Call Me Sunset Head

Well fans, I've been idle for a while, and I know you've missed me. If I were a hip celebrity (Britney you're my idol! Call me!), my absence from the blogging world would have been due to a stint in rehab. If that were the case, this entry would take the form of a heartfelt letter to my fans riddled with the grammar of a two-year-old and excessive references to my continuing "journey to recovery." However, because I am woefully well adjusted, I will never know the glory of a fame fueled train wreckage (Lohan! You're the basket case I aspire to! Call me!). Needless to say, my blogging laziness has been fueled less by booze and tears than by regular old slackerage. I am sorry. To make it up to the two of you still reading this thing, I am going to disclose something deeply personal. Gillian Anderson of X-Files fame and I share a dark secret:

We are not natural redheads.

And I don't know about Gillian, but I have recently gone through more hair color hijinx than Christina Aguilera in an "experimental" phase. Now, because I like to pride myself on keepin' it real, and because my blog fan base is built solidly on my personal embarrassment and discomfort, I'm going to tell all about it. And Christina can bite me.

It all began over Christmas break when I dyed my hair red with a box from Target. Or, more precisely, "burnt mahogany." You know...to match my fiery personality. I didn't exactly mean to choose a permanent color, but I was OK with the results. I figured I could try life as a redhead for a while.

A few months later, when I got a trim back in Minnesota, my hairdresser tactfully suggested fixing my two-toned hair before beginning my summer job in Ohio. I decided to heed her advice. This was partially because I knew I looked sloppy, but mostly because I was tired of being mistaken for Nicole Kidman. So, I went to the store and picked out what I thought would be a nice neutral shade closer to my natural color. girl on the box was smiling, "like her eyes had a secret," as Tyra Banks would say. Little did I know, the secret was that I can't do anything right.

The next day, I followed the instructions on the box to the letter. When my mother came home from work, the first thing she said was, "So how does your hair look?"

I replied, "Um...I'm going to need some more hair dye."

"Oh? What happened."

"Well, the red part is still red, but the part that was growing in brown turned...blond."

"Well let's see. That sounds funny....Yep. That is...blond." Then, because she is a sympathetic and nurturing mother, she proceeded to laugh for about three straight minutes.

Unfortunately for all of you, I didn't have the presence of mind to take any pictures of my hair at it's most avant garde. However, to get a general idea of my look, you can consider the following two photos. One is Vitamin C of "The Graduation Song" fame. The other is Saaphyri (pronounced Safari...and yes my right hand just seizured a little as I was typing Saaphyri)-- who was kicked off of "Flavor of Love 2" after she pulled some ho's hair and cried a lot.

Now, don't get me wrong. There was a time in my life where I would have liked nothing more than to be styled like a mediocre pop middle school graduation anthem singer...who will slap a bitch if if she steps up on me. But, times change and people grow. So, I went back to the store and bought another, more demure, shade of brown. However, when that box of dye barely dimmed my sunshiney head, we called in the professionals.

Back at the salon, my journey came to an end at last. There, my hair was re-dyed to a shade that wouldn't make people turn and stare and little children cry. Still, It will be a while before everything is as it was with my hair. Even the professional dye wasn't enough to completely cover up the red and gold. So, if you find my head in the right light and make a wish, you just might catch a glimpse of a sunset.