. Not a bad colour, but not precisely what I was going for. Also, blonde is generally only ever a stopping stage on the way to bigger and bolder colours. This time, I think I'm going to go for blue.
Speaking of hair, I currently have way too much of it. It's just this huge mop of hair on top of my head. I'd say it's like I'm growing a mullet - business in the front, party in the back - but it's kind of a party all over my head.
I have had bangs ever since I can remember, and the one annoying thing about them (other than the fact that Emily Deschanel *really* can't pull them off), is that they grow too long, too fast. I'm finally to the point where I'd really like to grow out my bangs, and tuck them aside, but it's like, right when you need those motherfuckers to grow at an exponential rate, they clam the fuck up and don't grow anymore. If I didn't want them to grow, they'd likely be down to my feet by this point. They just never seem to be long enough to tuck behind my ears.
My hairstyles throughout life kind of went shoulder-length, some form of ugly bowl cut that made everyone think I was a boy (I didn't have the huge tits back then, you see), long, longer, longest, shoulder-length, Carter à la Season 7, super-short, and this... *thing* that's currently happening on my head. Now, Ruy wants me to grow out my hair, which is sort of happening involuntarily. It's growing, whether I like it or not. I have a hair appointment booked with my old hairdresser soon, which should get me at least a trim. Something to take the weight of all that hair off of my precious head. Ruy thinks she'll probably butcher it. I think I could probably live with butchered at this point. Butchered is good, as long as it's shorter.
Which brings me to my next point. I have been going to the same hairdresser almost literally since I was born. She's been cutting my hair for 25 years, and the rest of my family's hair for at least that long. She's moved places about 8 times in 25 years, and we keep following her. I think she's finally working out of her basement, which she always threatened she'd do if she ever got tired of walking the literal 10 minutes to work.
Very nice lady, but has been giving the same style of cut since the 70s, and it's, well, it's always a lot poufier than I wanted it. I'm almost afraid I'll go in there next week and find that I have somehow ended up with that one cut I've always hated. For the 49 millionth time.
It's not even about feeling pity and going to her because she's been our hairdresser since time immemorial. This whole situation has made me realize how much I despise stylists in general. The first stylist I ever went to that wasn't Lynda, the stylist said very nasty things about my haircut (never mind that I had attacked my hair with scissors in frustration), generally made me feel like crap, and made me wary of ever getting another hair cut outside of the comforts of my childhood again. The second one I went to was from the same place. She was nice. I just haven't had the time or the money to go there again. Which is unfortunate, because I have needed a haircut for what seems like about a bajillion months now.
Also, I can't seem to read and follow hair-dying instructions to save my life, to the point where I always seem to end up with a burning scalp or pink streaks down my ears. The price I pay for fun hair.
Well, that's just about exhausted the topic of my hair. Long story short? There's too damn much of it, and I'm actually starting to get tangles in my hair again - something I thought I'd left behind with the long hair.
Speaking of hair, Ruy got his hair cut today. However, he did not get his beard cut (very much). He reminds me of an odd root vegetable. Possibly a turnip or a rutabaga. Whatever it is, he resembles it, and resembles it well. I guess I should be thankful that my hair doesn't grow like his. When his hair grows, it doesn't really get long, it just grows... out. It's almost amusing if it didn't paint me a grotesque mental picture of his father from the early 80s.
It's funny, as a strictly straight-haired person, I have never wished for curly hair. I just don't see why it be advantageous. I'd have to spend hours in the shower getting all the shampoo out of it, I'd never be able to get a comb through it, and I'm sure I'd be one of those fortunate people who kind of look like they got their finger stuck in a light socket.
Word Count: 1033
Word Count to Date: 14665
So, I have brown hair, normally. It's currently blonde. I don't think that it has set out to try and be my natural colour for a few years now. It seems like every time my roots grow back in, I choose another hair shade. Some have been successful: I was purple for my sister's wedding, bright pink for TSE, blonde leading up to TSE, a really ugly bluish black sometime before the blonde, and a purple that faded and faded and faded until it was kind of the colour of red wine. It's not that I have a problem with my natural colour, I just happen to like all of the other colours better.
However, due to the subtle undercolourings of my brown hair, my blonde never seems to get past this slight reddish tint. I mean, the front of my hair is currently kind of flaxen, but the overall effect is one of strawberry blonde. Not a bad colour, but not precisely what I was going for. Also, blonde is generally only ever a stopping stage on the way to bigger and bolder colours. This time, I think I'm going to go for blue.
Speaking of hair, I currently have way too much of it. It's just this huge mop of hair on top of my head. I'd say it's like I'm growing a mullet - business in the front, party in the back - but it's kind of a party all over my head.
I have had bangs ever since I can remember, and the one annoying thing about them (other than the fact that Emily Deschanel *really* can't pull them off), is that they grow too long, too fast. I'm finally to the point where I'd really like to grow out my bangs, and tuck them aside, but it's like, right when you need those motherfuckers to grow at an exponential rate, they clam the fuck up and don't grow anymore. If I didn't want them to grow, they'd likely be down to my feet by this point. They just never seem to be long enough to tuck behind my ears.
My hairstyles throughout life kind of went shoulder-length, some form of ugly bowl cut that made everyone think I was a boy (I didn't have the huge tits back then, you see), long, longer, longest, shoulder-length, Carter à la Season 7, super-short, and this... *thing* that's currently happening on my head. Now, Ruy wants me to grow out my hair, which is sort of happening involuntarily. It's growing, whether I like it or not. I have a hair appointment booked with my old hairdresser soon, which should get me at least a trim. Something to take the weight of all that hair off of my precious head. Ruy thinks she'll probably butcher it. I think I could probably live with butchered at this point. Butchered is good, as long as it's shorter.
Which brings me to my next point. I have been going to the same hairdresser almost literally since I was born. She's been cutting my hair for 25 years, and the rest of my family's hair for at least that long. She's moved places about 8 times in 25 years, and we keep following her. I think she's finally working out of her basement, which she always threatened she'd do if she ever got tired of walking the literal 10 minutes to work.
Very nice lady, but has been giving the same style of cut since the 70s, and it's, well, it's always a lot poufier than I wanted it. I'm almost afraid I'll go in there next week and find that I have somehow ended up with that one cut I've always hated. For the 49 millionth time.
It's not even about feeling pity and going to her because she's been our hairdresser since time immemorial. This whole situation has made me realize how much I despise stylists in general. The first stylist I ever went to that wasn't Lynda, the stylist said very nasty things about my haircut (never mind that I had attacked my hair with scissors in frustration), generally made me feel like crap, and made me wary of ever getting another hair cut outside of the comforts of my childhood again. The second one I went to was from the same place. She was nice. I just haven't had the time or the money to go there again. Which is unfortunate, because I have needed a haircut for what seems like about a bajillion months now.
Also, I can't seem to read and follow hair-dying instructions to save my life, to the point where I always seem to end up with a burning scalp or pink streaks down my ears. The price I pay for fun hair.
Well, that's just about exhausted the topic of my hair. Long story short? There's too damn much of it, and I'm actually starting to get tangles in my hair again - something I thought I'd left behind with the long hair.
Speaking of hair, Ruy got his hair cut today. However, he did not get his beard cut (very much). He reminds me of an odd root vegetable. Possibly a turnip or a rutabaga. Whatever it is, he resembles it, and resembles it well. I guess I should be thankful that my hair doesn't grow like his. When his hair grows, it doesn't really get long, it just grows... out. It's almost amusing if it didn't paint me a grotesque mental picture of his father from the early 80s.
It's funny, as a strictly straight-haired person, I have never wished for curly hair. I just don't see why it be advantageous. I'd have to spend hours in the shower getting all the shampoo out of it, I'd never be able to get a comb through it, and I'm sure I'd be one of those fortunate people who kind of look like they got their finger stuck in a light socket.
Word Count: 1033
Word Count to Date: 14665
