How to Ruin Your Life with Bleach

My husband used to bleach my hair. He also used to love me. Neither of these things are true anymore. I’ll be okay with the lack of love but Momma needs her roots done. It’s been a real pain in the ass but I am learning.
It’s not only that going to a salon every six weeks to touch up your roots is insanely, unnecessarily expensive, which it is, for me it’s mostly because I am not the kind of a woman who likes to hang out in salons. I’ve never been a girly girl and I don’t have a lot to say to girls who are. They intiidate me. I always feel like whatever I ask them to do to me they are thinking, “God, why even bother?” I hate all the mirrors. I hate being touched by strangers. The whole thing makes me uncomfortable.
I mean, a simple haircut it bad enough and God knows, I put that off as long as I can, but a good color job? A good color job takes all day. Not to mention, as regulars to my site already know, I paid upwards of $240 every six weeks for a year and a half to have my salon technician not really ever do what I wanted. (Yes, I showed her pictures.) My soon to be ex husband, accomplished what I was going for in an afternoon in our bathroom and I didn’t have to make small talk either.
There was some trial and error but over the past year or more, he really got the hang of it and it saved a lot of time and money.
So now that I am alone, this is one of the main things that I have to learn how to do myself. It has been a challenge to say the least. I mean, I guess I could ask him to do it but I think that would be awkward and I’d have to make small talk again.
The first month after my separation, I didn’t care. I was having a low key nervous breakdown so it wasn’t what you would call a priority. A month is not that long to go without touching up but as luck would have it, I was due for a root touch up when I decided to leave, so after a month my hair looked pretty bad. I knew I had to address the issue.
I went back and forth between going back to the salon or doing it myself. I had the supplies. I had the irrational hatred of salons. I had effectively cut my disposable income by half, at least. What should I do?
I decided the best course of action was to tackle my hair myself. Take a girl to the salon once, she will look okay for six weeks. Teach her how to fix her hair herself, she will look okay forever, right? Well, maybe she won’t look okay right away but she will get the hang of it, right? Right???
I bought one of those mirrors that pull out from the wall and allows you to see the back of your head while keeping both of your hands free. So problem solved. I’ve replaced my husband with a mirror.
Then I remembered that I moved into an apartment and I can’t just willy-nilly nail things into the walls, especially since I hate the apartment that I picked out for myself and I know I am going to leave as soon as my lease is up. (Another story for another day.)
I didn’t want to immediately lose my security deposit. I bought some gorilla tape, double-sided, and it held the mirror up pretty well for an entire day which was my test.I was ready to get the show on the road.
Then, as luck would have it, the mirror did fall off of the wall, the very second that I had mixed the bowl of bleach. I had it in my hands when I instinctively, without thinking, jumped to catch the mirror before it broke, giving me seven years of bad luck.
Damn my cat like reflexes, I saved the mirror but in doing so I spilled the bowl of bleach all over my carpet, effectively fucking myself out of the security deposit. So, so much fore saving money, right? I had to laugh. What else could I do? Cry and cry and cry? It would have been cheaper to secure the mirror to the wall and Spackle up the holes when my lease was up. It would have been cheaper to go to the salon, at least a few times.
I cleaned the bleach up as best I could. As far as I can tell all that did was ruin a couple of towels. Haha. Then I bleached my roots. I fucked that up, too. I no longer had the ability to see the back of my head, thanks to the suicidal mirror. I missed a couple spots. I didn’t know what to do. You can’t just bleach your hair over and over. The only thing worse than being spotted is probably being bald. I tried to spot bleach the problem areas but that didn’t really work.
Ponytails anyone?
Ultimately, I decided that the best solution would be to dye my hair pink. I always wanted to experiment with a “fantasy” hair color and my husband would hate it, so win/win. Good enough for me. I don’t think my job would mind. As a recent divorcee, I am due at least one hair tantrum.
I bought some L’oreal colorista, semi permanent hair dye, which is supposed to last 4-8 shampoos. It was weird, but I liked it and it covered my spots. It lasted one shampoo. Then my hair was a streaky, fucked up mess, that still at its core was bleached unevenly. As a bonus, the next couple washes turned a few stripes of my hair blue, which I neither understand nor appreciate and even though it was mostly gone, it was there just enough to look sad.
Did I give up? Hell no, I am far too stupid for that.
I went to Sally’s Beauty Supply and I bought new developer, New toners, new pink hair colors that are supposed to last longer. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do but I had to do something. I also went to the hardware store and bought some nails so that I could nail that fucking mirror into a piece of furniture that I already own and drag it into the bathroom to see the back of my head and still have both of my hands.
To be continued…