Idol Hands

Last night I did something that I'm still not exactly sure of why I did it. I think mostly because I was bored and because I wanted to avoid watching another scary movie with my husband. Keep in mind that I did this, not because I don't enjoy my husband's company and not because I don't like scary movies, but because he Netflixed a TON of them, and there's just so many nights one can spend with their guts in a bind, watching some poor bloody person try to exact revenge for the murder of their whole family at the hands of crazy mutants.

Last night I colored my hair. At home. With a drugstore brand hair color. Classy.

I have to admit that my life has been relatively free of hair color, on all levels. The last time I colored my hair, I was about 14 or so. My mother knew that I had this desire for technicolor hair in me, so she found Mickey, which was probably the best thing she could have done as the mother of a wayward teenager. Mickey was the best hairdresser a 15 year old could ask for: he listened to what I wanted, smiled and nodded, told me what a great idea it was and then did something totally different, and thus, socially acceptable. But the best thing was that it actually looked great when he was done. I'm not sure how he managed this, but whatever. It worked. After a few tries with color, he got it to be a very dark red with one very chunky blonde streak in the front. Ok, this sounds horrible here, but I thought it was AWESOME. And it was the mid nineties you see, so it was pretty awesome. Very angsty, with a side of fashion.

However, one day when I was at practice for the academic team I was on (yes, I was a nerd. I was totally That kid. I work in SAT test prep now--what did you expect?), I decided not to ever color my hair again. I was sitting in the floor of the auditorium, reading about World War II, when all of a sudden this conversation transpired:

Tom: Exactly, what color is your hair?

Me: Ummm....I'm not sure. It's just...red.

Tom: That color is not found in nature, you know. No one's hair is really that color.

Me: I know. That's kinda the point.

Tom: Isn't that kinda dumb?

And with that, it all came crashing down. I desperately wanted to impress Tom, he being the bastion of high school academic team excellence that he was. I didn't want to be dumb. I wanted for us to watch Monty Python together and make witty comments and then talk about Winston Churchill and that whole Yalta thing and then go to a nice restaurant together and maybe make out?!?! That's what I wanted. I didn't want to be the dumb girl. So I looked down, memorized a bunch of crap about WWII and decided to never color my hair again. I never told Mickey why, and we made do with some fun asymmetrical cuts and a few updos that garnered me a lot of attention at various proms and dances. But no color.

Last night I went back on that. I went to Target yesterday, and I bought a box of L'Oreal Natural Match hair color in Dark Brown. First off, finding this stuff is pretty trying. Who knew there are so many ways to become another person? I sifted through all the different colors and formulas, deciding that if this went well, I'd go with the hardcore dark ash brown later. I ended up buying the one I did because...wait for it...this formula was the most expensive. And obviously it's going to harder to ruin my hair with something costs $10.94 than another box priced at seven bucks. So, with all my loot, I settled my husband on the couch, dared him to come and bother me and spread all the crap out on the bathroom counter. It actually didn't look too hard. So I got started. My main fear was that I would end up with Dark Brown polka dots in my medium brown hair, so I covered the HELL out of my hair. It was dripping everywhere. I imagine this is what the bathtub looked like when they finished filming the shower scene on Psycho. So, while I waited for the crap to sink in, I feverishly rubbed at the splotches on the floor. And on my face. And my whole body.

And the result? Well, pretty damn good if I say so myself. It's just my regular haircolor...with punch. It is quite a bit darker, but also very shiny and multifaceted. I feel very cool with it. Of course, I don't have much to compare it with, having not done this before. But I did achieve the look that I wanted, which is darker for fall, and a bit more mysterious.

So for that, I invite Tom to come out to SF and see what he thinks. Perhaps while he's here we can watch some Monty Python, eat some Thai food and talk history. And I can kick him in the shin for making 14 year old me feel bad (no, really, Tom. If you want to come, that's cool. I promise not to kick--maybe).