[Previous entry: "Juneau Ice Field Trek"] [Next entry: "When I'm not painting, my entries sound more like a little girl's diary than an artist's blog...sorry"]
08/04/2006: "Attack of the 50 foot hair dresser!"
So, I have this fairly important happening (shhh, top-secret) next week, I'll be going to Washington State on Wednesday and staying through the weekend. I want to look nice so I decided to get my haircut. The hair dresser did a great job and suggested some color to give my boring brown hair a lift and I was referred to the owner of the salon (20+ years experience coloring hair). I told her of the importance of this hairdo, how I *only* wanted a natural tinge of reddish brown; she strong armed me into only getting highlights and lowlights to make my natural hair color stand out more. I was hesitant but she was the professional and she was quite insistent so I let her have at it. I told her repeatedly however, that I didn't want streaky, obvious highlights!
Guess what I have?
I have a bunch of large, perfectly evenly spaced BLONDE streaks, not just blonde but practically white! The worst part is that during the grueling 2-hour process (I knew there was a reason I didn't go to beauty shops) she told me the story of her life and she's a sweet person and by the end I liked her so much personally that I held my crying until I was safely ensconced in my car. The more cynical side of me reared its ugly head on the ride home where I wondered if they intentionally endear themselves to you so you won't go postal when they muck it up!???
Oh well, it's just hair right? I'm going to attempt to tone it down a bit this weekend but I'm worried that I'll just make it worse. I know I *should* go back and tell her that I didn't get what I'd requested but I believe in picking my battles. I've had MUCH MUCH worse hair-tastrophes in my life, like the time I tried to put "Sun-In" over a henna dye job and gobs of my hair fell out...or the time a friend of my mom's gave me "highlights" and turned my hair salt n pepper gray. Will Berigan (a senior, I was a freshman in high school) would jokingly ask me about my time travles when we'd pass in the hallways. Ahhhh, to be 14 again!