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I Got My Hair Did.

Issue Date: Thursday, Jul. 13, 2006

Something I read today that I am sure my grandmothers or my mother has told me at least a dozen times before: If you can’t be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.

I got my her did yesterday.

Ya’see. Here is the deal. Ya’ll know. Ya’ll KNOW that I have issues with my hair. Just last November and December I cut off over half a foot of hair. I have cut my bangs. I have let them grow. Ya’ll? I have been everything from highlighted to black cherry brunette. I have been copper penny and I have been au’ natural. But I haven’t done one solitary thing to my hair since the strawberry blonde debacle of 2002.

Let’s go back for a moment shall we?

I was all about changing things during that time in my life, this also happened to be during a time when I was trying new things too. I was turning thirty in May, so I was trying to get healthy and I was trying to lose weight. The healthy and trying to lose weight were both pretty constant. The new things that I tried were… whoring dating around. I trying to drink vodka more than beer. And trying to eat sushi at least once a week. I also tried to tan.

Tan? Yes, tan. As in placing my naked flesh inside of a fluorescent coffin and baking my skin to a crispy brown.

I also tried to live in a one bedroom one bath apartment with a seven foot tall junkie that was de-toxing and very cranky.

A month or two before the junkie arrived I wanted a change. That change was my hair. I figured that it shines auburn/red in the sun… maybe I should just kick it up a notch. And while I was asking my stylist, “What do you think?” and he was all, “OOOhhhhh… a drastic change, how FUN!... Let’s add some highlights too! It will look fabuloussssssssssssssssssss!” I was still trying to picture myself as a tan (HA HA ha..ha… oh, me… that was funny.), freckled, sunny strawberry blonde with highlights.

Fun! Freeing! Yay, change!

I also decided to try a Brazilian wax.

So, you hear me… right? What I am saying is that not all of my fun, freeing, life and looks changes were all that fantastic of ideas.

Just so we are on the same page, let’s just review.

I am Irish. I am so white I am blue. I freckle easily and sunburn even easier. I was tanning myself at a local tanning salon in hopes of looking fun, fresh, just from the beach tan! Those hopes were dashed and replaced with the reality of bulb burns in the tale tale signs of red stripes from the top of my shoulders to the heels of my feet. Mmmmm sexy! Either I was trying to tan and failing miserably or… OR… I had a yet as unheard of rash that develops in vertical lines on the ass of its victims.

So on top of all of this loveliness, I decided to go strawberry blonde… with… highlights.

Hi… guess who failed the “You are an Autumn, a Winter, a Summer or a Fall” color charting class?

Sunburned… in stripes no less, with reddish blonde hair and highlights.

The evening before the junkie showed up on my door step I went to tan. I got home after a long day and took a shower. I looked at myself in the mirror when I got out of the shower and found a very red person staring back at me. My skin was red from the heat of the shower, I had red stripes from the tanning bed, my hair was reddish… and I was prune-y.

“This will not do pig.” I said to myself in the mirror. And then promptly called my girlfriend Kate to wail about the injustice of being pale and… apparently stupid enough to go strawberry blonde. “The last time Neal saw me? I was my natural dark headed self, I had on a hat, boots, jeans, I looked fabulous and I was twenty pounds lighter. Now? I have red hair, stripe-y red skin and my ass is HUGE!”

She promptly came over and brought with her a solution. Self tanning cream. “It will even out the red stripes and make you a more normal brown color… not so… reddish.”

We spread a sheet out in the middle of the living room, got naked and slathered ourselves in self tanner. We laughed and joked and smoked. When the lotion had dried a bit I could see a faint brownish glow on my freckled and red skin. I was so excited that I asked Kate to put another coat on my back, butt and legs while I did my front.

By the time she left I was so happy that I would be all brown and healthy looking for when Neal showed up. The house was clean. I was tan. The tan was making my strawberry blonde tresses shine… in a good way. All was good with the world. (Except for the size of my ass.) I knew that I had to get up early because Neal was coming by noon and I had to leave the lotion on for at least twelve hours.

I walked Kate to the door. She left and I turned around and went to pick up the sheet that we had put on the floor to protect the carpet from the self tanning lotion. I noticed something and turned on a light over my desk to get a better look.

Orange footprints.

Oh shit.

Either Chester Cheetah was traipsing around in my apartment or the tanning lotion was fighting back.

I decided that I was freaking out a bit and I just needed to trust that I would be a healthy brown in the morning. I went to sleep and woke up at someone pounding at my door.

I sat up and groggily looked at the clock. Six fucking a.m. in the morning? I threw on a t-shirt and shorts and went to peep through the fish-eye lens in the door.

Oh GOD. It was Neal.

I yelled, “Inna minute!” and checked over my desk at the mirror I had mounted on the wall. Facing back at me was a curly mass of red hair (with highlights) falling out of a messy ponytail, smudged mascara only under one eye, splotchy skin rotating colors between orange and red and the stripes from the tanning bed still clearly visible on the fronts of my legs all the way to my toes (which were also orange).

He pounded on the door again.

I shrugged at myself in the mirror and went to greet him. I pulled open the door and smiled at him sweetly hoping that he was too tired from his cross country drive to notice the fresh pile of hell standing before him.

All he said?

“I thought your hair was black.”

So, you guys can imagine the fear I have with changing skin color, hair color… hell even pant color (shhh… I own six pairs of black pants, someone call Stacey and Clinton!). I haven’t been tanning since I burned myself into Saharrahhhhh, the red zebra queen. I haven’t messed with my hair since the strawberry blonde (with highlights) grew out and I haven’t done much of anything drastic other than getting a proper stylist last year and cutting off that 6+ inched of fro hair at the bottom edges of my tresses.

A few months ago my stylist said to me, “You aren’t a mousy woman. Your hair color is mousy. We need to warm it up a bit.” At the mention of ‘warm’ I broke out in a sweat and recounted to her my many forays into the world of hair color and how well they worked for me. When she got off the floor from laughing at me being a strawberry blonde and even worse, having hair so dark it was called black cherry… she said, “No, no no…. I would never do that to you. I would just like to go one shade darker, all over color to give it some shine and warmth.”

It took her almost four months to talk me into it but she finally succeeded. Last night she colored my hair and trimmed my bangs (which are now around the vicinity of my mouth/chin) and gave my hair a beautiful blow out. Ya’ll? It is gorgeous. It is shiny and healthy and if I didn’t say anything, no one would ever know that it is colored. It just doesn’t look mousy anymore.

Finally. Good hair.

I will take pictures soon enough.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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