My Roots are Showing...

I took these photos on Saturday morning. Yep, bedhead, although my hair pretty much always looks like I rolled out of bed recently, and I like it like that. I'll never have perfect respectable hair; it's not meant to be and it wouldn't suit me.

One of the contradictions of being me is my preference for wacky hair. Despite being a mostly all-natural kind of girl who doesn't like lawn poison or meat from the grocery store on a little styrofoam tray, or anything plastic, or synthetic fabrics...I put harsh chemicals on my hair to dye it a colour never found naturally on a human head.

I don't do it to be cool or grasp for my fleeting youth. I do it to cheer me up. And, also, because, it sends everyone else a clear message: don't think you know. Here I am getting my clean well fed kids to school on time just like I should, but don't think you know what I'm all about. There's your warning.

And I'm really bummed out right now because it's fading. My last dye job was April 2 in Halifax. I got it done just in time for the Juno Awards. It was basically an emergency job. I'd gotten it done the week before but the colour was almost gone. The sweet young fella who fixed it for me told me that I should consider giving it a bit of a rest for a few months. At the time I was like, "Sure Billy. You're right. I'll lay off the junk for a bit." But now, every wash takes the pink down a little more. I only wash my hair every four days or so. And still. I'm losing my pinkness!

It's yellow at the ends.

About six years ago I dyed my hair yellow. It was an incredibly stupid home job. I should have known better. I was trying to get blonde but what I got was the most garish polyester nylon yellow. My son was four at the time. He stared at me in horror while my daughter assured him that his brown haired mommy would grow back. One of these days I'll scan a photo and post it. It's pretty funny.

While in my Barbie haired phase, I discovered something very interesting. Some of you may be aware of my size issues (I'd be 5'1" if my spine was straight, and lately my weight has been UP at 120 lbs). I get looked over a lot. Suddenly, doors were being held open for me...I didn't get stepped on as often...I didn't have to say excuse me five times to get a little help over here. It was all because of my day-glo hair.

Then, as now, I sometimes don't get why people are lookin at me kinda funny. Then I remember that I look like a freak. Then I giggle to myself.

In February I tried to dye it myself. You think I'd have learned...no harm came of it because it didn't make much of a difference. Here's the stuff I used. It is appropriate, considering my mental state for the last two years, that this product is called MANIC PANIC. However, it causes neither mania, nor panic. Discuss.



I think Gwen Stefani was rocking this look a few years back.






Here's the real me and the artificial me. That's how dark my hair really is. It used to be, in my teenage years, brown with some golden highlights in the summer. One of the odd things in my family is the way our hair turns dark after the babies are born. It didn't really go very pink did it? (I wish it was still that long. Patience.)

I really want to dye it again. Soon. Because it's yellow at the ends now, and only pink underneath. Isn't that weird?















Here are my roots. Black. My sister thinks I'm nuts to be dying it. She streaks hers to blend in the little grey streak. I think her grey streak is awesome. Very Bonnie Raitt. But Sweetie says I wouldn't think it was so great if I was only 33 years old and it was growing on my forehead. Good Point. What the hell am I doing, pouring poison on a scalp that doesn't even need it? Well, clearly, I'm CRAZY.

And yes, I'm in my jammies in these shots. I sleep in plaid flannel. Hick right down to the basics.