Rock the Casbah Establishment
My husband and I have a bet. Can a man try on panties at a victoria’s secret? Erin Uh. Uhhh. You know what? Let’s talk about my hair instead. Audrey’s all, “NOOOOOO!” Since everybody* is clamoring for the backstory and the “whhhhy” over at my…
My husband and I have a bet. Can a man try on panties at a victoria’s secret?
You know what? Let’s talk about my hair instead.
Audrey’s all, “NOOOOOO!”
Since everybody* is clamoring for the backstory and the “whhhhy” over at my other site, I figured it’d be best to confine the Hair Blathering to the Official Place For Official Amalah Hair Blathering. Especially since I am still really, really tired and likely to give really, really bad advice at this point.
*Where “everybody” equals “two whole people”
Ever since I quit my buttoned-up, suited and panty-hosed job last year, I’ve thought about doing something crazy to my hair. Going red. A bright blue streak. Basically anything I couldn’t have gotten away with at any of my office jobs. And I’ve been working full-time office jobs since I was 21 years old, so it’s been a looooong time since I had any freedom to do anything crazy. Or dumb. Or either!
Once I moved to the suburbs, the desire became a leeeeetle bit stronger. Especially since our particular suburb — while lovely and safe and close-in — is very much very blah sometimes. So the SXSW conference seemed like a good time to pack a couple jars of Manic Panic and indulge my little desire.
(The Pillarbox Red exploded in my suitcase on the way to Austin, so Hot Hot Pink it was!)
And that’s about all there is to the “WHY THE HELLLLL?” question.
Anyway, if anybody wants crazy minute details: I was planning to just do a couple streaks, but Manic Panic is super messy and I honestly did not have the patience for pinning the rest of my hair up or poking holes in shower caps. I did NOT bleach my hair (oh god oh no), but instead left the dye on for about 20 minutes (instead of 15) and then hit it with a hair dryer just before rinsing it out. I smeared Vaseline along my hairline and all over my ears to keep the staining to a minimum. (My scalp looked like a beet until the first shampoo, however. Awesome.)
It definitely took to my old ancient highlights waaaay better than my natural color (a dirty dishwater blonde), but…uhhh…since I wasn’t exactly going for natural perfection here, I don’t really mind the dozen different shades of pink going on right now. I’ve got everything from bright hot magenta to a pale cotton candy pink, plus a few chunks of blonde that resisted the dye altogether.
I dig it, probably more than I really should. Jason likes it, although it took him some time to warm up to the Crazy. My playdate friend Julie couldn’t stop laughing at me today, but hey, she’s a whore and I hate her. (I LOVE HER.)
All I know is, tomorrow morning’s Gymboree class is going to be funny as hell.
(Oh, and for the record: a friend of mine used to work at Victoria’s Secret and said they had men come in all the time to try on and purchase underwear.)