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Which shouldn't, of course, be confused with the Great Hair Dye Atrocity of 2004, or the Mystery Hair Color of 2001. And we won't even mention the 2002 "I said Winona Rider, not Billy Ray Cyrus!" mullet haircut, which practically ended my social life as we know it.
Yes, sadly, I am one of those women who is constantly changing her hair, particularly the color. It started innocently enough my freshmen year in college when my roommate suggested I throw in a few blonde highlights "just for fun."
Almost eight years later, I still hate her guts.
That innocent act has resulted in soon to be a decade of reckless regard for my own follicles, of hours spent in the bathroom painstakingly pulling hair through a cap, of even more hours waiting at the hair salon for them to magically turn my pink and orange hair back to a respectable color.
Oh the folly of youth!
See, being a reporter (re: poor), I can't afford this schizophrenic hair routine I am now used...
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