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November 21, 2006

My Hairstory: The Ugly Years (Part 1)

Ah, the awkward teenage years. Mine were so awkward that they in fact started at age twelve!

As you may recall, at age twelve I was permed and certainly fond of the frosty blue eyeshadow, but aside from the occasional trampy overstep in the makeup category, I was still not horribly embarrassing:

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That's me and my little brother who was my constant companion from the gitgo. He was unbearably adorable, except for the part where he cried 23.5 hours a day. But that's how God works ... He makes the really bad kids so incredibly cute! And you love them even though what you really want to do is put a muzzle on them or tell them to please go play with matches near the freeway. And people wonder why I never had kids, hmmmmm.

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Notice how my older brother, Guy, is really getting hotter by the minute while my cuteness is being completely eclipsed by perming, makeupping, and braceface. Still... it was the 80s. I was well within the normal range for an awkward teenager.

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THEN OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO ME?

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Hello world! Big eyebrows? Check! Braces? Check! She-mullet? Check check!

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Honestly. Is there anything that can be said?
Do not these pictures speak for themselves?
Except... hello baby! You are so sexy ... IN YOUR PURPLE NIKES!!!!!!!
WITH YOUR JEANS THAT HAVE A 24-INCH ZIPPER OH MY GOD.

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Then... the side-wave happened. The side-wave bang was a precursor to the Wall O'Bangs, which wouldn't be fully realized in all its superglued glory until much, much later in my female development.


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By the way, I am including this picture because notice how I was rockin' the pink plastic star earrings? Do you have any idea how long I searched for those earrings so I could be the pink version of Madonna in the Lucky Star video, from which by the way I memorized the entire dance routine and would practice it every night in the living room? Also, the classic round-neck pink mohair sweater? STUPID PARENTS WHO WOULD NOT LET ME WEAR FISHNET AND TORN T-SHIRTS LIKE MADONNA. HATE YOU. HATE. Heh. I was sooooo mad at the folks for that one, BUT I WORE MY STAR EARRING TAKE THAT STUPID PARENTS MEAN MEAN HATE.

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Then... the Sun-In Incident happened.

I am including this close-up, rather grainy but still somehow I believe you can hear the hairs on my head actually crying out in pain from the combination of Sun-In and perming solution:

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Nice eyebrows! Awesome metal mouth!


The Sun-In Incident sizzled every last hair on my head. Which may or may not be why I decided one day to go to the mall, carrying a picture of GRACE FREAKING JONES, a large Amazonian-type goddessy woman with a flat-top haircut, and I paid the horrified lady at Regis Hair Care to give me this:

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... one very poufy flat-top haircut that gave my parents a near heart attack, better preparing them for the trauma to come in the 9th grade, when things went horribly more awry-er in the hair department. Also, see my dress? My striped monstrosity of a dress? And my poufy flattop hair? And see my 1980s Teen God of a brother, so cool that objects literally froze when they got too near him?

Even his coolness could not save me from myself.

Tomorrow: The Final Chapter of Hairstory in which I show the world the neato-est haircut ever, the side-parted mohawk bob.

OH YES I DID.

Posted by laurie at November 21, 2006 10:16 AM