Okay. Remember a couple months ago when I was so, SO happy because I had gotten my hair highlighted. That day is not today.
The highlights are a HUGE expense that I really couldn't justify, I don't have a hairdresser in Austin, and my hairdresser in Houston is moving back to Oklahoma. So what's a "root"-ing girl to do. Go to Target, of course. And be tempted by all the beautiful blonde boxes on the shelf. All promising glamour for a measly $5-10. And while there is a small voice in the back of my head reminding me that I stopped coloring my hair in 2002 because I have "hard-to-lift" hair. I silence that annoying voice and pick up a box. And yes, ladies and gentleman. I took home that box.
Now for those of you blessed with a lush shade of any color, be it blonde, red, brown, or black, and therefore may not be familiar with the term "hard-to-lift", let me fill you in. "Hard-to-lift" means that peroxide, the great equalizer of blondes and brunettes, does not like my hair. Rather than making me Marilyn Monroe, it stops somewhere south of CarrotTop. Oh, it gets light. It just goes orange. My hairdresser informed me that many of her dark blondes have this problem and ironically brunettes often bleach out easier. (Funny, that memory did not arrive while I was walking the beautifully gleaming blonde box aisle in Target. I remember it quite clearly now!)
So back to my hair. As I said, I took the box home. And I opened it, baby. And I mixed those chemicals with abandon. And I shook that bottle. Oh yeah, I shook it hard. And now, my hair is walking the walk of shame. Yeah. My hair is wearing the same color as a 15 year old Sun-In incident. Well, not quite the Sun-In incident but you get the picture.
And I look horrible with red hair. Really, I do. My skin goes pink all over. Not healthy, "isn't she lovely" pink, rather it looks like I had a "chemical peel about a day before" pink. So, no, not pretty.
Now, I'd like to blame this on recovering from the very nasty business that I have had (and still do) for the last ten days. But I know it is deeper than that. Anyone who has grown up feeling less than beautiful knows that the "ugly" river runs wide and it runs deep. And I was not feeling so pretty. I thought that I would spruce myself up a bit for the new year. Well, I'm spruced.
Then to really torture myself. I watch the Golden Globes and see all the actresses with their perfect blonde hair and I start to drown in the ugly river. So I get up and take a bath. Which is my other vice besides blogging. I can take baths like people smoke cigarettes -- only I smell better. So I'm in the bath and let me share some advice. If you are not feeling pretty, do NOT look at yourself in the water spout. It is worse than a Fun House mirror. So I'm looking at my orange hair, pink face, and weirdly distorted nose -- and, I start to cry. Like a baby. No, like a 15 year old after a Sun-In incident.
As I am near Times Square on New Year's level of pity party, I remembered tonight's news. And all the real suffering in the world. All the real suffering in Haiti. And then I felt like the biggest, most selfish jerk in the world. (I know in sharing this, I am risking losing my nice moniker. I'm going to risk it.) And that's when I really thought about this spiral -- this ugly "ugly" spiral -- that I take far too often. So I left my mind drift to the absolute worst possibility of having a bad dye job. I took it as far as a shaved head, And yeah, a shaved head would stink. But it's nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to what is happening in the world outside my head. (I'm actually crying as I type.)
So I'm not quite Archie but I am definitely no Rita Hayworth or even, Molly Ringwald. I now face a decision. To correct this problem, I either need to go really light with a "Strong-lift" product or I need to go darker. I have never been a brunette before and I'm a little intrigued by it. Famous blonde actresses always do it when they want to be taken seriously. I've always described (and possibly defined) myself as a blonde, however. So what should I do? Vanilla or Chocolate? White or Dark Meat? Espresso or Latte? Let me know what you think.
And seriously, don't look at yourself in the water spout. Not even if you're feeling cute. Just don't do it.
But really seriously, the people of Haiti remain in my prayers. And I know that my hair color disaster trauma is neither a "disaster" nor a "trauma". It is nothing more than a nuisance. One that I am sure so many of them would take in a heartbeat over their real problems.