Blonde Ambitions

I'd prefer not to compare myself to Li-Lo, but in this instance, I have to.

I must apologise for not writing this week. I was all prepared to submit witty stories each day thanks to Teach being on leave and sharing the caring load, but on Tuesday my world turned upside down. I experienced a personal tradegy like no other emotional turmoil I've ever been through.

Ok, so it wasn't really a personal tradegy and I shouldn't compare this incident to one, but it certainly feels like it. Hear me out.

My hair - which has taken me a little more than 3 years to get where I wanted it - was died blonde. I'm not referring to a light blonde rinse that freshened up my old colour. I'm talking trashy, white/yellow blonde from root to tip. Think Lindsay-Lohan-Skank-Blonde and you're .01% close to I look right now!

I don't know what came over me. Getting my hair done once every 3 to 4 months is a highlight of my year (pun intended). Several hours to myself to have someone fuss over me with free lattes and the latest selection of womens magazine in easy reach while they work their magic and make me somewhat human - who wouldn't love that?

But for some, gold-only-knows reason, I didn't just get 'the usual' this time around. Instead, I told my delightful Hairdresser Kim* to give me an all over blonde colour like Reese Witherspoon or Gwyneth Paltrow.

I wanted a little more pizzazz for Summer and thought an overall colour could be just what I needed. I was so excited to swan home to my two favourite men, in manner of Grace Kelly, and have them 'Wowed' off their feet.

Well, off their feet they were...in laughter at my ridiculous yellow hair that makes me look like I'd got my finger stuck in a light socket and my hair changed in shock.

Even as I write this I am mortified by the memory of the whole experience, because what I haven't admitted to you, is that all of this is my fault. I wish I could pass the buck and rant and rave about my hairdresser not listening to me. But no. I went back to have it fixed....and made it worse!

Here is the whole truthful story...so help me God.

I sat down with Kim and asked for an all over colour. This part you know. However instead of just getting a full head of foils (like I should've) I said, 'What if we just went blonde all over? Would that be OK?' Kim was quick to tell me it would look great because of my skin tone. 'I wouldn't tell you to do it if I didn't think it would look bad,' she comforted. You'd think the warning bells would've gone off then, but alas, I let her go.

Some time later, Kim washed my hair and sat me back down in the chair in front of the mirror. I swear my roots could have played the Yellow Brick Road in Wizard of Oz. I freaked out and the look on my face said it all. Kim was on to me immediately.

'Why don't we put a polish over it and calm it down a little, so it's not soooo blonde?' she suggested. 'Ok, that would be great.'

As the polish was applied I physically felt my stomach retract from my throat to its intended position. I was calming down and felt confident Kim knew what she was doing.

My hair ended up being a slightly dirty colour with blonde roots. Think dirty dish water with the lemon soap suds left. Overall it was a nothing colour. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. Definitley not a colour I wanted for Summer, but I went home and reviewed the damage in the mirror - like every woman does after a visit to the hairdresser.

That gut wrenching feeling of disbelief and anxiety returned.  I had to do something to remedy this distaster. I felt sick. The next day I rang Kim and explained my disappointment. Bless her, she got me back in straight away to fix the problem.

I said, "It's just not what I had in mind. I'm happy with blonde hair, but I feel like this is closer to light brown. Maybe we could just bring it up a little?'

Kim suggested putting half a head of foils all over my head with the blonde colour she normally uses on my hair. 'I wont add any lowlights because it's already in there. I'll just add in the blondest one of your two blondes.'

'Sure' I replied. Then there was a little knock on the door in my mind. Little Sian opened the door and whispered in my ear, 'Won't that be too blonde? Don't you just want a few little highlights scattered across the front half?'

"It'll be fine. She knows what she's doing,' I replied, pushing her back out the door and slamming it behind her.

A little over two hours later, as Kim was blasting my hair dry, I could feel the tears starting to fill my eyes. 'Do not cry. Just get home,' I consoled myself.

I knew instantly I'd done the wrong thing and should not have returned to the hair dresser emotional, anxious and upset. Why didn't I listen to Teach and wait a week or two until I got use to the new colour and then decide if I wanted to have it changed back? I might have been in a better position to explain what I needed or was looking for instead of just assuming Kim and Little Sian were communicating on the same wave length.

But no! I'm now lost. Lost in a haze of confusion, emotional hell and self-loathing. Oh, and let's not forget bright YELLOW hair! Aaaaargh!!!

Instead of telling tales about how much fun Teach, E and I had shopping for our first family Christmas Tree on Monday, I've spent the last two days trying to find a way to reverse time and get my old hair back, avoiding mirrors and swearing at myself.

Photos around the house are not helping me come to terms with my new hair either. All I'm doing is mourning the loss of something so young and beautiful that ended before it's time.'Why God, WHY?'

I've since put a call out on Facebook to ask if anyone can recommend a colourist to fix my hair, plus a friend has dropped over her bottle of Silver Saver (aka purple shampoo) to help me in the interim, but it's not immediate enough. You'd think I'd learn my lesson and not rush into any more decisions or colours, but I can't help it. I must fix it now! 


Can anyone help me?

* Name changed

Hey Big Spender!

The EU isn't the only one battening down the hatches in an attempt to save its economy from going belly-up.

Teach and I are tightening our purse strings in preparation for Christmas and our upcoming sojourn to New Zealand.  

We're making the obvious cutbacks such as no meals out; drinking instant coffee at home instead of ordering two delicious take aways from the nearby deli; renting DVDs on $1 Tuesdays - and taking them back before they are overdue and spending another $12 in late fees; eating ALL the food we've got instead of buying more or dumping left overs because it's 'gone bad' (read: it looks icky because we didn't cover it before it went in the fridge); turning off lights when we leave the room; flicking off powerpoints after using the appliance; and we've stopped buying unnecessary extras during our fortnightly grocery shop.

Oh, those delicious extras. They are the hardest to say no to. You know the ones. The packet of Tim Tams or three you buy to have in the cupboard when girlfriends come over when in fact they magically disappear as you pass through the kitchen on your way to the bathroom / laundry / living room / any other room in the house!

I've also stopped myself from stocking up on products that are supposedly on sale. I tend to get sucked in to buying items with price tags declaring "Buy any 2 for only $5." How could I possibly pass that by? I'll save a bundle! As soon as I know I can get more for less I MUST have it even if I had no intention of buying it.

Teach caught on to my interesting shopping habits during one grocery expedition not long ago. "Why are we buying two 1 litre bottles of white vinegar? We've still got half a bottle in the cupboard which we've had for 12 months."

"But they're on sale, it's an awesome deal," I proudly declare. "I'm saving money!"

"We'll just spend more. Besides we don't need it." He was right. Of course. I put the two bottles of white vinegar back and walked away making every effort not to look behind me. I felt like I was abandoning a cute little puppy that needed a good loving home.

Another trap I'm slowly trying to change is paying up front for a group of classes before I've tried them.

Three months ago I enrolled and paid for E to attend a semester (yes a FULL semester) of Baby Sensory classes. I had every intention of going each week for an hour long class of singing, dancing, games and baby sign language for E to grow and learn.

In seven weeks, we've been to two classes! I really loved those two classes, we did have a great time - not to mention it got us out of the house. But I know in the deep recesses of my mind we're not going back.Why? Pure laziness. Sometimes I even try to fool my brain into thinking we're going and say, "I'm making an effort today." Then all of a sudden I look at the clock, we're 5 minutes late and I think, "Bugger. We can't go now we're already late."


What a brilliant way to save money Sian - good on you! What else can you waste hard earned cash on?

Give me half a chance and I can make money disappear faster than you can say 'Brittney Spears' underpants'.

Unfortunately my Buy-Now-Waste-Later lifestyle isn't foreign to me.

Four years ago I enrolled in French Language at the University of Queensland. I was so excited to have taken the steps to learn the language I'd dreamed of speaking since I was a kid, plus I was off to Paris in six months and wanted to know the basics.

The numbers were limited so I was very lucky to be accepted. Guess how many classes I managed to attend? Go on...

Un.

I made every excuse under the sun about why I couldn't go. Work was extremely busy so I could never make the 6.30pm start time. Traffic along Coronation Drive to St Lucia was horrific so my 10 minute drive always took closer to 45 minutes. And on and on and on....


Maybe I need to put a post-it note in my wallet that reads 'Hey Big Spender' as a reminder of the bigger picture. Unfortunately when I see it I'll be standing at the cash register waiting to pay for something else, I don't need and I won't use.

C'est la vie.

Havagdwkend

A cute conversation I had with my three year-old niece about her dog named Chai...

Me: What type of dog do you have?

Her: Chai.

Me: Yeah, Chai is his name, but can you tell me what type of dog he is?

Her: A little one.

Me: He is little, isn't he? Do you know if he is a terrior, a maltease or maybe a poodle?

Her: Chai. Chai!! [Now looking at me as if to say, 'Get it?!'] He's my puppy. He's little.

Me: He sure is.

How can I possibly argue with that logic? Have a great weekend y'all.

x Sian

A giggle for your Wednesday...

 

I have to thank my Dad for sending me this fabulous cartoon. Sums up our life nicely I think.

Best,
Sian x