morale boost

About two or three weeks ago I reached the point where I hated my hair. You know, that moment when everything about your hair repulses you: color, length, style. My ends were so bad that my hair wouldn't curl well or even straighten well, my roots were almost three inches long, and my bangs were more of an awkward layer than bangs. This is what I was dealing with:

 
Oh, don't worry--sometimes I got it to look like this:

Much less homeless looking.

So I finally made an appointment to get my hair done, and since I don't have a favorite place to go here in Provo (the past couple of times I've just gone to the Paul Mitchell hair school, which is okay, I guess) I called up Josh's sister, Nicole (a.k.a. my future sister-in-law), who is finishing up hair school this summer. In short, I. love. my. hair. I left the nice school salon (yes, it did feel much more like a real salon than PM) with hair dyed the perfect shade of dark brown, my split ends gone, and even my eyebrows tinted. And I was only there for a little over two hours. And when I went to go pay, Nicole insisted that this one was a gift. Instead of looking like a bad mother who could be featured on "Law and Order," I look much more like a 22-year-old about to graduate from Brigham Young University:

Plus while I waited for my hair color to process, I flipped through this:

Just lovely.