Day 167 or Blonde Ambition, Pt. 3, Going back to my roots

So for those of you following my hair saga -- here's the update. I'm fixed! Maybe fixed is not a good word choice -- it sounds like I just took an unpleasant trip to the Vet. How about corrected? That's better but it does bring back images of a stern English teacher. I'll use the word my friend, A, used. Radiant! I feel radiant.

Now I know that I learned the lesson that my hair problems are not hardships, tragedies, or disasters (especially in light of our recent loss), but I would be a Pinocchio style liar if I didn't say that it feels great to not have orange-ish hair anymore! If you saw my Wordless post yesterday, you got a glimpse of my newly naturalistic (notice I did not say natural) hair.

Now here's the kicker. After all this hair drama, my new hairdresser convinced me to put a lot of my own hair color back in and I actually liked it. She basically took my hair back to my roots and just added a pop around my face.

Now, lest you think that this is simply a narcissistic post about my hair, I do think that there is something to be learned here. After all the mess I went through, I looked at my own hair color with new appreciation. Isn't that how life works? We glamorize something outside of ourselves or our lives. We think that what we have is dull and plain. Then we have a chance to play on that metaphorical greener (or blonder) side of life and realize that our lives weren't nearly plain or dull at all. They were radiant.

So with slightly better perspective, I see my hair and my life a little more clearly. A little more radiantly. And for that, I am thankful.

Day 166 or Wordless Wednesday (Blonde Ambition, to be continued...)

Thanks 5 Minutes For Mom (http://www.5minutesformom.com). P.S. It's really hard to take a picture of your own hair!
:-)

Day 142 or Blonde Ambition 2: This Ain't Pretty

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.

Day Seventy - Two or Blonde Ambition

Well, in the words of the great Lucille Ball, I returned my roots to their natural color today.
This was long overdue. There was a time when I took care of myself. I never broke a nail appointment, my eyebrows were perfectly waxed, and roots were unheard of. I was working in a very competitive environment (ironically I'm not referencing acting. I did very little of that then. Maybe that was part of the problem... but I digress.) and all of that was expected. I can't say as I minded it, though. Especially pedicures. I'm pretty sure that heaven has pedicures.

But in my mostly SAHM days, those are expenses that I can no longer justify. So I paint layer on top of layer of toenail polish (why bother to remove it if you keep using the same color?), I try not to blind myself with tweezers (I've seen my wedding pictures -- I can't go back, I tell you. I can't go back. The 90's were not pretty for eyebrows!) and well, I just try not to look at my hands. But the one thing I have kept is my haircolor. Sort of.

Let me set the stage. I grew up with lovely flaxen blond hair. My brothers and I were all towheads and my hair stayed bright and beautiful until... PUBERTY! Then, did it turn a lush chestnut or chocolate? I would have loved a head of deep, dramatic, dark hair. (Nice alliteration, huh?) No, it turned blah. I'm not kidding. I have dark blonde hair. You know that color that gets lovely names like "dirty" blonde or even better -- dishwater blonde. I mean, who thought up that name? That's just cruel.

They make haircolor in my shade and I have NEVER ever seen anyone buy it. In fact, across all the brands, it is always fully stocked. ALWAYS.

So back to today. I try to fight the blah with highlights. But they cost money. Something that is always in short supply. So I try to avoid seeing when the roots come in. At first, I just comb it differently. Then I blame the lighting. Finally, I just stop turning on the lights in the bathroom. But not tonight. Tonight, I can turn all the lights on in the house without avoiding the mirrors.

Boy does that feel good. Now, if you'll excuse me while I go turn all the lights back off. I've got to keep the electricity bill down. I just paid for highlights!