I am at an age and living in a town where I feel I can do anything with my look short of wearing tattoos as clothing (although – that limitation is mostly mine, not Portland) and it’s fine. This has mostly manifested in a playful cut or color of my hair. Most recently I cut my hair short and then dyed portions of it purple, then, even more recently, blue. Then I lightened it and the blue turned teal. Then I added pinkish red highlights.

Over the past week, I wanted to do something different with my hair. So I got some bleach to get the blue dye out and to strip it down, see what that looked like and then maybe keep it blonde or go another color. I should start this by saying that this process takes time, has many chemicals involved, and I am a Klutz (see blog).

My hair is naturally brunette (read: grey). However, the blue color that was put in it was super stubborn, it may as well have been natural for all it wanted to come out. The woman at Sally’s said that I may have to use the bleach twice.

I mixed the bleach with the processor (aka peroxide) stirred and started applying. Right away I noticed a big difference. I also noticed right away that I can’t see the back of my head. I am not certain I got all the hairs in the back. I may have to register the pattern in Scotland.

I went to the living room and started catching up on The Voice (by the by Erin Martin??? Really? What is THAT? My cats sing better.). After an hour – as suggested by the lady at Sally’s – I rinsed my hair. I dried it and got ready to do a second batch, but checked in with Andrew first, “I don’t think blonde suits me.” “Is that blonde? It looks kind of orange?” “Yeah, I know. I need to do another treatment.” “Oh. How blonde are you going?” “Platinum?” I had no idea.

I put the second round of bleaching in my hair being certain to work the area around my face, which I had apparently missed the first time around and so looked a little like I was wearing a wig (or like I never got a paint by numbers kit as a child – I blame my mother). After applying the bleach I checked in with Andrew again.

“Sweet Dreams are made of this…”

“I think you look like Brigitte Nielsen” I get that all the time.

I wandered back to Adam Levine and CeeLo.

Andrew came out of the office to check on me.

“You look like the girls in Minority Report.” I think he is remembering them wrong.

“That’s not a compliment.”


More processing. Lots of tingling. Lots and lots. I mean this tingling might even be called burning. My scalp hurts. Okay, I cannot sit here just burning my scalp. It is time to wash the bleach out.

Wow, I do NOT love this at all!

“I don’t think this is what I was imagining.”

“You look like Max Headroom.” I might have a little.

“You need to update your references by a few decades.”

“You look like Kate Upton.”

Someone’s trying to get some…

In the end, it doesn’t look horrible, and as soon as the scabs on my scalp heal, I will go back to brunette.

My oldest sister, Tamar, also has her hair blonde. Hers is done by a professional. It looks really great on her.

Getting into bed that night Andrew said, “Wow, I am going to sleep with Tamar tonight.”

Which is weird, because I don’t think Tamar was on the couch…