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Trendy Fall Hair FAIL (UPDATED with scary Ronald McDonald picture)

Sep 22, 2010

Recently I got the makeover itch again.  This happens at the turn of each season, and I usually dye my hair red when autumn hits.  This year I thought I'd mix it up and do a chocolatey brown, like this:

(I may have also thought I would instantly look like Katie Holmes.  I'd even settle for Suri.)

Instead, this is what I now look like:
(I secretly like this picture because my eyes look big.)

Okay, so my hair doesn't look that bad, but it is on fire in the sunlight.  Here's what happened. 

Last Friday night I still looked normal, except I had roots, so it was time to take care of that situation.  I don't pay for hair color in a salon because I used to work in a salon and never paid for anything, and I therefore was spoiled and shocked when I found out how much other people paid.  So now I buy Garnier Nutrisse dye and do it myself.  This past summer I got brave and gave myself highlights, and I did a pretty good job if I do say so myself. 

For fall my gut told me to go back to my roots (literally) and do a rich brown, maybe adding some highlights later on if it got too boring.  I also planned on asking Carol from Bang to give my bangs.  I decided all this soon after watching "(500) Days of Summer."  Terrible movie, great hair. 

Zooey Deschanel
Other trendy girls rockin' the look:

Katy Perry, who I'm sure looks pretty without any makeup on.

Lea Michele -- although I do not want to be as skinny as she is. Eek! Eat a slushie Rachel!

The aforementioned Katie Holmes.

So all this was my inspiration.  And that Marie Claire magazine cover kind of pushed me over the edge. I'd made up my mind -- I was going to be a brunette again.

Then on Friday I had three separate people in three separate situations tell me that my hair color was amazing and I shouldn't ever change it.  But I had roots, so I had to do something.  And I really wanted to go brown, but I was getting all this flattery over my red.  What's a girl to do?!

The next night I stood in the hair care aisle of Rite-Aid perplexed.  I finally settled on Clairol Natural Instincts Raspberry Creme, because Garnier Nutrisse was out of reds.  Gotta keep the fans happy.  (Yes, that is really why I went with red.  I am that full of myself where my hair is concerned.)

Now, I've been dyeing my hair since I was in the 5th grade, so I know how long it takes to cover rootage and change hair color.  The answer is 25-30 minutes.  So I was kind of taken aback when I noticed on the instructions that I was only supposed to leave the color on for 10 minutes.  By the time I realized this it had been about 20.  I quickly hopped in the shower so as not to ruin my hair.  I turned on the water and stood under the shower head for five solid minutes.  Bright orange -- I'm talking neon from 1985 -- washed down the drain the entire time.  I was too afraid to look when I got out of the shower.  I just dried off and blow dried my hair, and then I took a glance in the mirror. 


No seriously, I looked like that clown from "IT."  Straight out of a horror movie.  And to make matters worse, I had on no makeup, and in my bathroom's terrible lighting I also looked like I was on the verge of death.  With Ronald McDonald hair. 

Scary picture added at the request of Sam
(You WILL have nightmares about this tonight.)

Once Margaret dyed her hair Elvyra black, and I gave her my honest evaluation after all her friends and coworkers had blatantly lied to her: "Duuuuuuuuuuuude.  Get that fixed immediately."

I was hoping she'd show me the same respect.  Instead she said, "It's not that bad!" Then she proceeded to circle me, inspecting the pumpkin colored, frizzy mass on my pale, washed out head.  And then she started snickering behind my back.  And then the truth came.  "We don't have to go to dinner tonight, I feel bad." 


So I ran across the street to Rite-Aid and got the chocolatey brown my gut had told me to get, by Garnier.  And yes, I dyed my hair twice in one night.  And I found out when you mix Neon with Normal you get still fiery but not nightmare-inducing red.  And Carol is probably going to laugh at me again. 

You Never Know Who's Reading Your Stuff

Sep 15, 2010

I'm not a superstar blogger, but I have to say a lot of people I don't know or wouldn't expect read my blog.  Every time someone tells me, "I love your blog!" I am surprised.  Whether it be someone I've never met or the mom of the girl I used to babysit (who's now in college in DC -- yikes I'm old!), I'm beginning to realize anyone could be reading this...and my Twitter, and my Facebook, and my Foursquare, and let's not get started on the embarrassment that is Google (please do not ever read a certain CD review I wrote about a certain Latin popstar who had a certain mole removed). 

Case in point: Dreamboat.  Remember him?  He was a blip on my screen and quickly moved across the world, so I didn't think I'd ever speak to him again.  And then this past weekend I get this:

sorry to hear about Cute Guy. :) stop crying! you are pretty and nice and witty and interesting. you will find someone else. and someone better than that. there, i said all that i was supposed to say. (well, it was true, so i don't feel cheesy.)

He reads my blog???  (Hi, Dreamboat!)  (Also, thank you for telling me I'm pretty.)

And who could forget Sidekick, the guy I met one night who went to extreme measures to find me then mass forwarded my blog to his hater friends?  I published 43 comments and got many others that were unpublishable.  Wowza.

On the flipside of this, I stupidly, STUPIDLY announced via Foursquare, which transmitted to Twitter, that I was in the DCA airport and then in the ATL airport.  And my bike got stolen, right off my balcony.  That was some serious maneuvering by the bike thief.  Also makes me really nervous to be living in my already lemon of an apartment. 

In loving memory of my pretty, pretty Schwinn. (Yes, that is a dog in my shirt.)

(In case you are wondering, I'm getting a new pretty Schwinn once I move, so take note, bike thief! My apparently easily accessible balcony will remain barren and you won't know where I live!)  (I would really love to know how someone knew where I lived.  SUPER creepy.  Although I guess it is possible it was random, but I'm now thinking you can't be too safe with this stuff.)

I was equally creeped out when I recently received a text message from some guy who follows me on Foursquare: "You seem cool and go to hip places.  Creepy but what's social networking for?"

Since when is Foursquare handing out my phone number?!  It's really, really time for me to take a look at my security settings on everything. 

Today I read an article on Yahoo! that gives some seemingly obvious social media safety tips.  I was guilty of two of the no nos, maybe three.  Arm yourselves, social media peeps! 

10 Reasons Why You Shouldn't Have Had That Margarita

Sep 7, 2010

Sooooo I wrote this last week and took it down the next morning because I realized I sounded like a lush.  To be clear, I am not a lush.  I just happened to go overboard the other night.  This doesn't happen often (except when I'm going through a break-up with a younger guy, apparently).

I felt I should re-post because a fellow blogger, who lives in Korea and therefore read this post when it was up for a few hours in the middle of Eastern Standard Time night, recently wrote that this post inspired him (that makes me so sad, but I also really like the attention).  So save your judgment and enjoy.


1) You already had a Paparazzi (complete with pop rocks covered chocolate) and a free glass of Proseco at Co Co. Sala.

2) There are enough crazies at the Lady Gaga concert without you running amok around Chinatown.

3) You hit on the security guard on the way into Rosa Mexicano.

4) Didn't you just take a vow to quit drinking so you wouldn't feel sad about Cute Boy?  (Well, he is officially out of the country, and he didn't know what "My So-Called Life" was, so I think I'm over it.)

5) You tell the people sitting next to you their food looks really good and stare at it and them until they offer their leftovers to you. And you take them.

6) You complain to your server that your margarita isn't frozen anymore and request a new one that's slushier. (Hey, just being economical.)

7) You offer to dance for the restaurant patrons if they play "Bad Romance" instead of the Spanish guitar music.

8) You rock the Forever 21 dress you paid $13.50 for earlier this summer and forgot to ever wear.  (P.S. You are too old to wear something that short and clingy.) 

9) You hit on the security guard on the way out of Rosa Mexicano

10) It's Tuesday night, for goodness sake.

End-of-Summer Purge

Sep 6, 2010

Soooo this week I couldn't find my Metro card.  It wasn't in my black patent leather quilted bag like it usually is, and I knew this because I'd dumped it out on my bed.  I checked my DKNY watermelon satchel as well.  Nope.  Cream Chanel clutch (from Korea, but who can tell?) (girls who carry real cream Chanel clutches, that's who), black & white Coach (real, HA!), Victoria's Secret tote (free with purchase)...nowhere to be found. 

Where's Waldo?

As Noli barked at the mess on my bed, I realized it was time for a purge.  The season's ending so I need room in my closet for new clothes (my splurge this fall will be a faux fur vest, maybe this one).  I'm moving in a month so I need to de-clutter.  And really nothing feels better than throwing things out when you end a relationship.  (Except cutting your hair off, but that's for extreme cases only.  I'm not that depressed.)

It's been another week since the break-up, and I'm doing fine, thanks.  The girls night was super fun, complete with free drinks (and urges to call Cute Boy), lots of dancing, and getting hit on by a sleazy guy.  I felt especially empowered when I noticed a wedding ring on one guy who was trying to dance with us. I alerted the girls to the situation and then took his hand and told him, "I like your ring." 

"I'm not doing anything!" he protested.  Mmmmmmmmhmm.

I did not call, text, or otherwise contact Cute Boy, though.  Instead I devoted a day to driving to the beach, sitting in the sand and writing in my journal, and driving home.  It's only 2 1/2 hours away so it wasn't too bad and totally worth it.  I thought the ocean would clear my thoughts, but East Coast beaches are different than the Southern beaches I'm used to -- very crowded, cold water, and NO SWIMMING signs. ???

Monday night Cute Boy called.  I kept it together for about two minutes, and then I spent the rest of the conversation crying.  I think I got it out of my system, because I haven't shed another tear.  Though I'm sure catching a stomach bug this week helped the situation since I was drugged out on Nyquil. 

Then Friday night K and I had our first official meeting of the Great Cancelled TV Shows Club (we're starting off with "My So-Called Life" -- "I love the way he leans!").  I was having a lovely time until we opened a bottle of wine.  Then I got sad and wanted to call Cute Boy.  Luckily I couldn't drink much because I had to drive home, and by the time I got home I was too annoyed by all the riff-raff on U St to remember I wanted to call him.  (I may or may not have tried to run over a group of jaywalking, short-skirted people.)

The next night I went to a cookout with another friend I met on Twitter, Robin. (BTW, if you haven't joined Twitter, get on it!  Meeting people online is not weird anymore, and Twitter might be the greatest networking tool of the 21st century.)  The cookout was in Cleveland Park, which is just two stops north of Dupont, but I felt like I was in the wilderness.  I saw a squirrel and a lightning bug!  I was enjoying meeting new people and talking to Robin about her boy drama, until someone pulled out Firefly (sweet tea flavored vodka).  Mixing it with orange juice reminded me of my great aunt Carrie's famous fruit tea, and one moment I was feeling very nostalgic and the next very sad for Cute Boy, and it seemed the only way to quench the sadness would be to call him.  It was then that I noticed the correlation: Drinking = Urges to call Cute Boy, or at the very least be sad about him.

I told Lauren about this the next day, like it was some big eureka moment (which it was). 

"Duh Mary El, alcohol is a depressant," she told me.

I'm sure I learned this in high school health class, but it was one of those things I never thought I had to worry about since I don't drink much. 

So I vowed not to drink anymore until I am 100% over him. 

Labor Day was his last day in America before his two months in Europe, and he asked if he could come over to get a few things he had left over here.  Strangely, when he showed up, he looked in the bag and threw it away.  I'm not really sure why he wanted to come over -- to say good-bye?  My soon-to-be new roomie asked why I was torturing myself, but I really didn't think it would be that bad.  I told her this over a warm beer at a Labor Day street party.  I guess I momentarily forgot about the vow.

So when Cute Boy showed up I got very, very sad.  Immediately I had to fight back tears, and then he suggested we get something to eat, so I had to suck it up for the next hour.  Pure. Torture.  No. More. Drinking!!! 

However, when I told him about my Cancelled TV Shows club, he asked, "What's 'My So-Called Life'?  I've never heard of that one."

And this is why you don't date a younger guy. 

The hour was soon over, and he walked me to my door then hugged me goodbye.  I could feel the brush of his fingers on my left arm for a while after he left. 

And then I cleaned.  I deep cleaned the kitchen, I did four loads of laundry, and I filled up two bags of Goodwill clothes, including three pairs of shoes that I did not wear this summer.  Well, one pair I did wear, but I've had them at least six years and the heels are falling apart.  I had a lot of good times in those patent turquoise stilettos with red and pink stripes on the toe.

Good-bye, dear friend

And now I think I can safely say, I have purged -- physically and metaphorically.  Time to go shopping!

(Oh yeah, my Metro card was in my pocket.)