The Adventure of Joplin (AKA, my Hair)

It all started with losing our hairdresser. Andrew and I have had the same hairdresser for years now, but this year she's shut down her business due to kids and relocation and shit. And so, my hair became doctorless. Fortunately, it is defintely not homeless, as it's still on my head. Thank God.

However, after over six months without a hair cut, I did start to look homeless. (I was going to put a funny picture of a homeless person, but then realized that there's no such thing as a truly funny picture of a homeless person. My bad.)

So, when I finally found a new hairdresser, I did something I've never done before.

Star Trek reference. Get it?

No, I did not become a lesbian. Although Andrew would love that. Until he realized that, as a lesbian, I would no longer be interested in him. He tends to forget about that part.


As your president, I promise to stay voluminous
and shiny, and to reduce the amount of product
used this year. VOTE FOR HAIR!

I GOT A PERM!

Last Monday, I went in to see my new hairdresser, who is short, loud, and enjoys using "Yes, sir!" as a reply for anything said.

She agreed that my hair was a perfect candidate for a permanent, as if it was running for president. This was mostly due to the fact that it was virgin hair, because curls won't stick to slutty hair or something. I wasn't really listening.

So, she washed my hair a million times, rolled it up so I looked like a model on a fashion runway for a designer with an unhealthy love of cocaine (although really, what is a healthy love for cocaine?).

I was then left for a half an hour with my roller soaked in a formula that smelled of rotten eggs stuck in a toaster. That wa rinsed out, then I was doused in some other stuff that was meant to stop my hair from curling even more so that I didn't look like a poodle. Blah blah blah, hair rinse, cut, styling and BAM! I had gorgeous curly hair.

I drove down to my parents place to twirl in front of them a few times, then went home to surprise Andrew, who thought I was gone for three hours to eat Chinese food with my mother.  He wasn't suspicious at all, because I sometimes do actually take three hours to eat a meal; I talk a lot between bites.

He called me a superstar. I don't really understand the connection between beachy curls and a successful career in showbusiness, but I appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

Sounds all peachy keen, right?

WRONG!


I woke up the next morning, all happy to start my curly day, until I looked in the mirror and saw ridiculously straight hair. All of the curl was gone. All of it. I called my parents to make sure that I hadn't dreamt the entire appointment, and then called the hair salon to explain the situation. The receptionist was actually rendered speechless by my story, and had to ask me three times if all the curl had gone before she started to beleive me.



The hair after two days of not being washed. Ok, that's a
lie. It was the third day. And I still look homeless. But
an awesome kind of homeless. I also don't know how to
style this new hair yet. Whatever, I can still cut you.



I got a second appointment that Wednesday. 

We repeated the whole process once again. Thankfully, the Hair Gods heard my pleas (that, or my hair had to be deflowered twice for the process to work) because the curls stuck this time!



I am now the proud owner of a messy, curly/wavy head of hair. I feel like a free-spirited hippy, minus the use of the word "groovy" and the smell of pot following me everywhere. It also makes me feel like a total badass. If someone wants to mess with me, I'll be all like "Bitch, don't start shit with me. I have wild hair. I can and will cut you."

In honour of another badass woman, I have named my hair Joplin. Hopefully, that means I will suddenly have the ability to sing like a rockstar and down an entire bottle of Jack Daniels in one evening.

Because of my new hair, I will now have more adventures to recount to you all. Hairstyle alterations drastically change life's journey. Buddha said that.