Oh, the begining...

Well, both mama and papa have curly hair and neither of them like it - Dad keeps his hair cropped short and mom diligently straightens her hair on a daily basis. Lucky for me, out of the three kids they spawned, I was the only one to inheret the curly hair gene :) Mimicking my gorgeous mother, I have spent the majority of my 24 years tugging my ringlets (often to no avail) straight. I am a long hair girl, meaning I always wear my hair long and prefer long hair on women in general. So in my neverending quest to achieve long, silky, pin straight hair I finally cracked and let someone relax my hair. For those of you who are not familiar with the term 'relaxing', it simply means perming your hair straight, as opposed to curly. Ah, September 29, 2006 was destined to ruin my life. On that day, I let a reckless stylist ruin my hair... At first, I loved it! Shiny strands, reduced straightening time, frizzless on the most dreary New England day, but then, very shortly thereafter, the honeymoon ended. My hair became very dry and took on this fried appearance, clumps started falling out of my scalp in random spots, and then the regrowth... Fuzzy curly roots became the bane of my existence for the next year or so. Imagine having two different textures in your hair! It was simply awful... Which leads to me why I am writing this blog. Eventually the fried, straight, gross hair had to be cut off. I decided it was time to just reconcile the fact that Mother Nature put every ringlet on my head for a reason. I decided to cut my hair on October 4, 2007, shortly before my 24th birthday. Traumatic, seeing as I only had a year's worth of regrowth which really only amounted to about 6 inches of virgin hair. So my stylist went slowly: at first just past the shoulders, then brushing the collarbone in November, and finally in December hovering above the shoulders. All in all at least 5 solid inches was shorne from my cascading mane... So devestating! But I quickly got over it once I decided that having my hair short(er) in its natural state is worth more than having long fuzzball hair. So here I am, slowly learning to love, nurture and maintain my ringlets. As hard as I am working to enjoy what nature gave me, I am quite eager to enjoy it at a longer length. So for the next year (or more?) I will lament the trials and tribulations of resisting the urge to chop and letting it grow. I will furnish this blog with photos of the progress and rap philosophical about my triumphs, pitfalls, envies, products, and just life in general. I hope you at least get a kick out of a girl whose vanity leads her to spend actual, valuable time to muse about her hair...