You are not Kim Kardashian

Sometimes, you just make bad decisions in life. Apparently, I'm going to make all of mine in my late 20s. That's fine. Let's just throw them out there and get them out of the way now.

I made a big one last night. And it poured over in to tonight.

(Warning: If you are a professional hair stylist, look away now. Things are going to get ugly.)

When it comes to hair care, there are two absolutes we girls are given from the time we can hold a brush.

#1- Never cut your own bangs. #2- Don't color your hair without a professional.

Those are completely reasonable rules. But for whatever reason... at one time or another... we all rebel. Sometimes we get away with it. Sometimes those decisions come back to bite us in the ass.


Flashback to last fall:

This was my natural, untouched hair. 

Boooring. 

I'd loved the ombre look for a long time and watched several youtube videos online before I decided I was competent enough to give it a try. Yes, I should have just gone to a salon, but I'm piss poor, and really thought I was an intelligent enough person to figure out how to add some color to my hair. So I absolutely lost my mind and tried it.... 

It wasn't so bad. I liked it.

Okay, I'm lying. I loved it.

It may look crazy to you, but I thought I did a darn good job. It was different and fun.

And so a few weeks later when it grew out to this....

I wasn't near as hesitant about re-appying a little lighter color to it. I even got really brave and added a few highlights. 

Here was that result: 

                      (^Y'all, I was a girl seriously loving her hair, and that's pretty rare for me.) 

Of course it's inevitable... it won't stay good for long. It grows. Color fades. Split ends take up residence in your locks.

This was its state before Christmas:

It desperately needed to be cut. Once again, I was too cheap to venture out and find people who cut hair all day long to ensure their economic survival. I just looked up a few DIY tricks on Pinterest.

That picture starts from the bottom left and works clockwise. Using my Pinterest tricks, I was able to add a few layers into my messy mop and get rid of some of those split ends. Nothing fancy, but it did the job just fine. 

Now here's where the real problem starts. 

All of the above gave me way too much confidence. 

I got cocky. 

Really cocky. 

When it came to hair, I was convinced there was nothing I couldn't do for myself. 

So when I was wondering aimlessly through CVS last night, and happened upon the hair dye isle, I didn't have any hesitation about picking up L'oreal's Wild Ombre Box. (C'mon, self-doubt! Where are you when I need you?!) 

The picture on the box reminded me of Kim Kardashian's recent 'do, which I happened to love. 

Nevermind that the future Mrs. West has an entourage of the most expensive hair wizards in the country to personally see to her every hair need... I was convinced I could do the same thing for myself and make it work. 

Wanna know how that turned out???????

..........

..........

..........

..........

..........

..........

Exactly as you'd expect.

What the hell was I thinking? 

I should have picked up the phone book then and searched for the nearest place with an open appointment.

Instead I went back to CVS.

I know.... Good call, Katie. I seriously deserve everything I bring on myself.

I picked out a nice medium brown, and waited until tonight to put it on.

About 5 minutes in, this started happening.

RED. 

I really like this picture, because it most illustrates the "Oh, Shit," wave I was feeling wash over me. (It's in the eyes, I think.)

I was hoping it would rinse and be dark.

No. such. freaking. luck.

It's incredibly red. 

I feel like my mother. 

And a leprechaun. 

And it's not even done right, because the red just "attached" to the highlighted area, and the dark patches are still visible underneath. 

But I'm leaving it, because my hair already feels damaged enough as it is. 

Maybe it will serve as a punishment... a sort of life lesson that will force me to think twice about the inherent badness that comes from spontaneous decision making. 

Buuuuuut I doubt it. 

All I know is... after screwing up so much now... if I ever make it to my thirties, I'm going to seriously *rock* that shit. 

Watch out, 2017. I'm coming for you.