Bitchin' Dye Jobs Part Deux: Purple Hair, Don't Care Edition

I am such a procrastinating, scatter-brained, spazz woman today. With awesome hair, though.

Okay, you guys. I am SO LATE on the whole Thanksgiving break recapitulation bandwagon, but mine was sort of a disaster. Well, a disaster with a happy ending.

Long story short: I did a lot of unwanted traveling that resulted in many a family argument, I contracted an angry and unnaturally persistent yeast infection (SORRY FOR THE TMI DUDEBROS), and I got SO far behind on literally all of my projects for school. Of which there are four. Due next week. Yikes, self! Get it together, lady!

Anyway, after trekking all over Virginia and having a vastly mediocre holiday (is Thanksgiving ever anything other than mediocre?), I decided I needed to TREAT MYSELF. Just like Tom Haverford and Donna Meagle told us to do on good ol' Parks and Rec. I’ll also take the time now to unabashedly admit that I want to have Aziz Ansari’s children. Sorry, boyfriend! It’s been real.

WOW, I’m getting sidetracked. It’s probably some weird behavioral manifestation of all the procrastination I've been doing lately. Why stop now, am I right?

I’m wrong. Let’s get to the dye job.

I ended up getting this dye job as a happy accident of sorts. One of those days last week, when I was putting off mounds of work, I started Facebook stalking this old high school friend who I haven’t seen or heard from in years. It just so happens, she is an accomplished hairstylist in my town and she specializes in BLONDES. I practically died from joy! I’d been highlighter yellow with black and skunk-y streaks for far too long! Some way or another, it had to end.

So I visited my old friend at her newly minted salon. I should probably mention that this girl is the bomb and she changes her hair color from vibrant hue to vibrant hue every month without fail. This time, it was Crayola-level violet fading into a dark blue ombre. Words really do not do it justice. It looked amazing. Plus she kept going outside to take smoke breaks, which is honesty I can appreciate. (Don’t think I didn’t know, girlfriend!)

She had to (noticeably) brace herself after I requested for her to get rid of ALL the brassiness from my stubborn hair. She just kind of stood and contemplated for a long while, running her fingers through my knotted hair and doing mass amounts of pretty, beauty-related chemistry in her head.

She abruptly chirped, "I’ll be back!" with a girlish tee-hee tacked on, and went to work mixing what seemed to be way too many chemicals with way too much ammonia in them. I mean I started coughing from the fumes the instant the purple sludge hit my scalp. I got super nervous. And super itchy on the old noggin, of course.

About 40 minutes later, and after a wash and some toner, my ladyfriend washed out my hair and yelped, “Don’t freak out if it’s a little bit purple, okay? It’ll wash out!” Keep in mind that she says this as I’m leaned over a washbasin and looking right into her solidly violet tendrils. I kind of panicked.

“Like, how purple?” I managed to get out while the anxiety set in.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for colorful locks (I used to have pink highlights and everything, guys!), but I am currently completing a snobbish practicum in grad school and something tells me my sharp, accomplished advisor and professor won’t be hip to any hairdo that veers into Marge Simpson territory.

Luckily for me, it’s just a purple hue that was left behind after all was said and done. And it looks fab! Except I keep getting compared to Kelly Osbourne. I’m not sure why it bugs me, but it does. Also, I heard a kid ask his mommy if it was okay that I had purple hair. Trust me kid, it’s fine.

What do you guys think? Do you like my icier locks? Should I keep up the purple hue by washing with One ‘n Only’s Shiny Silver Ultra every day? Or should I just keep working toward white blonde? I’m leaning towards keeping the purple, just so you all know.

Follow me on Twitter if you want to chronicle my demise into neverending spazziness: @xoGabiRivera.