So far my whole no linky party resolve is not working out quite as planned. Though I did manage to refrain from linking up my lovely flower photos. Which by the way I noticed that so far practically no one has bothered to look at. Which is kind of ok I guess cause it shows my readers are here to do just that, read.
Anyway, the very elegant always Josefa opened her second ever link up today.
Sadly I missed out on last month's conversation about a first love. Some time ago I wrote about a life of lost love. Even though it was twelve months ago now, it wasn't some I wanted to revisit just yet. Especially since I said it so beautifully (evenifIdosaysomyself) the first time. Plus it didn't seem right to just link up a twelve month old post.
Only it wasn't that long ago that I gave great thanks to my newly found and incredibly awesome hairdresser. Sadly I haven't had a chance to get back to her, though hopefully that will all change before the big trip to Sydney in a few weeks. Luckily though I do have a story or two to tell about some other hair experiences I have been through over the years.
So grab a cuppa and read on.
As a child I wasn't allowed to get my hair cut very often. My parents were some what traditional with the whole girls should have long hair thing. Well that and the fact my hair took so long to grow in the first place, that there was just no way my parents, particularly my mother, could bring themselves to get my hair cut till I had lots and lots of it.
My hair was thin and fine and wispy blonde for nearly four whole years. At which point it darkened, thickened out and became this beautiful multifaceted shimmering and glossy brown that my mother ensured no one called mousey.
Because apparently mousey brown hair is the worst, or at least one of the worst, things that can be bestowed upon a young girl.
By the time I reached high school I was desperate to make changes to myself and my hair seemed the most logical place to start. Naturally my mother thought otherwise. Being the good dutiful daughter I was, I accepted her denial of what I thought was my right to cut and colour my own hair.
Well intermittently at least.
Every now and then I would take up the cause again and resume my pestering regarding a desire to change my appearance. Eventually it all paid off.
One day when I was expecting my mother to be plaiting my pony tail, she just snipped it off. Yep you read right. One day my mother just picked up a pair of scissors and chop!
Gone were my locks.
I was beside myself if excitement and joy. I could not believe my dream of a new looking me had finally come true. For the next few days I was fixated to the mirror and admiring my new do. Suddenly my mother had elevated herself to coolness and in doing so took me with her.
Sadly it was short lived and before long I wanted even more change. I wanted to brighten up my mousey brown (that I apparently didn't have). I must have been about 14 when I had convinced my over protective mother that I could catch the bus to the local library with my friend from school. It took a bit of convince but I assured her all was above board and there was no need to question my trustworthiness.
Sure my study buddy was the least studious person I knew, but she was certain there must be a few good looking nerds doing their homework at the public library. We both felt our school was lacking in good looking boys.
As it turned out there weren't any hunk a chunka studs for our little innocent year nine minds to look at. So we decided to take apart our red textas and see if we could colour our hair. Ingenious huh?
It worked. Sort of. At least till we had a shower.
To say my mother was not impressed would be an understatement. I was never allowed to study at the public library after school again. And as for my friend, well needless to say I was advised not to spend any more time with her.
It wasn't long after this though that my mum buckled and got me a henna rinse which put the most loveliest red shine through my hair. Making me the most happiest girl in year nine. Well until I got caught playing in the rain and the dye leaked out all over my lovely new white bodysuit. (Ssshh it was the early 90's ok, body suits were what all the cool kids wore)
From here my hair just got shorter and shorter. Each time my mum pleading me that it be the last for a few years. By the time I was 19 I had no attachment to my hair at all. I would hack at it myself on a regular (read almost weekly) basis. If I went out and I couldn't get it to sit how I wanted I would just cut the offending hair. I still liked to keep up the 'natural' henna red though.
I was at a time in my life when I had little to do with other females. I loosely hung with a few girls from work (the local and only surf shop) but most of my free time was with my boyfriend and his mates. Ironically he had the most beautiful long hair I have ever seen. His buddies were all shavers though and one night while they were passing the clippers round I somehow found myself in the hair removal chair.
Best thing I ever did.
I think every woman at some point should shave her head. There is something to be said about the whole shake and dry kind of style that comes with only a few millimetres of hair. After this though I decided to let it all grow for a while and my next hair cut was not for years.
Having said that though I think it is fair to say that my hair has probably spent more time short than long though for the most part I have taken care of it myself. Which is silly because the hairdresser naturally does a much better job.
But in between all of that in 2008,
I hung out with Chas and had really long hair!
Make sure you head over to always Josefa and share in some of the other hairdresser conversations
It is a once a month special occasion, though it's open for few days if you want to join in.
Sadly I missed out on last month's conversation about a first love. Some time ago I wrote about a life of lost love. Even though it was twelve months ago now, it wasn't some I wanted to revisit just yet. Especially since I said it so beautifully (evenifIdosaysomyself) the first time. Plus it didn't seem right to just link up a twelve month old post.
Only it wasn't that long ago that I gave great thanks to my newly found and incredibly awesome hairdresser. Sadly I haven't had a chance to get back to her, though hopefully that will all change before the big trip to Sydney in a few weeks. Luckily though I do have a story or two to tell about some other hair experiences I have been through over the years.
So grab a cuppa and read on.
 |
| It's alright, I'll wait for you while your cuppa brews |
My hair was thin and fine and wispy blonde for nearly four whole years. At which point it darkened, thickened out and became this beautiful multifaceted shimmering and glossy brown that my mother ensured no one called mousey.
Because apparently mousey brown hair is the worst, or at least one of the worst, things that can be bestowed upon a young girl.
By the time I reached high school I was desperate to make changes to myself and my hair seemed the most logical place to start. Naturally my mother thought otherwise. Being the good dutiful daughter I was, I accepted her denial of what I thought was my right to cut and colour my own hair.
Well intermittently at least.
Every now and then I would take up the cause again and resume my pestering regarding a desire to change my appearance. Eventually it all paid off.
One day when I was expecting my mother to be plaiting my pony tail, she just snipped it off. Yep you read right. One day my mother just picked up a pair of scissors and chop!
Gone were my locks.
I was beside myself if excitement and joy. I could not believe my dream of a new looking me had finally come true. For the next few days I was fixated to the mirror and admiring my new do. Suddenly my mother had elevated herself to coolness and in doing so took me with her.
Sadly it was short lived and before long I wanted even more change. I wanted to brighten up my mousey brown (that I apparently didn't have). I must have been about 14 when I had convinced my over protective mother that I could catch the bus to the local library with my friend from school. It took a bit of convince but I assured her all was above board and there was no need to question my trustworthiness.
Sure my study buddy was the least studious person I knew, but she was certain there must be a few good looking nerds doing their homework at the public library. We both felt our school was lacking in good looking boys.
As it turned out there weren't any hunk a chunka studs for our little innocent year nine minds to look at. So we decided to take apart our red textas and see if we could colour our hair. Ingenious huh?
It worked. Sort of. At least till we had a shower.
To say my mother was not impressed would be an understatement. I was never allowed to study at the public library after school again. And as for my friend, well needless to say I was advised not to spend any more time with her.
 |
| Pretty huh? Not wanting to be a fun stealer like my mother, this is the henna Miss 11 put in her hair recently. I find it interesting that she now wishes she didn't. But that is all a post for another day. Sadly for her it seems to be staying for a while longer than what I was expecting. Whoops! |
From here my hair just got shorter and shorter. Each time my mum pleading me that it be the last for a few years. By the time I was 19 I had no attachment to my hair at all. I would hack at it myself on a regular (read almost weekly) basis. If I went out and I couldn't get it to sit how I wanted I would just cut the offending hair. I still liked to keep up the 'natural' henna red though.
I was at a time in my life when I had little to do with other females. I loosely hung with a few girls from work (the local and only surf shop) but most of my free time was with my boyfriend and his mates. Ironically he had the most beautiful long hair I have ever seen. His buddies were all shavers though and one night while they were passing the clippers round I somehow found myself in the hair removal chair.
Best thing I ever did.
I think every woman at some point should shave her head. There is something to be said about the whole shake and dry kind of style that comes with only a few millimetres of hair. After this though I decided to let it all grow for a while and my next hair cut was not for years.
Having said that though I think it is fair to say that my hair has probably spent more time short than long though for the most part I have taken care of it myself. Which is silly because the hairdresser naturally does a much better job.
 |
| Me in 2004 with a lovely short do. |
 |
| Me not looking all that different in 2012 |
But in between all of that in 2008,
 |
| I would be lying if I said this was the *only* picture of me with long hair. It is the only pic of me with long her and a celebrity though. |
What type of hair affair do you have?
