Now that the election is over, I have a couple areas of business that I have to get in order. One, I need to finish this name change thing. I was reluctant to do so prior to the election for fear I wouldn't be registered to vote under the new or old name. In order to do this, I need to get a new driver's license. Once that is complete, I need to get a new passport.
The problem I have encountered is that I like to change things up with some frequency, after I get stuck in a giant rut for several years and keep things the same for too long. Whatever, it makes sense to me. Last month, I decided I needed a hair change. I didn't want to get rid of any length because I do not have the type of hair that can be cut anywhere past the shoulders and still look presentable. Plus, I'm always fearful of the "mom" cut. And quite frankly, people usually think I'm a good ten to thirteen years younger than I actually am, which means I can wear the clothes I like and not look like I'm too old for them like some people I know (Yes, Auntie D., we are ALL looking at you. It is never appropriate for a 57 year old woman to wear a one shoulder top, skintight black leather pants and high heels to a casual backyard summer barbeque and brag about how you can borrow your 18 year old daughter's clothes. Because Demi Moore, you ain't.)
Anyhow, God knows I've got the wrinkles and sun spots of a person who thought tanning was a good vocation in my youth, so I can only attribute people thinking I'm younger than I actually am to having long hair. So I decided to go for those thick, heavy, eye-grazing bangs. Which turned out to be a mistake, but whatever. My hair grows quickly.
Last night, I decided that I was starting to look a little washed out with my fake carmel hair color and wanted to go back to brunette. It goes better with my skin tone and would be alot easier to maintain. However, my very long term super expensive master colorist, master hairdresser fucked-up. BIG TIME. I even had a damn picture to show her!
Prior to color application we had a conversation went:
Me: " You know I don't want it so dark it looks black, right?"
Her: " Your natural hair color is black."
Me: "I know, but I don't want that. I've had back hair and it was horrible. I looked like Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice."
Her: " Don't worry,we'll just do a shiny deep brown."
As she was puttin on the color:
Me: "That looks Really black. I'm worried it's going to be black."
Her; "It's not. It just looks that way right now. And it's going to fade, so I'd rather go dark than light because the filler will start fading and your blonde will show through."
Me: "Okay, just as long as it isn't black."
Washing out my color,:
Her;"Wow, your hair really soaked up that color."
Looking in the mirror:
Her:"I love it! It looks great!" (you know you're in trouble when they say that.)
Me:"Oh my God, it's black!"
Her: We might need to do a slight color adjustment next time."
So, I have black hair. And I AM NOT HAPPY. I WILL be returning today. I don't care if she needs to use paint varnish, she is getting this shit off my head and I am not paying for it. I cannot live with black hair. I am half-Italian, but I'm not THAT Italian. Nor am I Indian. Nor am I Native American. Nor am I African American. Nor am I Asian. And all of those nationalities have the skin tone to pull off gorgeous, shiny black hair and look stunning. I look like a goth mom.
And I sure as hell am not getting my license or passport picture taken with this mess on my head.
I could smack myself for even coloring my hair. I should have just gotten some lowlights. But I didn't. And I couldn't have stressed more how unblack I wanted my hair to be. I woke up at 4 am with the horrid though, "I have black hair." Because deep down inside, I know there's really no coming back from black hair. And that is so unacceptable, I can't even begin to tell you.
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