Category Archives: perm

It Took A Year to Fix My Hair

This isn’t really a post, just me talking to you, because, well, I feel like it… and tonight I have a lot of actual work and studying to do, so I won’t be able to blog then. And a few of you requested that I take a break from the Nietzsche, except that is kind of what I am into right now… so um… I will just talk to you about my hair instead.

Around this time last year I got a perm. Needless to say (for those of you who don’t remember), it didn’t go so well. After I got the perm I spent a lot of time hiding the perm, which involved hair straighteners, all sorts of products, and extra time in the morning. I took moderately unruly hair and made it even more so. A woman’s dream come true.

With my last hair cut a few weeks ago I lopped off the last of the damaged, burned, permed, frizzy mess, and my hair is back to normal. I had forgotten what it is like to take a shower, brush my hair and that be the end of it. No more product (okay, just a little product), no more straightener, and more time in the morning.

If I ever get the idea to do something permanent to my hair again, please slap me.

A Warning Would Be Nice

My hair attacked someone today. Well, no, not really. But it did scare me this morning. Does that count?
After I got this brilliant idea to get a perm, because I am full of good ideas, I have spent numberless days undoing the perm in the mornings. Meaning I paid someone a lot of money to permanently curl my hair so I can spend a lot of time straightening it in the morning. Now y’all know why my GPA is so high. Well, this morning we had a power outage. It wasn’t a big deal at first because I wasn’t going to be spending too much time at home anyway. Until two things occurred to me.
First, no power means no coffee maker. OK, no problem, that is why God invented Starbucks.
Then the second realization came in. No power means no hair straightener. Which means no going out in public. Which means no Starbucks. This is when I started to panic.
Luckily, I recently read Jenny’s blog about Suburbia, of which, for better or worse, I happen to be a part of. Among her fifteen tips of surviving in a neighborhood much akin to mine, I found one particularly useful. Apparently suburban housewives don’t get dressed up all the time. Obviously I wasn’t aware and have clearly been doing this all wrong. To make amends for my erroneous behavior all these years I put my hair in a pony tail and got myself some coffee. After which I ran around adjacent neighborhoods and used other people’s electricity to fix my hair. I need electricity to fix my hair. Seriously, am I the only one who sees something wrong here?
I wear a lot of make up, but not because I need it. I could totally leave the house without make up on, except that I would look like I am twelve. As is I still get carded. I don’t need to perpetuate this further and have people thinking I am babysitting someone else’s kids. Then I would have to explain that they are mine, and no, I didn’t get pregnant at ten, and no, there is absolutely no reason for any sort of intervention. Alright fine, feel free to pray for me.
But my hair is a totally different issue. It’s not even vanity. It is a public service where I take the time to straighten my hair for the betterment of society. You are welcome.
So, in conclusion, I would like to ask the Electric Company of Simi Valley to please provide some warning next time our power goes out. A brief email specifying the time and date of any future outages would be very appreciated, so I may plan accordingly. And no, this is not just about my hair. I would also like to not go grocery shopping for ice cream the night before. And no, I did not scoop up a bunch of previously melted ice cream off the bottom of my freezer and eat it. I would never do that.

Change Can Be Good

I wanted a change. Every once in a while I buy a new shade of nail polish, or revamp the way I do my make up. But this time I wanted something bigger. Maybe not as drastic as about six years ago when, after having been a blond my whole life, I suddenly died my hair bright red, but somewhere in that neighborhood. I didn’t want to go back to blonde. I didn’t want any other color. And there is not a whole lot else I could do. For a few months I played around with the idea of cutting bangs, but really the upkeep on those would be far too difficult and I would probably end up with my hair looking unkempt. And I can’t have that. At one point I cut my hair really short. It was cute. But I was a lot younger. Meaning everything was cute back then. And by everything was cute back then, I mean I thought everything was cute back then. I would offer some pictures for debate, but I don’t think I have any. So, in making a short story long, on a whim I decided to get a perm. And I really do mean on a whim. I was sitting in my Theory class and this was my thought process:
So this one man said this about that… note note note
This other man countered it with this other stuff… note note note
This third man combined the other two theories, added an extra one for good measure and said this… note note note
I should get a perm
This fourth man is from an entirely different school of thought and he said this other stuff… note note note
Oh look it’s break time… I am going to call the salon and make an appointment. And I did. And then I got a perm.
I have never gotten a perm before, so I wasn’t sure what it entailed. I knew there were curlers involved, and some type of solution. Apparently I have a lot of hair, so they had to use two solutions. What I hadn’t anticipated was that the whole thing would take over three hours. I got to the salon a little after five, and they said the tips of my hair were damaged and I needed a trim. I acquiesced, and the man got his shears out. He performed something that looked like the trimming of a bonsai tree with red strands flying every which way, and five minutes later my hair was “fixed.”
Then the fun started. He got out what looked to be about a hundred of the smallest curlers I have ever seen. I mean these things looked like they came out of a Barbie salon play boutique. He then proceeded to spray stuff all over my hair which he said was water, except it burned every time it touched my skin. And from my experience with showers I am pretty sure water doesn’t do that. Then he wrapped my hair in little pieces of paper at the tips and began using all the itsy bitsy curlers. I swear he wrapped each one of my hairs individually onto a different curler, or at least that it what it looked like. And it took him almost two hours to do this so I have reason to believe I was correct in my assessment. Then he poured two bottles of solution all over my head, put a giant bag over my hair and put me in this large helmet heat process machine thing. Apparently the heat was supposed to activate the solution in my hair and produce the desired curls. Translation: more burning.
I was a total trooper, and sat through this process for forty five minutes. After which his assistant took me over to the sink and began yanking the many curlers out. It took her almost as long as it took him to put them in, and did I mention all the yanking involved? If not, let me tell you, there was a lot of yanking. Translation: burning pain. Several hours passed, the salon had already closed, and they were attempting to get the solutions out of my hair, with three people washing and scrubbing at me like the place was about to burn down. They didn’t speak English so I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I have to admit, all the screaming and shouting was rather alarming. The dramatic arm gestures didn’t help alleviate my panic.
I asked if everything was okay, they all told me not to worry about it. When people say that is usually when I start to worry. A few minutes later they took me away from the sink, plopped me in front of the mirror and started massaging my hair. It was still wet, but they said they could not blow dry since more heat would damage my hair. As is I was in a hurry to get home, so I was perfectly happy leaving with wet hair, especially since it was still unbearably hot outside. As I was paying, the main lady said “don’t brush your hair this week, it might fall out.” Oh…