Enter the Momdome!

Lagunatic has had many hair-raising events in her life.

This latest one was literal however.

You see, I wanted to simplify my life a bit, but, if you know me then you’ll know that anytime I try to make my life easier I somehow do the exact opposite.

Like, how I’m trying to downsize our living situation so that we have one abode instead of two. That got me cursing at inanimate buddha’s and pleading to real estate god’s via Facebook friends. That is NOT simple.

In this current case, I decided that going to the gym would be much easier if I could just wash my hair there and walk out without having to style it…which takes forever….and requires products…and a hair dryer….hence shclepping…which I hate…but only because I don’t employ a sherpa and therefore would have to do it myself. Yuck.

So, anyway, I went to my hairperson with a request to give my hair enough of a wave that it would look pretty freshly showered, non-producted, and blow-dryer free. Well, hairperson reminded me that perms were OUT and straightening was IN. I tish-toshed and explained that I like my natural waves, but only wanted them amplified a bit and that if I wanted straight hair I could use a curling iron.

Hairperson begrudgingly complied to my request.

The problem?

The result made me look like a sheepdog who’d got it’s paw stuck in an electrical socket.

Not quite the look I was going for.

*sigh*

At the end of the day, I’m not one to freak out over hair. I mean, it grows, right? If you’re not happy with it, it’s not like you’re stuck with it forever or anything. And, anyways, I have a very full and long history with ruining my hair. There was that orange incident in High School around Hallowe’en, the purple incident when I was modeling (I think the clients are STILL trying to recover from that one), the mullet incident when I was trying to acclimate to my new southern locale, and the multi-coloured incident where people were forced to assume I was trying to be Punk without having to give up the comfort of my Bass Weejuns.

Yeah…so there’s that.

Back to the current incident; it wasn’t looking good for me.

When in doubt, hack, I always say…so hack I did.

It all started innocently enough. A few layers to ameliorate the fried ends…a few more to give it shape…a chop at the bottom to even things up.

The culmination of all these little “fixes”?

Um.

Well.

I-uh.

Oh lordy I hope my hairperson doesn’t kill me.

I am now sporting that cut of cuts…that style of styles…that anti-fashion institution known as SOCCER MOM HAIR.

*children run screaming in every direction*

*Blue haired old ladies faint from the shock*

*My dear husband’s blood runs cold*

Yup, I have only myself to blame. Me, the soccer-momdome’d woman who’s children have never set foot on an actual soccer field.

I wonder when little league try-outs start.

Oh, you want to see it?

Ok, but don’t go bringing this into your hairperson and say, “Whatever you do, do NOT give me this” ok? Promise?

Ok…here you go

Psych.

Here it is for realz:

Ok, I gotta go. I hear they’re having a special on Mini-Vans today.

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