It's a bird, it's a plane, it's SUPER BLONDE.
This is the gripping tale of a girl and highlights gone haywire. I use the term gripping loosely.
I'm naturally blonde but the older I get the more help I have to give my roots. Too long between highlights and I start looking a little strawberry blonde on top. Nothing wrong with strawberry blonde but I'm more of a straight up blonde kinda girl. I feel it fits my personality better. Does that even make sense? It does to me and I shall be blonde until I die. I'll be the 90 year old blonde bombshell in the nursing home and I'll still wear sparkly lip gloss w/ my dentures and high heels in my wheelchair. That's just how I roll.
I've been spoiled my entire life when it comes to hairstylists. My stepmom Evie has done my hair for as long as I can remember and more recently, she passed the hairbrush to Brandy, my stepsister and she's taken over the honors. There have been a few rare occassions when I've gone to someone other than on of them and each time I was traumatized and vowed never to do it again. But now, they've both up and moved an hour and a half away and left me to my own devices to maintain my hair. Uh oh.
So Friday, I'd had enough of looking at my brassy roots and decided to go out on a limb and try a new salon. I made a few calls and found a well known salon that could get me in over my lunch hour that same day. Mistake #1: Never get your hair done on your lunch hour when you have to go back to work.
When I got to the salon, the one girl working had short, spiky, purplish red hair and multiple piercings, (not that that has any bearing on anything just painting a picture for you) told me to come on back. She asked me what I needed to have done and I told her I just needed a touch up, a little brightening up if you will. She told me the strawberry blonde was pretty. I told her thanks but I wanted more blonde less strawberry. She kinda rolled her eyes and said, "Oh I get it, I'm a recovering BLONDEREXIC myself." A blonderexic? Wow. You could tell she wasn't thrilled to be enabling the blonde. Between you and me, I think she had some blonde agression issues, perhaps a boyfriend left her purple hair for blonder pastures? Just sayin'. I started getting nervous at that point, but she seemed to understand what I was after so I dove into the latest issue of People. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT TIGER WOODS?!? I never liked that guy.
Oh sorry, back to the story. I was enthralled w/ the torrid affairs of the rich and famous and didn't notice that instead of painting the magic potion on just the roots and then wrapping it in foil to protect my scalp, she was painting it directly on my head. like she was whitewashing a picket fence. Ummm, that didn't feel right but I just went back to reading thinking that maybe not everyone did it like Evie and Brandy do. All was fine and right in the world until my head FELT LIKE I HAD A SWARM OF FIRE ANTS ATTACKING IT. I told her it was burning a little BECAUSE SHE PAINTED IT DIRECTLY ON MY HEAD, and she got me a cold washcloth. Apparently, blotting the cool washcloth on my forehead and neck would ease the swarm of ants taking over my entire scalp. Not so much. I would've told her it wasn't helping except she had gone to the back room to get more magic potion because one bowl hadn't been enough, remember we were only supposed to be touching up the roots, as in the first 3 inches of my hair. One bowl of potion should've been more than enough. Against my better judgment, I didn't say anything and just hoped for the best. How bad could it be?
I got my answer about 20 minutes later when she was shampooing the potion out and said, "It's pretty bright but it will tone down." Understatement of 2009. When we got back to the chair, she pulled the towel off and I gasped. Gasped because my eyes are permanently damaged from not wearing protective eyewear when looking at my hair in the mirror. Usually when my hair is wet it's 10 times darker than when it's dry. The fact that it looked like someone had pulled the yellow crayon out of the Crayola box and used it on my hair, and this was how it looked while still wet was my first clue I should've taken the rest of the day off. She read the shock on my face and reassured me by saying, "It's not as blonde as it first was, but I used some toning shampoo to tone it down." THAT was great to hear, made me feel SO much better. So basically what she was telling me was that before she used the toning shampoo my hair could be seen from OUTERSPACE. Awesome.
She dried it and kept complimenting how great it looked and how it really brightened up my complexion and made me look like I'd just gotten back from a tropical vacation. I, on the other hand, was singing my song, you know the one. "JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL..TAKE IT FROM MY HANDS BEFORE I RUN OVER THIS STUPID HAIRSTYLIST WITH IT......."
By the time she was done drying at it, I had already suffered severe retina damage and couldn't look anymore. Now this may come as a shock to you but because I was on a short time schedule I didn't throw a huge, stinking fit and demand her to fix it. Instead I quietly paid and left. I think I was hoping that in different light it wouldn't look so drastic OR that once my eyes adjusted I would like it. I went back to work and attempted to hide out in my office for the rest of day. Plan failed when person after person came in needing something or other. And every person that came in kept looking at me in that way. You know like when you're talking to someone and they have a big booger hanging out of their nose and you don't want to embarrass them and tell them, but you can't stop looking at it but you don't want them to notice you staring at it? That's how they kept looking at me except instead of a booger it was my blindingly blonde hair.
Had it not been a crazy busy weekend I would've gone back in to the salon and had her fix it but I just didn't have time. And by the time I had a spare hour I had grown accustomed to my new stripper hair color and was quite enjoying signing autographs as people were mistaking me for one of Hugh's girl from The Girls Next Door, except for the size 2 figure and fake boobs, oh and the Playboy contract..minor details.
I know you're probably thinking, oh it's not that bad, and that Prairie Princess she sure does exaggerate. So here is the proof. Please for your safety, wear protective eyewear:
See I told you.
Gotta go, Hugh's calling.