Sometimes I really hate professionals. Oh, and I have cookies!
Today I decided to bleach my hair. I didn’t do another round of color remover, because it made the bathroom stink for days. It was the foulest thing i’ve ever smelled. Anyway, I ran out of bleach before I could finish. I still had most of the bottom of my hair to do. So what I did was process the top for just ten minutes, washed out out, put that part in a ponytail to keep it separated from the non-bleached, secured the bottom of my hair up, put on a bandanna and went back to Sallys. I grabbed my bleach and developer, and asked the clerk where the toners were to help combat and leftover orange tones. Well, of course there’s a ‘stylist’ in there so she asked her to help me. Running into a stylist in Sallys is the most annoying thing ever, because they can’t just answer your question. They want to know why so they can tell you what to do. You know, because there’s no way you know what to do. It’s particularly annoying because Sally’s is a public beauty store. There are plenty of professional beauty supply stores, where they keep the good stuff. The only stylists i’ve seen shopping in Sally’s are the ones who work in the cheap mall salons. If you’ve ever gotten a haircut at a crappy mall salon, you know what I mean.
She wanted to see my hair. I said no, because it looked stupid. They told me I had the wrong bleach. They told me to get a higher volume of developer. They insisted I take a highlighting cap. They never helped me pick out a toner. When the stylist was telling me how to bleach me hair (when I didn’t fucking ask), I said, “I know, my sister-in-law is a stylist.” I should’ve said a real one, in hindsight. She replied, “There’s a world of difference between her doing this and you doing this.” She misunderstood. What I meant was, I have already been properly nagged about my hair. Also, if I wanted professional help with my hair, I would’ve coughed up the $100+ and just gone to a salon. I’m going to cheapskate route. I’m gonna have funny hair for a little bit, I don’t care.
I’m sure that when I left they talked about how sorry i’m going to be when my hair falls out of my head.
Anyway, while I was bleaching my hair, my cookies from my cookie swap partner arrived. I was actually getting ready to rinse it out, so I was naked when the doorbell rang (of course). I grabbed a fleece blanket and wrapped myself around it, and cracked the front door open just enough to grab the package. It was long and skinny and said ‘Sears’ on it. Huh? So I looked and it was for a house down the street. Luckily, since we have such a long driveway, the UPS guy hadn’t drove away. So I had to call him to the porch, and he gave me the right box. I felt the need to explain why I had a plastic bag on my head. I didn’t bother explaining the polka-dot fleece blanket.
I really need to get a robe.
These are my cookies, they’re really really really really really really good.