I have orange hair. Organic hair color FAIL.

Think of your worst nightmare.  Is it that you have orange hair?  No, no, no.  I didn't say red, nor did I say auburn.  I said orange.  See the color of the blogger thingy?  Yeah.  Orange.

Well, that might not be your worst nightmare, but it is mine, and NOW, it is MY REALITY.

Yes.  I am Ronald McDonald's sister.  I am Carrot Top's cousin.  Except they have the complexion to pull it off and I have three colors I can never wear.  They are: orange, yellow and brown.

I can't wear my head.

What did I do?

Yes.  Really.  What did I do!

Well, it all started because blonde hair is so awesome.  You know how I am obsessed with blonde hair.  I love blonde hair.  I used to have blonde hair!  Well, that is, until it turned brown.  I let it all grow out because I was soooooooooo freaked out about the chemicals.  And then I had sad sad brown hair.  That sad brown hair I would pay $250 to get back right now.

But for the last two years I decided I had to give up and forget about blonde hair.  I let it all grow out to its natural state.  It was a sad state of very medium brown-ness with some auburn highlights.  But it was not good enough.  Who wants brown hair when you can have BLONDE!

I changed my mind when I started reading about organic hair color.  I was avoiding it all because of the ammonia, the dyes and the chemicals.  But if there was really an organic color that worked, DUDE SIGN ME UP RIGHT NOW.

I looked for a salon that was around that carried it.  I found one about 30 miles away. I got a babysitter.  I researched it.  I specifically asked the owner, "This works for brown hair to change it to blonde, right?  No orange, right?  I don't want orange.  I don't want strawberry blonde.  I don't want Ronald McDonald.  I want ASH.  Can it do this?"

"Yes."  said the liar.

I made the appointment.  I skipped out of the house just imagining how I would come back in, blonde flowing locks behind me, just ready for summer.  What a great day this would be.

Well, except for the dog barfing a pile of grass on the carpet.

I told lots of friends, "Next week I will be blonde!"

I texted a picture of myself to the hubby saying something along the lines of sayonara, brown hair!!!!!!

I went in to the salon.  The owner was going to personally do my hair.  Should be great.  Color blobbed on.  Under the dryer 30 minutes.

Ding!

Wash.  I say, "I'm really surprised.  Usually my hair takes about 1 hour and 40 minutes and that's with bleach, so this stuff must be really amazing."

Rinse.  Dry.  Hair is half of a shade lighter than its current self.  It is brown.

Um.  ?  Dude?  Please make my hair blonde.

Applies another color layer.  Sloshes it all over my head.  Wait 30 minutes under the dryer.  Ding!

Rinse.  Dry.  I HAVE ORANGE HAIR.

"Dude.  I am panicking.  Do SOMETHING.  I said NO ORANGE."

The dude says, "Oooh!  You want blonde!!!!!!  Oh!  You need bleach then!"

Me: "No.  You said your product would work.  I am Ronald McDonald right now.  Fix it.  I can't do this."

Dude puts bleach highlights on my orange hair.

Sooooo much better!  I now have orange and yellow hair!  WOW!  SO GOOD.  I HAVE STRIPES!  Thank goodness.  This is so much better.  False.

Tomorrow I'm getting brown hair again.

Moral of the story: Live with your horrifyingly stupid brown hair.  It may be totally ugly and boring, but at least you don't look like a GMO clown.

Peace, love and the helpful little told me to shave my head,
Ms. Daisy

I Struck Again

Hello there, me lovies!

Okay, I'm going to come out and just say it.  No beating around the bush.  I mean, I don't know why I would hold back from saying it.  I should really just tell you straight out.  Right?  I mean, after posting about politics, religion, Crackoween and maple syrup armpits, if you're still here, you're either  just straight up baffled that such a person truly exists and you're here to see what else kind of thing would be next out of my mouth/blog or you are actually my friend (if so, HI!!  And I love you.  Not if you're a boy, though, ew!  I only like you, like - "friend like".  Unless you're my hubby, then hey, hotsauce, what's the haps!)  

That seems to clear everything right up.

Now where were we?  Ah, yes.  I was about to make a confession.

Oh man, okay.  I'll say it.  I know that I sort of may have said I might not do this again, but I did.  I can't help it.  I did it!  I...cut my own hair!  Again!  And all of the people trained in the art of cutting hair wince, sadly shake their perfectly cut tresses and sigh.    Then they say, "See you in the salon soon!"  I know, I know.  I had to hide my hair from my sweet friend and ex-hair cutter (she moved away, shock) when she came for a visit because LIKE OH MY GOSH, I totally know she is going to inspect it.  But she is one of those people who are so super kind and would never even think a rude thought, much less say it.  And then there's me.  Not quite exactly like that.  Plus I cut my own hair.  So, yeah, kinda different.

So it started like this - my sweet friend moved.  ARGH!  That was like the twelveteenth-hundred person to move away from me, but the first hair-cutter friend.  So this was doubly sad. It was time for me to get something done with my hair, namely, cut off the two inches of chlorine that was Medusa-ing my head in such a lovely fashion.  Being "frugal" (that's the word that people use when they are kind but really mean "too cheap to care about haircuts"), I decided to do what any person usually does when they don't exactly know how to do something but figure they might want to look it up and try:  I went on youtube.

Now, let me just say this.  I watched this video and this girl did an AMAZING job.  She got a ponytail, pulled it down in the back of her head and then straight in the middle of her back on her spine (so she knew it was centered).  Then she simply measured how much she wanted to cut off, and SNIP!  Off it went.  She took out her ponytail and her hair was great!  It was totally straight and good!  Wow, I thought.  That totally looked SO EASY.  I mean, HOW COULD YOU MESS THAT UP?

Let me tell you how.  

Let's see here.  Well, let's start with the fact that the woman/girl in the video was African-American.  Her hair was oh, just a teensy bit different than mine.  Her ponytail at the end was like a pinkie-finger in diameter.  It came off in ONE snip.  My ponytail at the end is like...eight pinkie-fingers.  Or four. (Even though eight totally sounds better.)  So, can you imagine the amount of sawing cuts I had to make to get through Medusa's maze?  Try 10.  Ish.  

Then, I took it out.  Remember how hers was all perfect?  Yeah.  Mine resulted in screaming in a mirror, slight crumpling to the floor and I had to make a split decision whether to cry or hysterically laugh.  I chose laugh.  Second, I chose the ever clever "Phone A Friend".

Me: Whassup, girlfriend!  OHMYGOSHDOYOUKNOWWHATIJUSTDID?  You are not going to believe it and by the way are you doing anything right now because I may have a diva-mergency and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!
Friend: What did you do?
Me:  I. cut. my. own. hair....I learned it from watching a youtube video...aaaah!  Help!  
Friend: I will help you.  What possessed you to do that?
Me:  I do not know.  

She spared me the going out of the house even.  My friend came over, stood in the bathroom with me and fixed my jagged little haircut.  Then I was pretty sure that I owed her like two bazillion dollars or at least some kind of trophy.  Or if I sang, I'd sing the theme song to Golden Girls to her (except with my idea of singing, it would be more like another punishment or sick torture), but I just resorted to hugging her as one desperately hugs land after being adrift at the shark-ridden sea for weeks.  

Then it was over and I was fixed.

Until I struck again the second time.  This time, I got a little better and I let my hubby fix up my straggling ends.  I decided to put my hair into about 4 equal ponytails to cut them so they were smaller and easier to saw through.  It worked.  Mostly.  Except for my bangs, which were about 2 inches shorter than the rest of my hair.  Cool, I'll pretend I did it on purpose.  And that's how I roll.

This third and most recent time, I modified what I learned.  I put two ponytails pulled backwards over the spine (less to cut through, and will prevent the shortening of the bangs).  I carefully measured and cut, and VIOLA!  I took it out and it looked halfway normal!!  

I must be a genius.

So this is totally hilarious (and timely!).  Another friend came over to borrow some jewelry for a fancy schmancy benefit she was going to on Saturday (and the dress she had - you guys, oh my gosh, seriously, it was so gorgeous.  It was a sea of purple sparkling gorge-osity.) and she says to me, "So I cut my hair..." and then she did it a wee bit at an angle and she got in to her hair lady for a fix.  She TOLD her hair lady that she cut her own hair (and that I do it) and of course, the hair lady nearly stabbed her eyes out with her scissors (of course, it's what they're trained to do - her own eyes, of course, not the eyes of my friend) and made her promise never to do that again (or to be friends with me anymore).  But IIIII told her, no, it will be just fine, I've done it three whole times and lookie me' harr!  So, anyway, I showed her my newfandangled way of doing it and I'm sure it will be just fabulous.

Hopefully.  (We're going to have to keep secrets from those hair people, though.)

But you know what?  It's just hair.  And I feel great about paying zero dollars and knowing how to do it myself so I say, hey - it's worth it.  Even if it is a little addictive.  Okay, no, I can set the scissors down. 

Step away from the scissors!

Okay, I'm good now.

Well, I should go.  I think I saw a split end I need to tend to...er, I mean, I need to go practice Latin...or read Shakespeare...er...um...

Peace, love, and make sure you get sharp scissors,
Ms. Daisy