My Hair and Me: A Hate Hate Relationship

My hair has always been a stressful part of my life.  Always.  I honestly could only recall maybe a handful of times I thought - hey, my hair looks good today.

I sit here not even knowing where I want to go with this post.  I'm just so fed up with my hair!  I've had it long, I've had it short, my mom had it cut in an embarrassingly masculine cut at one phase in my life.  I've gone through periods of rolling it with hot rollers to calm the frizz.  I got a Chi, but it took way too long.  I always thought I wanted a perm to help get the curl more uniform, but my mom refused to let me get one.  And now I'm glad she wouldn't let me go through with it.  Who knows how much money I've spent on gels and creams and defrizzers and deep conditioners and and and!  My grandmother, who I love dearly and miss like crazy, used to tell me - if you'd just get your hair cut really short, it would do like mine.  Uhm, Meme, I don't want it to look like yours!  (Think....Ronald McDonald)

I didn't even like my hair on my wedding day.  I could shoot everyone (especially the photographer) who saw me having pictures taken and didn't tell me about the hair sticking out on the side of my head.  There's just no controlling it.

I always resort to just pulling it back into a ponytail.  I know it's not a great look, but what are my other options?  I pull it back and Kris says - take your hair down.  I wear it down, and Kris will say - fix your hair.  He's not happy.  I'm not happy.

Last week I'd had enough.  I scheduled an appointment to have it cut.  When the stylist asked me what we were doing, I just gave her a look.  Oh no, here we go again.  Sit down.  She knows the routine.  I'm going to debate, look at pictures, and then do nothing to make a change.  I'm scared of change.  I'm scared of my hair.  About a year ago, I decided to go with a few little wispy bangs.  Kris told me that he liked them....if I was a twelve year old girl.  Anyway, I sat there looking through magazines.  Not one person in Hollywood has problem hair.  Or short hair, for that matter.

After much discussion, we decided that we needed to get away (far, far away) from the bell shape.  Unfortunately, I came home with a ball shape.  I always leave the salon with my hair semi-wet.  You don't want to see my hair if you actually dry it with a dryer.  So I'm not placing the blame on my stylist.  She really couldn't tell exactly what it was going to do with it still damp.  It looked pretty good while damp.  And then I stepped outside.  Stupid barometric hair!

As usual, it was in a ponytail when Kris got home.  He wanted to see it.  I took it down and he just looks at me.  Told me to turn around.  And then turn around again.  No comments.  Not a good sign.  There's just still....too much hair.  AAAHHHHH!!!!!  I called and left a message for my stylist.  I told her we need to do some more work.  But what?  If I keep cutting on it, I really will end up looking like Meme.  I'm too young to have Meme hair!

So, what to do?  I have no idea.  All I know is that I'll never be without lots of conditioner.  And a ponytail holder.