tragedy strikes in a plastic bottle

egyptian nudeThis is from the Seattle Days, when I was being a red head and doing the commute thing between Seattle and L.A. [Um, yeah, that went well. You can tell because, well, I am back in L.A. Being a red head sort of rocked though I think about doing that again from time to time.]


I am gearing up for a trip to parts L.A. to meet spiffy people who will maybe make this movie happen. Yay! And, before I go, a friend taking photography classes needs a model to shoot some film with, so tomorrow I am it while she practices shooting through different sized apertures. And if any of the photos turn out, I get new pictures. Double yay!

All of this makes me think it is time to pretty up, seeing as I will be hobnobbing and photo shooting in the next few days. Which is a snap, I have pretty in cute bottles and jars I spend outrageous sums of cash on for the sole purpose of prettying up. [I am on task, when it comes to prettying up.] So I whip a few out, mix their contents, slather goo on my hair, wait twenty minutes, and start to rinse.

[For the uninitiated, this means I am dying my hair.]

And everything is fine until, rinsing, I notice patches of stain on my hands.

This is wrong. The dye I use is light, it comes right off skin. It doesn’t stain anything. [Well, except for walls and socks and that is another story.] But this isn’t coming off. This is definitely stained skin. (Uh oh, there goes the manicure.) And I think, Um, that is not my dye, my dye doesn’t do that, and look in the mirror and —

It is the wrong dye.

Don’t ask me how I got the wrong dye. Probably it was misfiled on a shelf at the shop and I picked it up along with bottles of my dye, aka the-right-dye, aka Clairol 204 RR. This bottle does not say Clairol 204 RR. It says Clairol 203 RR. It must have snuck in there. [Covert dye on beauty shop shelves, who knew?] And now it is not misfiled on a shelf. It is misfiled on me.

Great. I am going to Los Angeles with wrong hair.

Only it is not just wrong hair. See, I do my eyebrows too. To match my hair. So I am not just going to Los Angeles with wrong hair. I am not just shooting photographs tomorrow with wrong hair. I am going to Los Angeles and shooting photos with —

Wrong eyebrows.

Really wrong eyebrows. This stuff is dark. I mean dark. 204 is this nice tawny red. This is not nice tawny red. This is pitch red. And on my eyebrows, pitch black red. And it has dyed the skin all around my eyebrows and the skin all around my hairline. So I look basically like an escaped extra from Planet of the Apes.

Not the look I was going for.

There are only two ways to take dye stains off skin. Well, three, actually. The first is, know you’re using a dark dye that stains skin and don’t get it on your skin in the first place. Which has sort of passed me by at this point. The second is to sand the skin off. Take the upper stained layers off and presto, no more stain. Of course, no more skin either. [Okay I do not want to be “Max-the-Skin-less-Girl.”] The third is, fingernail polish remover.

Fingernail polish remover is generally not recommended by dermatologists as a rejuvenating facial splash, but it works taking dye stains off skin. Sometimes. If you catch it soon enough. So I have spent the last half hour scrubbing my face with fingernail polish remover.

The stains are coming off. I sure smell funny though. Do not let those nail polish remover people fool you with those little lemon pictures on the bottles. Nothing on this planet will make fingernail polish remover smell “lemony fresh.”

But the stains are going away. Yay!

Now it is time to bleach my eyebrows and pray. Wish me luck. Light candles. Incense. Hell, burn a yule log. This is serious and might require a few yule log sacrifices. And hey? If you see a girl with funny looking eyebrows in L.A. next week? Be nice. It is not her fault.

seemaxrun : thoughts 2000

20 Responses to tragedy strikes in a plastic bottle

  1. About eight years ago I went to my my Mom’s hair stylist because it was during the holidays and my guy was booked solid.

    Long story short she cut my hair wrong AND she dyed it the wrong color. I mean in her universe it wasn’t the wrong style or color because EVERYONE ELSE IN THE SALON HAD THE SAME STYLE.

    My hair wasn’t just awful looking…it was damaged because of the dye and the fact she cut it with a freaking buzz clipper and it chewed the ends of my hair up.

    I looked like a crazy version of Scully from the X-Files.


    So by the time I get to my stylist he has no choice but to cut it short…I mean cancer patient short.

    Actually…I thought it was funny then and it’s still funny now-I’m weird like that.


  2. “And now it is not misfiled on a shelf. It is misfiled on me” – too funny.

    Hair mishaps are never funny at the time, though.

  3. aj

    Wrong eyebrows have taken many a soul down.

  4. Red hair — I am still annoyed that both you and Kitty abandoned the Red.

  5. max

    Red is a lot of work. The fun vivid shades fade really fast. Plus, for a while there everyone on the planet had red hair. I went to a party one time and it was this sea of development women in black suit dresses with red bobs. That is when I knew it was time for a change.

  6. tk

    I wish I could do red . . . damn. My natural color makes me look like snow white when I don’t have a tan.

  7. Dark cherry red is my color but I am in denial cuz I want to look like a sultry brunette or exotic blonde!

    What a story! My mother, out of spite, once switched a bunch of colors on the backshelf of the hair salon she used to work at. I guess they made her angry. Or she’s just a nutcase. Or both. I have a feeling there were a bunch of unhappy women that week.

    Poor Max. I feel for you girl!

  8. max

    Your mother cracks me up. I can be highly entertained by her because I am not related to her. Psycho parents who are not your own are so much more fun than your own psycho parents.

  9. There should be an exchange program for psycho parents. How cool would that be?

    I look forward to one day switching places with Angelina! (Hey, does this mean I get to play house with Brad)?

  10. max

    That would be so great. Then we could be seriously amused by them and exchange stories of the latest maternal attempts on our lives and stuff without an iota of, “Gee, isn’t my mother supposed to love me, instead of just, you know, wanting me dead or something?” That just hurts your feelings when it is your own mom but could be a sport with someone else’s mom. Cool.

  11. I think there is another word for it – I think it’s called Reality TV!

  12. max

    You and I are much more interesting and better looking than people on reality TV.

  13. Max,

    Three things:

    First, Janie, Kate and Lou speak highly of you. After reading your posts I see why. Your writing has a particular character and attitude it exudes your charisma. You are a rare gift.

    Second, being married to my redhead has taught me there is no one more mysterious, sexy, alluring and intriguing than a redhead. All men and some women know this.

    Third, your blog deserves The Whore Church Seal of Approval feel to display our emblem (or not) as you see fit.

  14. max

    Thank you, Church Guy.

  15. Max, since I have nothing witty to say to that, I’ll just have to agree.

  16. max

    Aww, thanks, Stilletto.

    Smoo —

    Wait, you are in trouble for saying the hot docs are gay.


  17. Well, aren’t guys that hot usually into other men? God only knows why. I guess they get hit by women on so much they just turn into sour fruit.

  18. Ooops, getting hit ON, not just hit lol

    That implies a whole other story.

    Good one- you should have let it ride.
    I’ve left a few words off here and there recently and you know-it was very, very funny.

  20. max

    It was more fun the first time to me too. [wink]

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