On Having More Fun: Another Blog of Pictures

"I'm not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb... and I also know that I'm not blonde." - Dolly Parton

Well the deed, as they say, is done. The fabulous Kirsten Nelson at Adagio Salon in Orem (soon to be the fabulous Kirsten Nelson at Element Salon in Orem) and I spent many, many, many, many hours together on Saturday as she painstakingly lifted the base color of my hair from dark brown to its current fairer state. Since Becca told me to post pictures of the finished job, and I tend to do what I'm told, and I like to take pictures of myself anyway, I went for a walk today and came back with some pictures to share with you all.


On the left here is my new Facebook profile picture and also the picture so far wherein my hair appears the lightest.

I have included this picture on the right because I think I look epic in it. It is now my MySpace profile picture. Oh, like you needed more evidence that I'm an ubergeek.

And this is roughly how I felt after spending FIVE HOURS in the salon on Saturday. I'm told my hair was a particularly difficult case. Good thing Kirsten is such a neat lady, or it might've been miserable. Plus I was reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower during the "processing" times, which is an AMAZING book that I recommend to anyone. Wow.

What you can see from this and the picture to your left below here (aside from the fact that I'm a raving lunatic) is how for some reason I come off as a strawberry blonde in most lights. This is odd because Kirsten put Ash blonde in my hair - which is a blonde with greenish undertones placed there for the express purpose of neutralizing any red in the hair. And my hair was obviously bleached out before that, leaving it with only a few traces of orange.

But somehow in that picture on the left I look rather like my longtime friend Kristen, a well-known redhead (who is not to be confused with my stylist Kirsten, though both are fabulous). This just goes to show how no matter what color you put in my hair, it will come off as the "reddish" version of that color once you give it time to process. I swear my hair has a mind of its own.* I don't mind though, because I just realized that my hair is almost the same sort of "rose gold" color as that of the Flower Ballerina Nutcracker Barbie, who was - no joke - my ideal of beauty as a child.

See? Who wouldn't want to look like that? Now if I can just get an extremely ruffly dress, pointe shoes, and part of a lace heart backdrop, I'll be all set.

Back to me...

There, I even included the highly cliché "finger in mouth" pose, which I don't think was supposed to come off looking so Stalk-Me-Please-MySpace-Whore-ish. Normally I would've deleted it by now out of sheer embarrassment, but without it there are only three pictures, and then I wouldn't have a square, now would I? Besides, it's a good picture of the hair. THE HAIR, you weirdo.

So that's me as a blonde so far. And if those aren't enough pictures for you, I'm just going to get extremely creeped out. Now I'm going to do something productive (like write my English 311 paper...or stare at myself in the mirror), and then I'm told there's some serious fun I ought to be having.

*This concept gives rise to my eventual one-woman show, entitled Me and My Hair: A Two-Woman Show.

(Last minute edit: note that you can click on any of the above pictures to enlarge them.)

Blonde: The Final Frontier

So I made a New School Year's Resolution to have more Crazy Adventures and though I've been trying to fulfill it as best I can, so far the results have been pretty tame. I've gone out to dinner with a bunch of boys I just met (my mother would disapprove), bought a fish (listen, it counts!!), and moved into an apartment building/ward in which I know absolutely no one (where I typically remain fully clothed...not much of an adventure if you ask me). I was going to break up the monotony by road-tripping to a Weakerthans concert in AZ at the end of this month, but I found out I can't do that because I'm performing in a matinée that day. I fell into a long downward spiral of grief and mourning (not only are they my very favorite band, but I swore a solemn vow that I would be there), and have now finally emerged weathered, but undaunted. My attentions now turn to a grand adventure which is one of my favorites: The Hair Adventure.

That's right my friends; I'm going blonde.

Why blonde, you ask? Quite honestly, because it's the only color of hair I've never had (except for that summer when I just wore it all bleached out because the green dye faded and I was too lazy to redo it - which doesn't count because it was unintentional). I have had my hair every other color I can currently think of except for orange, which I will never do. This includes pink, showcased here as it appeared in my family photo circa 2002. I've put black bars over my family's eyes in case they've decided they don't want to be seen with me (you never know).

Another reason is because every time I mention my newfound desire to join the ranks of the fair-haired, somebody says - and I quote - "I don't know; I can't picture it." Don't you see how it must therefore be done?

This is totally uncharted territory for me, people. But just look how many new looks and identities there are to explore!



I could go all peroxide rocker-chick, like Debbie Harry of Blondie...

Or bombshell it up with Scarlet Johanssen.

I can be classy...

Or totally trashy!

Sorta blonde...


Kinda blonde...











Very blonde, or...





Hey, if it's good enough for a sequel (and a Broadway musical), then it's good enough for me.







Apparently being blonde is somehow good for one's dating life. This should make my bishop happy, then.






And finally, there's that old, well-advised adage: if you can't kiss 'em, join 'em.


And so the decision has been made. By Saturday these sultry brunette strands will be bleached away in favor of the shimmering locks of some kind of girl with blonde hair. At that time I promise to actually take some pictures of myself on my newfound adventure. Until then, I must go and conquer the unknown, boldly going where no Julie (except for lots of Julies who aren't me) has gone before...

My New Superpower

So this weekend I finally (finally!) got to move into my private bedroom in the apartment I'm living in. I'd been living in the shared room all summer, staring longingly at the private room (but not when the girl living there was home because that would be creepy) in anticipation of my chance to move in and have at last have my own space. And now I'm finally here! It's wonderful. But anyway, I was unpacking and moving my things in when I happened upon a smallish leopard-print box in which I recalled having stored certain keepsakes and the like in the past. Wondering if there might be any pictures I could decorate my boring white walls with, I opened it up and took a look. Inside I discovered, to my mild surprise, many assorted mementos from near-relationships past (interestingly enough, I seem to have kept nothing from my actual relationships...which I don't regret, because those boys were lame). As I was looking through them all again, re-reading the notes and letters and remembering why the random objects were significant, the song "To Love Somebody" sung by Damien Rice & Ray LaMontagne suddenly came on my computer's playlist and started playing. I looked up to realize that the words "Baby you don't know what it's like, baby you don't know what it's like, to love somebody, to love somebody, the way I love you" were underscoring everything I was reading. It was weird, and it reaffirmed my growing suspicion that my life is actually a weekly hour-long dramedy beloved by the Gilmore Girls crowd. I have included the song in this post for maximum effect.

This got me thinking, though. See, when I was a freshman here at BYU, my friends and I all came up with superhero names for each other, like Ridiculous Girl and the Fickle Female. I was dubbed Captain Confusion, and my power was the ability to irritate my enemies to death by constantly asking what was going on. Yeah, I was pretty clueless as a freshman. Now that I'm a senior though, and considerably wiser (suuuuure you are, you're saying. Well, I say shut up), I think I should be a new superhero. They could call me The Rejector. I'll have the super ability to damage my enemies' self-esteems so badly that a fight won't even have to take place. Think how effective I could be! Big, bad enemies and monsters could come up and I could just be like, "You know, you're a really great bad guy and all, but I'm just not interested in fighting you. I'm sure you'll make some other crime-fighter very happy...or miserable, which ever one you want to do." Or, "Wow, you're a really scary monster, and I'm really flattered that you want to destroy me, but I'm really not ready for a fight right now. It's not you, it's me." Or I could be really cruel and just say, "Huh - what? Oh, I'm sorry, I was too busy trying to beat up this villain over here to notice you." I would make SUCH a devastating superhero. Wow.

So there's something for all you comic book (or sorry - "graphic novel") creators out there to consider. Me, I'll just be going about my merry way, utterly oblivious to the destruction left in my wake. After all, just as Nightwing will always be remembered as Robin*, so I shall always be a little Captain Confusion.

*So I've got some comic book nerd in me. Get over it.