i'm getting my hair highlighted today, which is generally something that i do not do. my cousin lisa highlighted my hair a few years ago, and it looked really good for a while, the random golden strands making the curls stand out like proud old men on veteran's day. then the highlights grew out a little, so my big plan was to just dye my entire head BLACK as to get rid of the highlights entirely. because lord knows my reputation depends on *not* having my roots show- i just can't be that girl.

the girl on the box looked gorgeous and hip with her jet black hair; i looked like a sickly immigrant. i tried dying it back to brown; the thing about having black hair is that it just doesn't get any lighter.

i called lisa. "i look like a cuban refugee in bad need of vitamins," i wailed. after bitching me out for not being patient enough to wait for her to just touch up my roots, she came up with a foolproof solution. her solution was to bleach my already intensely damaged hair once again, and then just pour on a bottled version of my natural brown. what a good idea. i went over there on a sunday. first we ate a meal of chicken smothered in cheese; then she got to work.

hours later, when we were done, she squinted at me in the harsh bathroom light. "it looks orange," she stated. "especially this circular patch right on the back of your head. i must have left the bleach on a little too long there. let's try to dye it again. we've already fucked it up this far, might as well go all the way."

another hour later, it was still an uneven orange, with the brightest spot shining like a bald spot, or a yarmulke, on the back of my skull. "screw it," i said, sighing. "i'll just wear it in a pony-tail for a while."

and that's what i did. now, today, i attempt to enter the world of highlights again. and when my highlights grow out? i'll shave my head.