Returning to My Roots

I'm being literal. I have literally gone back to my roots, as in my natural hair color. My natural hair color looks fake because it's so freaking dark. I feel like Samara from "The Ring" or, possibly worse, Wednesday Addams. Why did I do it? I guess it was prompted by DSG asking about my highlights. As in, why do you have blond in your hair? I explained that on-air, my thick, dark hair resembles a hair helmet and the highlights give my hair some "texture" on camera. But it's more expensive to get foil put in my hair and who am I kidding with the natural highlights? There's no such thing as a woman of my ethnicity having warm shades of caramel and honey in their hair. Then the other day Larry noted how many colors were in my hair. But my colorist was booked so I opted to go to another salon on the Upper West Side.

The Filipino woman assigned my hair didn't exactly instill a surge of confidence in me. In broken English she demanded that I "Sit here!" and asked me what I wanted. I told her I wanted a single process, dark- like my roots. I warned her that my gray was stubborn and she nodded barely concealing her disdain at the split ends and rainbow of brassy highlights I had allowed to deteriorate with neglect. Two hours later, as she blow dried my hair the end result was revealed. I couldn't believe it. Elvira minus the obscene cleavage and vamp make-up. Christ. "It's dark," I remarked. "Yes, it's very dark. I don't like but you say natural color," she said. Whore.

But there are worse things than looking incredibly unimaginative and Goth-like with your hair color. For instance, you could have a cellular bill that exceeds $600! I was wandering midtown west in search of good eats with Larry today when I got the email from Verizon. Your automatic payment of $605 is scheduled for March 1, 2007. "Holy shit!" I yelled and everyone in line at Wendy's turned and looked at me. "Language," Larry said. "My fucking phone bill is $605!" I exclaimed loud enough for people to turn again. This public disclosure preceded a hasty exit, whatever the line was way too long for fucking Wendy's. Once outside I warned Larry that if I called Verizon and they stood by this invoice, he was going to witness a meltdown. Larry's eyes lit up in anticipation of this promising exhibition of consumer outrage. When I finally called, the customer service rep. patiently went through my whole bill and explained that my new blackberry, its charges, my texting (NO MORE TEXTS!) and my new broadband card together with various taxes and activation fees amounted to the price of new Jimmy Choo heels. Where the fuck are my priorities?!