My quest for the perfect Hair Style

For my final blog of 2012 I wanted to list all the goals which I had set for myself in the past year and which I had completed, especially the one I had blabbed about all year -- finishing my novel. But, oh well, didn't achieve THAT one, or any others, including weight loss and meditating and not being so self absorbed, so  instead I am writing about my hair, something I've been obsessed with since I got my first Midge doll. (She was Barbie's Bestest friend). I cut her hair and blackend it as I didn't like the red color. After I experimented with Midge I started abusing my own hair.

 My recent birthday set me once again on a quest for the perfect hair style, but before heading to the salon I started thinking about all the various hair styles I've had through the years.

Above is a photo of me taken when I was 14 or 15. I had just got hooked on the gateway drug of hair color, Sun In. I hoped spraying Sun In on my hair and baking in the sun would make me look like Marsha Brady of the Brady Bunch or Peggy Lipton of the Mod Squad or a blonde Cher. I wanted hair like the girls you see in the old hippie photos of Woodstock, long, shiny, swinging in the breeze, hair. Instead I got split ends and frizz. While in high school, I graduated to the heroin of hair color, Clairol, and was soon dumping the stuff on my hair every four weeks. And I wonder today why my hair is thin, and I worry about going bald. Anyway, my hair never ever looked as good as the girl on the hair color package. Never.

While living in Colorado I did swear off the bottle. That's me with the natural brown hair with my nephew Tim sitting on my porch. I think my hair was very grateful for this sobriety. I only stayed off the bottle for a short while and then I heard it calling my name from the drug store shelf saying, go lighter, go lighter. Fix your hair and your life will be fixed. You will find an amazing job and an amazing man and have an amazing life. Just schedule an appointment at the beauty salon. Peroxide is the answer.

And this happened. I'm sure even the doberman wondered if that was a big light bulb on my head. The dog looks as if he wants to run away from the crazy lady with cotton candy hair.

My dear friend, Connie, will probably kill me for this photo but, hey, it was the 80s. At least we don't have on suit coats with football player shoulder pads. I remember during this period of my life going to the salon with my dyed, permed hair and asking for another perm. The stylist refused. Even the pusher sometimes has pity on it's addict.

Here is a photo of me taken in Chicago years ago. I think I should have just stayed with this style. My friend Gloria, (I was like her Midge) who first dyed my hair for me, is laughing at the sock on my head.  Who knows what hair style I was trying to hide or protect, but wearing a big white sock on my head all the time would have  saved me a lot of money at beauty salons. Maybe I could even afford the face lift I now need. I need more than bleach.

So, I was going to put one final photo of my hair, one following my recent birthday cut and color. Alas, my hair didn't make me look as if I was 25 again which is the real reason I wanted a hair style right before my birthday. I tipped the stylist anyway.  I've decided I might just do what one of my favorite singer's solution was through the years. Wigs.

And maybe I'll even finish my book. If Dolly can do it, why can't I?

Happy New Year!