Well washing didn't work. My hair is still about three shades too dark.
What I wanted was Catherine Zeta-Jones. Rachel Bilson. Charlotte from Sex and the City. What I am is Bellville emo kid.
Fuck fuck fuckitty fuck fuck.
I really don't want to spend another year growing this out, so I might have to call my hairdresser and ask her what we can do to rectify the situation.
This is something I'd rather not do. Not only do I have a fear of confrontation, I also do believe it's not her fault (we had to do the colour twice because it didn't come out the first time, which I think is where things started to go black ... literally.). I haven't complained to a hairdresser (or anyone really) since high school when my mom's stylist got scissor happy with me the day of my Valentine's Ball.
The clock is ticking though. Boyfriend will be here in two days. Boyfriend who begged me not to dye it in the first place.
Also some nasty little spider has bitten me on my cheek.
Oh and also it's raining.
Sigh.
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