Previously on Too Darn Hot...

Sabrina was saying goodbye to Abu Dhabi and returning to her life in Arizona where her house, dogs, and family were waiting.  Since then, Sabrina (known heretofore as "Calamity Sabrina") has gone through a lot of trials and tribulations to come to where we are now.  Those will be dealt with in future installments.  Today, Too Darn Hot presents a small humorous post.

I have really, ridiculously long hair.*  I almost always have.  It's thick, brown, shiny, and abundant.  And I like it that way.  Even though I keep it pulled back and up 95-99% of the time, I still love it.  Even though I started pulling out gray hairs in the past year, I still love it.  Sure, I may be boring, and won't be dying my hair purple (because dye won't stick to my slick, healthy strands), but I still love it.

My hair and the desert at sunrise

Despite that, I occasionally have crazy ideas about my hair.  Insane, impulsive ideas, that should be slapped out of my silly head before I go through with them. I dyed my hair black in high school.

Doesn't everyone?

However, I am surrounded by people who either love impulsive ideas (Hi Auntie Cathy!) or pretty much let me do whatever I like (Hi Husband!).  So last month when I had the brilliant idea to perm my hair, no one even questioned the idea. 

My little sister is a licensed cosmetologist, and I spent all of June in Houston, so when I had the brilliant idea to perm my hair, I had a professional on hand to make my hair dreams come true, and all it cost me was the supplies and some babysitting (Hi Shaeleb!).

As time in Houston slipped by, I still held on to the idea I wanted a curly perm.  I was reading The Troy Game series at the time, and all the strong female characters in those books have long, abundant hair that tumbles in loose curls to brush their waists.  I wanted that. 

Yes, I wanted cartoon Princess hair.

I didn't get that.  My hair likes change as much as I do, as in, not at all.  My sister labored for three hours in the middle of the night to perfectly roll my hair, using a piggy-back method.  I still don't know what that means or what she was doing.

Is it hair origami?

After all her hard work, my hair rebelled.  After the first wash I had some nice small loose curls.  After the second, I had some frizzy waves.  After the third, a matted mess at the base of my head, and after the fourth my hair is pretty much the same as it was before, although not as smooth.  Perms break the hair's structure.  My sister told me that and it still didn't scare me enough to change my mind. 

Oh well.  Enough deep conditioning and a couple more months, I won't be able to see the difference.  You won't be able to see the difference now.

*Not as long as my cousin Elizabeth, but mine is totally thicker.

Confession of a Scrunchie Addict

I once read on Jezebel (a liberal fashion blog that I read pretty regularly), that the only appropriate time to wear a scrunchie is if you are performing gymnastics in the Olympics.  To this I say:  Jezebel, you are wrong.  Maybe it shows how non-existent my fashion sense is, or maybe it just indicates I've never left 1997, either way, the scrunchie is my hair accessory of choice.  Nothing but those fabric-wrapped loops of elastic will tame my mane of hair, especially in the morning when I haven't done anything with it . Or even in the evening when I want that elegant up-do without a lot of fuss.  Oh heck, all the time.  I wear scrunchies all the time.  No other hair accessory in the world has been created that can single-handedly hold up all my hair.  There is no clip, no headband, no magic wand invented that is capable of allowing my hair to defy gravity and stay off my neck the way I want it to.  There is only the scrunchie.  In it's natural state, my hair is long, thick, and slightly wavy. 

Like so, only usually without the straw hat.

Not only is each strand thick, they grow thick on my head.  Which is great.  I love my hair.  I occasionally get it cut so that it has long layers that brush my shoulders with the rest a few inches longer, but mostly, I just like it to grow in unabashed abundance until it gets gnarly at the ends, and I get it trimmed.  Sometimes I don't even bother paying someone to do it, I just give my patient, slightly OCD husband a pair of shears and let him carefully cut a straight line.

My stylist. 

I guess that might explain my love of scruchies:  instant hair "style".  There is no fuss.  My neck is free and open to the air, as it prefers.  And I have had to do very little to get it so. 

A scrunchie and I enjoying a cool mountain stream.

The biggest problem:  finding one.  I own about a dozen scrunchies, but to cater to fashion, most of them are dark or neutral colors.  That means they blend in to the surroundings like a baby deer. 

Where's my scrunchie!!!

They generally congregate on my nightstand, because I do take my hair down when I go to sleep.  No, I don't do the Little House on the Prairie thing where I braid it at night to keep it neat.

Although, maybe I should.

Unfortunately, I always seem to want one when my husband is sleeping.  And when I need a scrunchie, I NEED a scrunchie.  I'm also clumsy.  So clumsy it could probably be considered a disability if only the government would realize that I need to be protected from myself before an uneven sidewalk causes me to lose a leg.  So I sneak in to the dark bedroom, try not to bump into the bed, avoid knocking over my ever-present water glass, and search for a scrunchie.  "What are you doing?" Dan sleepily mutters.  "Nothing, go back to sleep," I whisper as my hand closes around my goal:  a purple glittery monstrosity with lace appliques.  Now said  monstrosity is holding up my hair as I type this, and I love it.  I will use this scrunchie all day, no matter if it matches my outfit or not.  It may not be in vogue, but so what?  I love it. 

Maybe someday my cosmetologist sister will teach me how to blow dry my hair so it's easier to manage.  But I'm not holding my breath.  Even if she succeeds, my scrunchies and I will continue to defy fashion (and gravity), on a daily basis.