Never trust a Hairstylist named M@ndy

When I left the apartment yesterday, my roommate offered me some sage advice:

“You’re going to make your hair fall out,” she said.

I paid $85 and now I have orange hair, bright orange to be exact. How bad is it you ask? Let's just say I'm wearing a wool hat indoors today. I showed my cublicle mate and she said it's not that bad. Not that bad? Is she blind? She did say it clashed with my pink shirt. Hell, it clashes with everything I own, it's freaking day-glo ORANGE!


When my colorist (and I use the term loosely folks) rinsed off the color, she was saying, "I'm not sure, this isn't quite what we expected." No kidding. I was bright orange as in clown coloured!!! Turns out the type of highlights I had in affected the dye. She immediately put in a darker brown "to make it brown with just a hint of orange in it - it should look great" and when it was done everyone said "lovely, vibrant." Well, they convinced me and gave me a trim and I went on home thinking it was okay. I didn't realize the effect that salon lights at 8 p.m. after 3 hours of inhaling hairdye can have on you. I must have washed my hair 10 times in the shower with every shampoo we owned (It was a permanent colour, but I'm a glass is half full kind of a girl) but it just dried my hair out and left me with orange/pink frizzies. Did I mention that I have the skin pigmentation somewhere between a two-thousand year old vampire and a corpse?


When I was younger I could toss off a bad cut, color or style. "It always grows." I could shrug off with a hair disaster with attitude. I've had every color from bleached blonde to jet black (which my grandmother fondly referred to as "that whorish black"). Now I'm just a big mess. I couldn't even call in sick today because I already played that card on Tuesday dealing with my hangover from my Monday night of debauchery with Billy. Damn you Billy, damn you to hell! If I take off the hat in public, children will probably tug on their mothers’ sleeves and whisper, while pointing and staring at me saucer-eyed, "Mommy, what IS that?"


I would like to take a moment to thank my roommate for the following comment: "Well, do you want a campy cartoon character look? Because it looks good, but it looks, you know, campy. Not that you're campy. Unless you want to be. Campy? You know?"


I have an appointment at 1:30 today for a "corrective" coloring. May god have mercy on my soul.


2002-05-24 at 10:00 a.m.