bad hair year

It's finally cold in Orlando. I bought a pack of ramen for $1 at Walgreens to celebrate, because I'm hungry and frugal. I mean, I spent a $1 for a two week supply of nutritionally devoid (but delicious, especially with some Sriracha sauce) lunch after spending over $100 to get my hair did for the second time in three weeks, because clearly I have my priorities straight.

Besides being the year I got married, 2011 was the year of poor hair decisions that usually typify teenage years, but I'm a late bloomer. It actually started late 2010 when I randomly decided after a night of no sleep to dye my hair for the first time ever with a bottle of $4 hair dye. It was a dark brown bordering on black hue that fashioned me a pale, brooding goth. I decided to fix this disaster by spending money I didn't have at a salon.  I got blonde highlights, then blonder highlights, then less blonde highlights, and then regretting it all, a few weeks ago, I went back to what the salon professional called dark blonde and I call light brown.

BUT, the lady should have added red pigment into the dye. When a co-worker finally admitted that my hair turned OK just a little green, I made another appointment at a completely different salon. She was being nice. My hair looked a mix between shit brown and The Exorcist puke green. Kate admonished, "You should have marched back into that salon to get your money back!" I'm not one for marching into anywhere or speaking my mind to anyone other than besties and blood relations, so that didn't happen. The lady could have dyed my hair orange and I would have told her "I love it!" while thanking her profusely and paying the large bill. I know. I make no sense. It's my hair and my money going to shit, but I'd rather not trample on a stranger's feelings because I'm reserved like that.

At any rate, a new stylist  took me under her wing. She called me "sweetheart" and "honey," told me I have a "baby face" and said "you're in good hands" in such a motherly tone that, even though we're roughly the same age, I went along and fell into the role of helpless child. I let her do her thing; she seemed happy for the project. She gave me a hug before I left. I feel better.

I'm finally (maybe? until next time?) satisfied after a year long failed experiment of trying to fix my self esteem by changing my hair color and can henceforth stop spending my pittance on damaging my locks at the expense of common necessities like lunch and gynecologist appointments. I may have six months to live and not even know it yet because I won't fork over the money to find out what ails me. At least my hair will look good when I'm lying in my coffin. Here lies Hanna with her light brown hair with golden highlights.

When I'm not feeling so lazy I'll post pics of this transformation.

I'm sorry for being annoying. I promise to never talk about my hair again.