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The Latest Folly
So. I have just dyed my hair. It's setting now.
I'm having remorse.
Because I'm pretty sure I've screwed it up.
I'm not good at following directions. As some of you surely know. There's my badly-constructed shelving and bookcase, for example.
And the liquid cake. Oh, god, the liquid cake. For those of you who were not with us way back when (freshman year, I think), I was briefly seduced by domesticity. I took home-ec, I joined FCCLA (and chaired the parli-pro team, thank you). I tried to cook.
My Grandma Gay (yes, that is her actual name) is an awe-inspiringly good cook. And one New Year's Eve, there was this dessert. Fat Attack Surprise. Brownies swirled with caramel and chocolate chips, and possibly also fudge, I don't remember. It was ungodly good.
I got the recipe. I tried to make it.
One step called for the caramel candies to be melted in a can of condensed milk. I did it, and poured the resulting goop in, and baked it. What I didn't realize at the time (because I am teh dumb) was that you were supposed to drain out the excess milk before the caramel went in. So the finished dessert was more liquid than solid, unless it was constantly refrigerated, and even then it was closer to pudding than brownies.
Although, hey, looking back, liquid cake? Not as bad as the time I got my hair caught in the blender, along with two sticks of butter, a cup of sugar, and a tub of cream cheese. Ow.
Anyway. Me + directions = impending disaster. And it's my hair. I love my hair. I've never done anything like this before; never even gotten it permed or layered or anything like that. Except that one time Mom made me get bangs and I spent the next six years trying to grow them back out.
Oh, god. I hope I haven't destroyed my hair.
ETA:
Plus side? Haven't destroyed my hair. Minus side? My hair has not changed color at all.
The instructions says to rinse your hair out with warm water after 30 minutes, which I did. But that apparently rinsed out not only the excess dye, but all dye.
Fucking L'Oreal Paris.
I'm having remorse.
Because I'm pretty sure I've screwed it up.
I'm not good at following directions. As some of you surely know. There's my badly-constructed shelving and bookcase, for example.
And the liquid cake. Oh, god, the liquid cake. For those of you who were not with us way back when (freshman year, I think), I was briefly seduced by domesticity. I took home-ec, I joined FCCLA (and chaired the parli-pro team, thank you). I tried to cook.
My Grandma Gay (yes, that is her actual name) is an awe-inspiringly good cook. And one New Year's Eve, there was this dessert. Fat Attack Surprise. Brownies swirled with caramel and chocolate chips, and possibly also fudge, I don't remember. It was ungodly good.
I got the recipe. I tried to make it.
One step called for the caramel candies to be melted in a can of condensed milk. I did it, and poured the resulting goop in, and baked it. What I didn't realize at the time (because I am teh dumb) was that you were supposed to drain out the excess milk before the caramel went in. So the finished dessert was more liquid than solid, unless it was constantly refrigerated, and even then it was closer to pudding than brownies.
Although, hey, looking back, liquid cake? Not as bad as the time I got my hair caught in the blender, along with two sticks of butter, a cup of sugar, and a tub of cream cheese. Ow.
Anyway. Me + directions = impending disaster. And it's my hair. I love my hair. I've never done anything like this before; never even gotten it permed or layered or anything like that. Except that one time Mom made me get bangs and I spent the next six years trying to grow them back out.
Oh, god. I hope I haven't destroyed my hair.
ETA:
Plus side? Haven't destroyed my hair. Minus side? My hair has not changed color at all.
The instructions says to rinse your hair out with warm water after 30 minutes, which I did. But that apparently rinsed out not only the excess dye, but all dye.
Fucking L'Oreal Paris.
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