Okay, so yesterday, after the haircut, I went to pick up the silver/purple hair dye from Duane Reade, to kind of jooj (spelling?  I never thought I’d actually use this word) up my “look”, as it were.
 
I spent a good 10 minutes in that aisle, looking at a myriad of women, staring back at me with expressions of “we’re fun, we’re fabulous, and we come cheap with a coupon!”
 
I had been eye-balling this blonde-ish red tint, thinking, “this will be better received at job interviews than Raver-Girl-With-Daddy-Issues, maybe I should just pace myself. Maybe I was just born to be mild.”
 
And then my internal Carrie Fisher-like voice popped out and said “Fuck what they think! Be afraid, but do it anyway. Punk!”
 
Nodding my head, scaring the employee with the price-check gun, I grabbed the silver demon motherfucker and go to the register.
 
I’m fearless, I’m a warrior, I HAVE A COUPON!
The kid behind the counter looks at the box, then looks at me, and I can already tell he’s figured me out.  Smug little shit.
“New Year’s thing?”
“Yeah.  Scan the coupon and take my money.  Lez go!”
Transaction completed, I head out the door.  I have the phrase in my head “afraid, but doing it anyway” on a continuous loop.  A new mantra all my own.  I get home, do a 15 minute workout, because resolutions (we’ll see how long THAT lasts).
AND THEN THE TRANSFORMATION BEGINS!
I put on the I-don’t-care-clothes.  You know those clothes.  The t-shirt you wouldn’t dare go out in public wearing, but you can’t bring yourself to part with it, due to some kind of event you wore it to that was life-changing and brilliant.  I put on the black plastic gloves, and the first thought in my head was, “these would be perfect for murder, but who to try it with first?  I’ve seen 3 seasons of Dexter, I should have a plan already.”
I squeezed Tube 1 into Bottle 2 and throw Conditioner 3 in the shower stall, so that I’m prepared for the mad dash in when I’m giving my hair the Silkwood treatment.
*Note – If you don’t understand the “Silkwood” reference, you’re too young for the demographic I’m trying to appeal to.  Go back to your tweeting and your Beliebering.  I can’t help you.
I shake that bottle the way I want to shake a coffee pot, trying to get that corner drop.
I apply it, saturating the shit out of my head, making myself look like a character from “Dragonball Z”.
I give it the allotted 20 minutes.  Okay, fine, it was more like 22 minutes, because I had to put the murder gloves back on, because I didn’t read ALL the instructions at once.  Baby steps, bitches.  Baby steps.
I’m in the shower, singing “I Got A New Attitude”, making the shower tile peel, all that good stuff,  I apply Conditioner 3, rub that shit in like I want it to go past the scalp and possibly make my brain brighter, too.  (Couldn’t hurt.  Zucchini.)  I’ve been in the shower for at least 20 minutes, making sure all the goop is completely gone.  I’m also nervous about the moment-of-truth thing happening.  What have I done?  Why did my mid-life crisis have to be like this?  Why is this shower stall so small?  Is that mold?
I finally get out and jump in front of the mirror, Jennifer-Grey-in Ferris-Bueller-scaring-the-bejeesus-out-of-the-principal-thinking-it-was-her-brother style.
(Seriously, if you don’t know this scene, how do we even know each other?  This is basic Cinema 101 Fundamentals, child!  Get out of here!)
What reflected in the mirror was a wet-head.  A slightly lighter (very slightly lighter,  a whisper, really) wet head.  Okay.  Okay.  In the immortal words of Douglas Adams, don’t panic.  Dry that noggin and hit refresh, baby!  You’re a new woman!
I dried.  I refreshed.  Still no purple.  The only silver were the hairs THAT WERE ALREADY SILVER, TWATWAFFLE, BECAUSE THEY’RE WHY I WANTED TO GET PURPLE AND SILVER IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE, SO PEOPLE WOULD THINK IT WAS INTENTIONAL!
So.  I am not the silver/purple demon of Brooklyn that I’d hoped to be.  That chick is likely in Park Slope, reeking of patchouli and telling you how best to ride your $500 ten-speed while properly holding your rainforest-grown coffee.
No, instead, I’m the blonde-ish red tinted chick of Gravesend, who just spent an extra 3 dollars for the the Feria crap when she could’ve just shelled out for a Nice ‘n Easy box of Autumn Burst, or whatever the fuck they’re calling it now.
Stupid coupons.
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