It's Not Easy Being Red

Hello folks.

I've had a lovely weekend, mainly because my dear friend PW has been in beloved NYC visiting.

Spending time with old friends is fabulous, friends who know you well and with whom you can have neurotic episodes without fearing that they will de-friend you. It's difficult being in a new place and being a new person, constantly being on good behavior so as not to scare off potential friends and current boyfriends. It's nice to be able to slip into insecure fits and anxious ramblings about state tax returns with people who expect this sort of thing from you.

It's also nice to engage in old, familiar activities, such as watching bad made-for-TV movies starring Jennifer Love Hewitt and seeing fashion shows in your apartment.

I was mostly excited about PW's visit because he was kind of enough to agree to dying my hair! My brown roots have been showing, and I have been missing my black angst-ridden hair. PW was always gracious enough to help me with my hair - both with color and style - when we lived together. I can't even explain how much I have been looking forward to doing this again.

At approximately 8:30 this evening, PW started the coloring process.

At approximately 9:15 this evening, when I left the bathroom after washing the dye out and conditioning my hair, PW said "How does it look?" to which I replied...

"IT'S RED!"

Yes, folks, fucking Feria by L'oreal.

My hair is FUCKING SUBURBAN HOUSEWIFE RED.

Well, if it was all red, that would be FINE. No, it wouldn't be fine, but it wouldn't be freaky either. But it would be fine.

Except that it's not, because the portion of my hair that was dyed before is still dark brown.

No, folks, only MY ROOTS are red. Like Dana Scully X-Files red. The rest is dark brown.

I am trying not to be vain and completely freak out about this, but seriously, its going to be a bad scene.

I am going to call L'oreal tomorrow and demand something. I don't know what. I demand quality control! I demand black dye in the box with the woman with Starry Night Bright Black hair on the cover! I demand to look like this woman!

Really I'll just demand a refund of my $8.99 plus another $8.99 to purchase what I hope is actually Starry Night Bright Black dye to remedy this situation.

I just hope fixing this situation does not involve my hair falling out.

My poor, damaged, red and brown and black and bleach hair.

Sigh.

I am interested, though, in seeing how people react to this tomorrow. I wonder if they will say "You dyed your hair!" or "You dyed your... ummm... hair?" or "It's looks nice!" or "It looks... different."

I am not interested in the reprimanding I will receive from my hairdresser on Wednesday when she sees what I have done to my hair. Black on red on black on bleach. She is going to kill me.

Hopefully Roommate will have helped me with this prior to my haircut. Maybe my hairdresser won't be able to tell. Hopefully dying your own hair isn't as vile a sin as cutting your own bangs.

OK. I should sleep. I've had too much to drink over the past few nights and my liver is angry but my neurons aren't.

Maybe I'll blog a bit more and then not sleep.