Welcome To Mulletville, Please Take A Number For The Tractor Pull

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Yesterday, in a fit of inspiration, mostly encouraged by the warm weather, I decided to go get my highlights done.

Oooh. Highlights. Lovelyness. Blondeness.

I arrived at the salon and asked how long of a wait it would be. Immediately a surly woman, possibly wearing birkenstocks, swept me away and plunked me in a chair. I explained that I would like to go lighter gradually, no huge streaks and nothing punkish and scary. She sort of seemed to be listening. However, she didn't ask any sort of questions or examine the past coloring of my hair, she simply rushed to the backroom and mixed up a rather strong bleach solution.

As she start to foil my hair I reminded her I wanted natural looking highlights. She halfway nodded. If she needed my head to move, she would pull my hair. She splattered bleach everywhere (managing to get a spot on the back leg of my jeans and the toes of my shoes).

I tried to loosen her up by asking engaging questions about herself, but she remained surly and tightlipped. All I know is that she is from Colorado, she once dated a stalker and she is the sister of the salon owner.

Since I'm a glutton for punishment I asked her to trim my hair, specifying that she take off no more than a quarter of a inch. Four inches and fourty shades of blonde later I looked in the mirror and almost screamed.

I have a modified lady mullet. And she made my blonde highlights so fine that I seriously look like I am greying. I've had two people ask me thus far if I truly am going grey.

There was a time when I would have wept, sobbed and paid a small fortune to have it fixed. But with age, comes maturity. So now I'm just taking advantave of it by wearing belly shirts, eating as many twinkies as I can get my hands on and calling people "honey".

I kid, I kid.

Sort of.

2 Responses to “Welcome To Mulletville, Please Take A Number For The Tractor Pull”

  1. Anonymous Vulgar Wizard 

    Aw, that sucks. I'm sorry she ruined your hair.

  2. Anonymous porkchop 

    me too. sigh. i was going to go blond gradually. now i think i'm going to have to go plunk myself down in the chair of someone i trust and just GO BLONDE.


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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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