I was a lucky one.

I have debated writing this post for so long. One minute I’ll feel good about writing it and then 10 minutes later I’ll think, what’s the point. Why do I need to add my story to all the ones that have already been shared? Why am I sharing this now? At all?

What good do I want to come from it?

Even now as I sit typing this out in a word doc, part of me wonders if I will end up sharing my experience. I keep trying to think of what holds me back from being more open about this encounter. I know I did nothing wrong. And for how things could have gone, I know I got very lucky. So maybe that’s my goal. For someone to read this post and help someone else before it’s too late. Help someone else to be one of the lucky ones.

* * * * *

When I was in elementary school I had a paper route. Every day after school I’d hurry home, roll up my stacks of newspaper, load them into the newspaper bag hanging off my little bike, and head off to deliver the newspaper to a couple streets up the road from my house.

I grew up in a small, quiet town where you knew everyone who lived on your street and just about the entire neighborhood. It also helped that a lot of the people in the neighborhood went to our same church. It felt safe.

One day (my heart just started racing so fast when I began typing this part) a friend and I were playing outside her house. Something we’d done many times before. I don’t remember why, but we ended up at her next-door neighbor’s house. A man and his wife lived there. I know they had a couple of kids that I think were grown and out of the house at this point. They went to church with us. They were on my paper route. They were just like any other parents in the neighborhood.

That first time I went inside his house with my friend his wife wasn’t home – it was just him.

I only remember a few things from that first trip inside his house with my friend that day. I remember they were very friendly with each other. Nothing overtly stood out, but it did seem quite obvious that she had spent time there before and was comfortable inside his house and with him. Which I’m sure made me more comfortable there too. I remember my friend and I were in his living room with him and for some reason the topic of us doing cartwheels came up. I vividly remember telling him that I couldn’t do a cartwheel or else the shirt that I was wearing would come up. I was in elementary school so it’s not like there was anything to see if that happened, but I had the understanding to at least know it probably shouldn’t. I remember him casually blowing off my comment by saying something to the effect of it wouldn’t be a big deal. And I must have believed him, because I did end up doing cartwheels in that living room. And, as I had suspected, my shirt did briefly come up while I did them. All these years later, that’s all I really remember from that first interaction. We left his house and nothing else came from it. At least not that day.

Part of my papergirl duties involved going around once a month and collecting the monthly subscription fees from the people on my route. Some time after the cartwheel visit, I went around “collecting” and stopped by his house. He was friendly when he answered the door and, like many other people on my paper route did, he invited me inside to wait while he got the money to pay me. Again, it was just him in the house. I don’t remember much about this visit except for the very end. As I was getting ready to leave, standing just inside the front door, this man gave me a long, lingering hug. And while we stood there with him hugging me, I suddenly realized his tongue was inside my ear. It was warm and wet and weird. I left his house right after that.

I knew licking inside my ear was strange, but I didn’t really know what to do about it.

Not too long after this experience I was helping my older sister with her paper route which was also near our home. She is two years older than me and we were very close as kids. We had just started her route and I told her what this man had done to me. She was the first person I told. And the only one I had intended on telling.

I feel like I have to pause the story for a minute, because even now, as I’m typing this out, I have a hard time not feeling ridiculous. It was an ear lick. I wasn’t groped. I wasn’t raped. I was hugged too long and he put his tongue in my ear. It could have been so much worse. Having said that, while I sit here letting my thoughts ramble on and my fingers type them out, I’ve listened to enough true crime podcasts to know now that this was more than just a long hug and an ear lick (which is still gross in its own right) – it was a pedophile testing the water.

In what I have always felt was the greatest thing she’s ever done for me, my sister told me right then and there that if I didn’t tell our parents what I’d just told her she was going to tell them.  

We got home later that day and I told my parents what had happened.

They instantly believed me. They made it clear I was to have no interactions with that man. The next time I had to go collecting to his house they were both in the car in his driveway and made sure I stayed outside the front door.

Around this time the newspaper also switched to morning deliveries, so between that and this experience, it wasn’t too long before my days of being a papergirl came to an end. My friend who lived next door to him moved away very suddenly and we lost touch. I’ve always wondered if she was one of his victims who had a worse fate than I did.

Years later his wife (then his ex-wife) would go into the store my sister (the one I told first) worked at and apologize to her thinking she was the one something inappropriate happened to. While I don’t blame her for the acts he perpetrated, I do wonder if she knew what he was doing. I hope not.

Initially my parents and I determined we weren’t going to tell anyone about what happened to me. I found out years later they had in fact told our local church leader to try and ensure this man didn’t have any church positions that allowed him access to children. In hindsight, we all wished we would have called the police and reported the incident. I’m not sure what could/would have been done about it, but maybe he would have been discovered sooner and another child would have been spared.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal. You weren’t groped. You weren’t raped. Why make a big deal out of it.”

As those thoughts continue to swirl around in my head even now, I can’t help but think – what if my sister or parents had thought like that? What if they failed to take those small, strange acts seriously? If they had, I am sure there would have been a totally different ending to my story. And I guess that’s the reason driving me to post this and share what happened to me and how the people around me responded.

It’s about taking those little actions seriously to help prevent something far worse from happening to the children around us. Not to gloss over the warning signs and wait till the disaster has happened before we respond.

I am forever grateful for my sister that day telling me that if I didn’t tell our parents what happened that she would. I’m so grateful my parents unequivocally believed me and took immediate action to ensure my safety and protection from that man. I was a lucky one.

* * * * *

Years after this happened to me, my family and I heard he’d been arrested on charges related to sexual abuse of a minor. After typing up my experience I recruited a friend to be an internet detective and help me track him down and find his criminal record. When she was able to find him, but not a criminal record I thought about canning this entire post. I felt like without a conviction my experience would perhaps be less impactful. But how is that any different than acting like what he did to me was no big deal?

I sincerely hope he has lived the rest of his life and never hurt another child. Sadly, I think it's much more likely we were just unable to find his arrest than the other scenario. There are many pedophiles out there without a criminal record. But even if I was his first and only victim, what he did to me was wrong. Just because he wasn’t convicted of a crime, doesn’t mean what he did to me didn’t happen. Or worse, that it somehow wasn’t wrong. Conviction or no conviction, it was wrong. 

Me & my sister holding our dog Coco.

After You

It’s book review time!

Last week I finished reading the book After You by Jojo Moyes. This is the sequel to the amazing book (and movie) Me Before You. Disclaimer: while I disagree with some of the decisions made in Me Before You (ok maybe just one of the decisions) I still loved the book and movie. I couldn’t put the book down and I loved who they chose for the movie. So as soon as I finished the first book and learned there was a second I ran out and bought it.

If you loved the first book like I did, prepare to be sorely disappointed with the second. In hindsight I kind of wish I wouldn’t have read it. I didn’t like what happened to the characters I loved in the first book. I just found it frustrating and painful to get through. The first book I read so quickly and couldn’t get enough. This book I couldn’t seem to finish it. I swear I was reading and had 50 pages remaining for a week straight. It felt like I was not making any headway with it. There were a few parts that started getting more interesting and gave me some hope that when I finished the book I would realize I actually liked it, but alas that did not happen.

So, my recommendation – SKIP IT!

Now I’m reading The Zookeeper’s Wife which is a movie coming out this week I believe. I’m only a couple of chapters in, but I’m hoping this book will be a lot better than the last one I read. I will write a review of that when I finish as well. 

Beast Please

Last night I went and saw Beauty and the Beast at the movie theater. It was SO good!! I really loved every minute of it, but there were some things I found interesting and will now discuss here on my unofficial movie review/critique. *Warning, possible spoilers!*

Paris…. Or England?

I can’t be the only one who found it odd that they made it poignantly clear, over and over again, that this was France and she came from Paris. If that’s the case…. where did she get her British accent? Don’t get me wrong, I loved Emma Watson in this part and I don’t think her accent took anything away from the movie but just an interesting observation. She really was a perfect Belle though.

Gaston

I had been listening to the soundtrack for the last few weeks so I’d heard all the actors singing before, but I must say, the one who surprised me the most was Gaston. I wasn’t a fan of his from just listening to the soundtrack, but I loved him in the movie. I thought he played that part so well and I was attracted to him while still thinking he would be torture to end up with. So, nailed it. I also liked his singing voice a lot better when hearing it along with seeing him acting it out. Not totally sure why that made a difference, but for me it did.

LeFou

Oh LeFou. LeFou may just be my second favorite character, after Belle of course. He’s funny, self-aware of his clinginess and other flaws, and is a genuinely good friend. All the hoopla beforehand about their being a gay character is simply ridiculous (whether LeFou, Stanley, or both). Everything is so subtle that kids, and possibly some adults, are not even likely to know what’s happening. And when you do get it, it’s actually pretty funny. Also, any other New Girl fans out there, because I’m pretty sure every time LeFou came on the screen my mind instantly shouted “BEARCLAW!” Also I was hoping he’s break into the musical he and Jess created about woodland creatures. :)

Belle’s Mom

Ok, the part where Belle and the Beast went to Belle’s childhood home in Paris totally got me. I wasn’t expecting to cry, but I just couldn’t hold in the tears. It was such a sweet and heartbreaking moment. And it’s crazy to think that really used to happen back in the day when people were getting the plague. #thankyoumodernmedicine Also, that doctors mask… I really wish they would have kept the camera on that a bit longer. Why were they shaped like a bird’s beak?! Anyways, great and sad scene. Glad they included it.

Where’s the window coverings?

The castle must be constantly freezing with all those open and completely unobstructed windows. Also how weird was it that part of the “dungeon” was completely open. Sure it had a big drop off, but still… not the most secure way to lock someone up. Also am I the only one concerned about sleep walking and accidentally falling out of one of those openings? Or tripping and falling out of one? Or dropping things down them? Not that I’m super clumsy or anything, but crap happens. And what about when they have kids? That’s a lot of little gates to be putting up everywhere. :)

Did they feed her?

LOVED the Be Our Guest song/scene. They did such a great job recreating it and making it look so cool! But after everything they brought out it ends with her getting a little puddling cup? They’re kidding right? Give that girl a real meal!

Sporty or Sloppy?

I wasn’t a huge fan of that weird one-sided skirt tuck up thing Belle was doing. We get that’s she sporty and cool but it just made me think she’d gone to the restroom and gotten her skirt stuck in her underwear. I do kind of want a pair of the shoes she was wearing though. They looked comfy, cute, and very practical.

Really, that’s what she gets?

Don’t get me wrong. Dan Steven is a good looking guy. But you spend the whole movie falling for this big, strong, shaggy beast and all the sudden he’s this super clean guy who’s basically your same height/build. It’s not a diss on small guys. It happens, it’s not in their control. I get that. #shortguysneedlovetoo #justlikeuschubbygirls But come on, they had to know that’s not the look we were all expecting.

  

And then to make matters worse we go almost straight to a scene where he’s wearing high heels (customary dancing attire. I get that, but still. The dude is wearing heels.)? But, I mean, I’m glad Belle’s happy or whatever. :)

WOW, it really sounds like I have a bunch of harsh critiques of the movie. Haha But really none of these “observations” impacted my overall love for the movie at all. And I’m already thinking about when I can go see it again because I loved it that much! And listening to the soundtrack is more fun now too because I can recall the images from the movie and it makes it that much better! So, it’s safe to say I highly recommend Beauty and the Beast!

A New Growth

Last night one of my Facebook friends shared this article by David Kushner posted by The New Yorker called, “Can Trauma Help You Grow?” It is a beautiful article about loss, hope, and finding a way to live after losing someone important in your life. [Click on the hyperlink on the article name and read it. It's really good and will help give some more context to the rest of my post.]

In case one day someone stumbles upon this blog who doesn’t know me/my life well, my dad passed away on August 25, 2014 from renal cell carcinoma (cancer) that originated in his kidneys and eventually spread everywhere. A few days ago marked the 2^nd year 7^th month since his passing. (Although I don’t typically count the months anymore. One sign of healing for me I guess.) My dad was the greatest. He was kind and gentle and calm. He had strong hands and jagged fingernails from hard work and his habit of biting them. You never questioned his love or care for you because it was blatantly obvious in the way to spoke to and treated you. He was selfless and sacrificed constantly for others often resulting in more work and discomfort for himself. Which he never complained about. He was a calming force in my family. It’s hard to describe the hole he left in all our lives. Thus the reason this article caught my attention.

I really liked the entire message, but I’m just going to focus on the parts that stood out the most to me and felt the most applicable to my loss and life after loss.

I found it really interesting where he explained the meaning behind resilience and post-traumatic growth.

Resilience = the ability to bounce back and move on.

Post-traumatic growth = when trauma changes and deepens life’s meaning.

It’s not about just continuing to live, but rather living powerfully and with more meaning than before.

I loved this part, “In his recent book on the phenomenon, ‘What Doesn’t Kill Us,’ Stephen Joseph, a psychologist at the University of Nottingham, describes victims of trauma experiencing enhanced relationships, greater self-acceptance, and a heightened appreciation of life. ‘To only look at the dark side and negative side is to miss out on something very important,’ Joseph told me recently.”

I do feel like that’s all happened for me since losing my dad. It didn’t happen right away, that’s for sure, or even as simply as Stephen Joseph stated it, but over the past couple of years I do feel like I’ve tried to focus more on positive relationships in my life, I have greater self-appreciation and acceptance, and I have a different outlook on life.

The one thing I deviate from the most is that since losing my dad I’ve actually pulled back from my family a bit. I have a harder time dealing with my grief around them because without his calming presence everything just seems too loud and chaotic. It tends to make it too glaringly obvious he’s gone and how much we could really use him back. So technically I have not seen or felt enhanced relationships with my family. Except for maybe my dad’s sister. I still wouldn’t say we’re super close or anything, but I find myself wanting to be closer to her since she is the last link to my dad’s family. I have however felt greater strength and comfort in my close friendships. Those close friends who feel like family and in a lot of ways know me much better than my actual family does. For those friendships I am extremely grateful.

When my dad first died I remember seeing old men in town and thinking how annoying it was that my dad would never get to be an old-old man since he was only 65 when he died. Time has changed those feelings. Now I see those old men, frail and needing assistance, and am grateful to know that my dad will never have to get old and lose his independence. Barely a month before he died he did a fishing tournament with my brother. Less than 12 hours before he died he ate our traditional Sunday night dinner of spaghetti and chocolate cake. Even though he did have some struggles towards the end, they were brief. And while I’m sad he didn’t get more time I’m happy that he doesn’t have to spend years in pain, lose his ability to do the things he enjoyed for an extended period of time, and other struggles that come with advanced age.   

I also really liked when it talked about the fact we can’t choose. Losing our loved one wasn’t our choice. And if given the choice of course we’d want them back. But the question is… what now? What does their life mean? What does losing them mean? How will you carryon? Barely surviving? Or making their life and the impact it had on you mean something.

The author of the article shared a journal entry that his father had written years after their loss,

“There’s something built-in that enables most human beings, not all, to be sure, but most, to get thru this…. It is built-in to enable us to get thru, force us, to survive, to stay alive. After you’ve understood that it WILL be different, less raw, that the death can not be undone, that you will continue to live,” he continued, “the question becomes … ‘What shall I do with the rest of my life?’”

I feel like that is how I want to live going forward. I can’t change what happened. But what will I do because of that experience. Losing my dad gave me the courage to be bold and move to Texas in 2015. It reminded me the importance of having a worthy Priesthood holder in my home/family since we no longer do without him. It’s helped me try new things I’ve thought about doing but never attempted – traveling alone, taking dance classes, discovering new hobbies. His love of reading has been a huge influence in my life since his passing. I keep finding my way to the book aisles at Target and Walmart and picking up more books to add to the massive stack I have to read next. I am constantly trying to find peace and calm in my life and to pull back from the things that cause chaos and frustration.

One thing I’ve noticed since losing my dad is that I have a sense of appreciation for other dads. That sounds weird, but what I mean is that I try to find pieces of my dad in the other dad’s I’m around. Maybe it’s the way they have treats in their pockets that they’re passing around. Or in the way they tell a story just a little extra slowly. Or their rough calloused hands. Little things like that. I enjoy finding pieces of him living on.

The part of the article that spoke to me the most was when his dad was referencing Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s memoir and said,

“Lindbergh said that suffering alone doesn’t make for wisdom. One has to remain vulnerable, open to more suffering and to more love.”

I have a hard time wanting or seeing real love in my future. Still to this day I cannot picture a happy wedding day for me. Every time I even pretend to imagine one I find myself sobbing at the thought of trying to have that day, incorporate my dad somehow into it, and not end up crying uncontrollably. The even worse alternative would be to leave him out of it completely.

Perhaps with time I’ll find a way. But I do think I needed to hear that message from Lindbergh to try and remain open. I know my dad would want that for me too. I had a memory pop up on Facebook awhile back of a status update I made in college after my dad had called and asked me if any boys had swept me off my feet. Not really characteristic of him, but a great memory I’m glad I recorded.

So until someone comes along with that broom, I will be here trying to remain open to love.

At the end here I should probably apologize for this hodge-podge of thoughts pretending to be a coherent post. All I know is that loss is a tricky and personal beast. This article had some great reminders and tips I hope to more fully explore in my own life as I continue to deal with the loss of my dad and the inevitability of future losses.

The Day I Killed the Kool-Aid Man

*This post was also started over a week ago, but I never got around to finishing/posting it till not. Not that timing matters that much, but now I have more info I can add towards the end of the post. So get excited :)*

We all know him. Most of us loved him as kid. Some of us still love him today. Yes, I am talking about the Kool-Aid Man.

Well... I killed him.

Ok, not really. But it definitely felt, and looked, like that the first time I washed my hair after getting it dye red.

This is the long-anticipated update to my previous post that tells what happened the week following the day I went red.

* * * * *

To be fair, I had been warned and was WELL AWARE that red hair fades. I had red balayage highlights for the 3 months leading up to my full head of red, so I knew that red fades. When I first got red highlights my hair stylist recommended I use this new shampoo that recently came out called CelebLuxury Viral.

love this stuff

This shampoo re-deposits red into your hair every time you wash with it and it totally helped me keep my red on point for the 3 months between my hair appointments. So I figured, sure red fades, but I have my awesome shampoo to help me keep it going for a while.

3 months after getting red balayage

 It was 2 days after getting my hair dyed and I couldn’t stand the texture of it any more. I have naturally curly, course, and (although I have a hard time accepting this) thick hair. Which means, unless you flat iron it like an obsessive crazy person (which I do, but people with straight hair don’t always know how to do) it ends up having this poofy, almost-crunchy texture to it even though it looks “straight”. I’ve also learned over the years that “straight” has different meanings to people depending on one’s own hair type. Unless my hair has been flattened and coerced into being smooth I do not consider it straight. So, that was a long about way to say that my hair was not up to my straight standards and still had that awful “I’ve just bleached my whole head” feel to it. The next day was my good friend’s wedding and I was a bridesmaid. I couldn’t handle my hair looking and feeling that way any longer.

So I did it. I hopped in the shower, made sure to use cold water, and I washed my hair.

what my hair looked like pre-washing

As I was getting my hair wet I looked over my should and saw the bright red stream of water going down my back and pooling at the bottom of the shower waiting for its turn to go down the drain. It looked like a scene right out of a movie. I didn’t use my red shampoo this time because I didn’t want to possibly impact the pretty red I had just had done if it wasn’t already fading out. I felt like I needed to give it a try on its own first. However, it didn’t take long after getting out of the shower to realize my gorgeous red hair was now completely pink. I started blow-drying it a bit to confirm my suspicions, but it was clear my hair was SUPER pink.

I started freaking out. First, because I was going to have full on pink hair in my friend’s wedding pics (sorry Rori) and secondly because it was already a stretch explaining red hair in my professional/serious job role. How on earth was I going to explain pink hair?!

So I did the only thing I could think of at that moment. I got back in the shower and used my red shampoo and hoped for a miracle.

A miracle did not come. It might have made it a slightly darker pink, but the difference was not noticeable enough to make me stop freaking out. At that point I couldn’t do anything about it but wait and text my stylist in the morning.

The next morning I straightened my hair and got ready to head to the temple for my friend’s wedding. Before leaving the house I snapped a pic to send my stylist and see what we could do to fix this situation.

after one washing - even pinker in person

Because here’s the frustration. I get that red fades. I expected that. I was ready for that. However, after spending the very, very large amount of money (and time) that I did to go red, I expected it to last longer than 2 days.

I texted my stylist and sent her the pics I’d taken that morning. She was also surprised and wasn’t sure why that had happened. I mentioned I would wash it again Sunday night and try my red shampoo again, leaving it on for longer this next go-around, and see if that would make any difference.

Just for fun, here are some shots of me and my pink hair at my friend’s wedding.

bridesmaids and flower girls

bridal party

bride's posse

at the ring ceremony - my feet were killing me

bridesmaids

desperately trying to dodge the boquet

I had more than one comment made about how nice it was I dyed my hair to match my friend’s wedding color. I laughed it off because all the comments were made to be funny and not rude at all. But I was frustrated. I’m a 30 year old with pink here. #canyousaystrugglefest

I made it through the weekend and hopped in the shower again Sunday night to try and get my hair to take the red shampoo. Typically in the past I would lather the red shampoo up and shave my legs before washing it out. This time however I put it on and took a seat (I have a little sitting area in my shower, so it wasn’t like I was sitting on the floor of the shower). And I waited. I sat there a good 20 minutes or so and then washed my hair. If it made any sort of difference it was barely noticeable. If anything it made it a brighter pink.

I texted my stylist an update Monday morning and she said she could meet me at her salon Tuesday evening and we’d throw another round of red on my hair – a bit darker shade this time – and hope it sticks better.

So for 2 days I tried to slick my hair to my head as much as possible for work so it wasn’t as blatantly obvious that I had bright pink hair. My attempts were futile and I was still compared to Strawberry Shortcake on Monday.

Sidenote: I have been really surprised at how freely people give their opinions or jokes about what my hair reminds them of. It made me wish I didn’t bite my tongue sometimes and responded with a ridiculous retort about what some of their features reminded me of. But, alas, I’m trying to not be a terrible person all the time so I resisted the urges.

On Tuesday my sister and I met at a beauty supply store to get a bunch of new hair supplies to try and help my damaged hair (from the bleach and overall heat I’m constantly applying to it as well as it’s natural texture) and see if I could find any other stuff, in addition to my red shampoo, to help keep the soon-to-have new red hair from fading as fast. I picked up a bottle of this wash-in dye called Fireball.

I haven’t tried it yet (still haven’t at the time of this posting), but I’m excited to! And ironically when I met with my stylist later that even she’d also bought a bottle of that in case I wanted to get it from her and try it out. I ended up buying her bottle as well because if it can help extend my color and put off my next costly hair appointment it’s worth the $8.

So Tuesday evening I went back to my stylist and we threw on a darker shade of semi-permanent red. It was actually the same color we had used on my roots the first time around which hadn’t faded out nearly as bad as the color we used on the rest of my hair the first time. So I was hopeful.

While the final result of the second go-around wasn’t nearly as bright and bold as the first red, I loved it. And I felt like it was more natural (as far as a completely unnatural bright red hair could be) compared to the first red (which again I loved as well). It also didn’t seem so pink so that made me relieved that hopefully it wouldn’t wash out again to that same color.

someone's feeling pretty hahaha

trying all sorts of new looks

I procrastinated washing my hair for as long as I could… I got it done Tuesday evening and didn’t wash it until Saturday night. I was SO nervous! As soon as the water touched my hair it was a blood bath again, but I kept going. I used my red shampoo again and left it on a bit longer than I used to, just to be extra cautious. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to get out of the shower and still have red hair. I was so happy.

Since that first wash after the second round of dying I’ve only washed my hair one other time – two nights again, on Sunday the 26^th. That’s right, I went a whole week and a day before washing it again. Haha Some people may think that’s gross. I think it was amazing my hair lasted that long and still looked good/good enough to not be ashamed of. Lol And this time around I had similar results – a flow of red down the drain and plenty of time letting the red shampoo do it’s magic on my hair. And the red is staying strong.

after second washing

Now it’s just a waiting game. Fading is inevitable. I have some tools to slow down/fix the fading, but I know what’s coming.... 

don't actually watch this show, but we all know this line

The Devil’s Tool (Better Late Than Never, Right?)

Disclaimer: I wrote this post last Thursday, March 9th. The day after getting my hair done. Plenty has changed since I wrote this so I will do a follow-up post, but I still figured I'd post this one. So just go back to last Thursday in your mind as you read this.

* * * *

So last night I spent 6.5 hours at the hair salon. Yes, you read that correctly. 6 ½ hours!!! Thankfully, while it did feel like a long time, it didn’t feel like THAT much time. At least it didn’t to me. My poor stylist may feel differently. *Ekk Face* (Where are the emoji’s when you need them.)

I don’t usually feel like I have thick hair. But every time I get it done I’m reminded that I in fact do have very thick, very coarse hair. Which was definitely the biggest contributor to the time spent there last night.

It also didn’t help that I slightly changed what I wanted within the 24 hours leading up to my appointment. To be fair, I texted my stylist a picture of the color I had found that I really like a week before my appointment to give her some time to think about it and possibly revise my time if needed/possible. However, I may have mentioned in that text that I wasn’t necessarily wanting a full head weave/color. It wasn’t until I was comparing pictures I loved versus ones I hated the night before my appointment that I realized I didn’t like the ones that weren’t full head coverage. See pics below.

Love this one (minus the dark roots)

Love this one!

Hate this one!

My "Before" Look

We started out bleaching my whole head. We did foils since I had different colors in it already that needed different timing for the bleach to pull it out. It took about 2 hours just to get my hair all up in foils. So that should have told us right then and there that it was going to be a long night. LOL And this was also the time my scalp starting burning, especially when she put the bleach directly on my head to make sure and bleach out all my natural roots. No pain, no gain right?

Then we washed out the bleach and my scalp was full on burning at this point. So sore and so sensitive. On the bright side I was left with this really gorgeous yellow blob of hair with some orange stripes through it. It looked, and felt, super great. #NOT!

Next up was a “quick” blow-dry (or not so quick since my hair takes forever to dry). Not gonna lie, this part almost brought me to tears. #wishiwaskidding My scalp was already so sore, but it hadn’t experienced the full extent of pain until this part, when the Devil’s tool came to play. What is that tool you ask? The cursed round brush. I’m pretty sure the bristles were made of broken shards of glass and that it was somehow knotting up my hair while simultaneously attempting to brush it out. I literally sat there with my eyes pressed shut trying to focus on making it through the pain. It’s not like the stylist was intentionally trying to kill me. Or maybe she was. We were like 4+ hours into it at this point.

The only positive that came out of that horrid experience was this lovely look that I had just long enough to snap some pics of while the red was getting mixed up.

Nothing like a screenshot of a Snapchat. lol

 At this point my scalp started to look like how it felt – like it was bleeding profusely. And, never one to miss a photo op, I captured this gem of McKenzie going full on kill mode on me. :)

That moment you realize your stylist is out to kill you :P

Finally the red was on and the end was near. It had to be by this point right?

One final rinse in cold water which momentarily felt very refreshing and then I was back in the chair trying to figure out a way to magically make my hair dry without a brush have to touch my head. I had a little reprieve thanks to the actual haircut portion of the night. And maybe it was the tiredness and giggles taking over, but thankfully this second round with the Devil wasn’t quite as painful. And just like that, 6.5 hours had gone by and I was officially a bright red head!

And then we had a photo shoot at the salon.

And maybe I had another one when I got home. Haha

I really hope this is true!