The Time Has Come

It's official. I hate my hair.

I mean, it's about time. I've expected from, well, Day 2. And I miss my dreads. Seriously. Mourning for the dreads.

I'm always like this. My mother will testify in a court of law. Everytime I grow my hair out, eventually, I get this severely awesome idea of cutting it off! And the world totally supports me because dang, I'm cute with the 'shroom, as my sister calls the bob cut I'm partial to. However, let it be known, I LOVE PONYTAILS MORE. I keep thinking that one day I will wake and magically be an adult about things like moisturizing and taking time to fix my hair and shaving my legs. But nope. That magic day is holding out on me, y'all. I still value easy and fast over cute-and-stylish-but-takes-time.

And I have been giving the hairdo a little extra attention. I bought some expensive volumizer crap, I spray it on there. I blow dry hanging my head upside down, tousling with my fingers. I pray for any sign of enthusiasm. Yet, nary a hair on my head wishes to do anything but lie greasily across my forehead. No, I take that back. The unfortunate Alfalfa patch I have tends to stick straight up. No joke. You can't see it in this picture, but it's there. Yeah, that's what happens when you let your husband go at your dreads with a pair of kitchen scissors instead of waiting for your appointment with a proper hair professional the next day.

So, hating my hair has commenced full force. I am dreaming of shoulder-length ponytailable hair next summer. And maybe, to the dismay of my grandmother, mother, and the entirety of Korea, I might dread it again. Possibly. But I would do it the right way and take care of it and stuff. Because making an effort to have sweet dreads is worthwhile. Making an effort to have crap short hair that just accentuates your double side face? NOT worthwhile.

Talk amongst yourselves. I'm going to go pray that my hair grows really fast. (Although, I'm approaching this with a doubting heart because I prayed from about 4th to 7th grade for curly hair and we all know how that worked out.)

P.S.

I got a perm. See evidence below. Note facial expression. 

I know, you're thinking, "What perm?" And that's exactly what I thought, too. This picture was taken 15 minutes after walking out of the salon. So much for the Korean "Super Formula" perm for Western hair. (I don't believe this actually exists.)

Anywhoops, Le Scientific and Irrefutable Results:

My hair has 0.5% more body. 

My ponytail is 2% more interesting than the pre-perm pony.

My hair looks 7.5% less greasy when I wake up and go to work without washing it. 

I am 100% sure that all hair styling products are a crock.

I have 99.99% learned my lesson about expecting my hair to do anything besides naturally hang limp and refuse to be "styled." That nagging percentage keeping me from full surrender to the facts is that relentless little thing called hope: the hope that is innate in every human being, but especially active in women regarding their physical beings, which causes them to believe that things could be different from what they happen to be if they would just try a little harder, make a little more effort, or pay a little more for whatever the world is selling today. 

I feel 6% disappointed and 87% duped. 

Ah well. In about two weeks, I'm sure my hair will be back to normal and it'll be like it never happened. 

What do you guys think? 

(Two Left Feet: Does this satisfy your request for a picture of the "out hair" you made about 5 years ago?)

(Mom: I don't need any eyebrow comments. I know they're ghastly. I can only handle one beauty-related issue at a time.)