It was confirmed that I was a natural blonde . . .

when I colored my hair dark brown in law school.  I don’t recall my thought process when making this decision.  Maybe I wanted to see what I looked like as a brunette.  Maybe I wanted to shock people with my new hairdo.  Or maybe I wanted to see if the color really would wash out in 30-days, like the box said.  Whatever my rationale, it was not my most brilliant moment.

I colored my hair shortly before my school’s Barrister’s Ball.  I also purchased a gown and shoes which I proudly wore as I applied the appropriate make-up on the big night.  I  even curled my dark locks, which was a poor use of time because my hair holds curls about as well as a sieve holds water.  But, for the five minutes that I had a nice hairdo, I felt like a transformed woman – I was a true Californian rather than the Iowan I had been for the previous 22 years.

A couple of weeks after the ball I wondered when the color would start to fade.  I kept pondering this for another 30, 40,  and then 50 days when there was still no hint of blonde.  Hmm . . . it seemed that the 30-day wash out representation had been a bit understated.

And so my life became consumed with bleaching, split ends, and having reduced cash flow since I was spending so much on hair products.  What was the result?  I got to watch a line of brown hair grow out for nearly two years until I was completely back to my original hair color.  Bravo, eh?  Needless to say, I haven’t colored my hair on my own since, and don’t plan to.

Have you or someone you know had an unfortunate and/or unanticipated result from hair coloring?

Here are some other “blonde moments” you may enjoy:  cell phone, tricycle, step aerobics class


It was confirmed that I’m a natural blonde . . .

last week when I went to Escondido Joes, a coffee shop by our house.  I ordered a green tea, turned on my computer, and settled into a plush leather sofa.  Since my archaic computer takes an eternity to boot up, I decided to check email on my phone while I waited . . . except I couldn’t find it.  My iPhone wasn’t in my purse, on the sofa, or resting by my tea on the table.  It wasn’t on the front counter, in my computer case, or between the sofa cushions.  Grabbing my keys and heading back to the car, I chided myself for consistently leaving my phone either at home or in one of our cars.

Some things just aren't meant to be on the roof of a car.

I searched in all of the phone’s usual haunts in the front and back of Candice, my Jetta.  Nada.  Rien. Nothing.  I was ready to admit defeat when I happened to catch sight of something on the roof of the car – my phone.

Yep. That’s right. I drove 3.2 miles (I looked it up) from our house to Escondido Joes with my phone upside down on the roof, about three inches from the side edge.  Clutching the iPhone to my chest, I raised my eyes to the heavens and did a little happy dance.  Cars passing by became Looky Lous as I praised whoever invented rubber iPhone covers and my husband for purchasing one for my phone.

Do you have a habit of misplacing your phone?

Want to plan ahead for a similar blonde moment?  Buy a rubber cover today:  Buy a rubber iPhone cover

It was confirmed that I was a natural blonde . . .

when I was in middle school and wanted to help my mom bake Christmas cookies.  I selected one of my favorite recipes – Bon Bons.  They are made of flavored dough that is wrapped around a yummy filling such as chocolate chips, a cherry, or nuts.  My younger sister, Holly, acted as my assistant baker.  We spent more than two hours making the cookies, even adding a beautiful glaze on each.

Deciding to taste our masterpieces before they were fully cooled, we both daintily picked a soft, steamy cookie and took a bite.  Our lips puckering, we uttered “eeeww” and spit them out.  This was not how our treasured treats were supposed to taste.  What happened?  Scanning the ingredients on the counter I saw a bottle of lemon extract.  Lemon?  Oh no!  I had accidentally used that instead of almond.  Feeling guilty for wasting my mom’s baking supplies, and devastated over my poor baking abilities, I acted like it was no big deal – like the cookies really weren’t that bad.  I forced my ever-obedient sister to eat two of the cookies as I followed suit to prove that I hadn’t really messed-up; that I was still the perfect daughter.

What baking blunder have you made?

Tune in tomorrow for the correct, non-lemony recipe.

The infamous Bon Bons as captured by Holly Zuber

It was confirmed that I’m a natural blonde . . .

when I was teaching my step class at LA Fitness.  I was uptight as usual because step was my weakest format.  Yoga, kickboxing, and Pilates were a piece of cake, but almost every time I taught step I managed to forget a move and would have to start the routine over.

While taking the members through the first portion of this particular class I happened to look at myself in the mirror.  Each time I stepped up I could see white under the skirt of my skort.  Hmm . . . there shouldn’t have been white because my skort was solid blue.  Perplexed, I distractedly thought about it while we did a few repeaters and rocking horses.  It was then that it dawned on me – my skort was inside out.  Wonderful.  Just another reason for the members to think I didn’t know what I was doing.

Realizing that they may become wise to my dressing faux pas, I decided to come clean.  Announcing my mistake to the class, I joked about the silly things we do when we are in a hurry.  We got a good chuckle from my wardrobe malfunction, after which we were able to relax and enjoy the class more.  Thank goodness for human error.

What dressing faux pas has caught you off-guard?

from Google Images

It was confirmed that I’m a natural blonde…

when I was riding my red tricycle one day.  It had white trim and was a beauty – a sizeable step up from my low riding, masculine Big Wheel.  Although I’d had great power and a low center of gravity on the Big Wheel, the elegance and femininity of the tricycle was a breath of fresh air.

Heather, the middle child, looking innocent as usual

I loved my new treasure so much I ceaselessly peddled back and forth on our long, flat driveway, smelling the lilacs that made me sneeze like crazy and enjoying the roses in bloom beside the house.  The wind whipping through my long hair was invigorating and freeing.   Why hadn’t Mom and Dad suggested I graduate to a tricycle sooner?

If only the whole world could experience the thrill of my wheels.  Life is such a different beast when you’re speeding through it on a tricycle.  Even the sky looks different, and the cloudsss….agh!

*  *  *

“Heather, are you okay?  Why are you screaming,” Jan asked as she ran out the front door of the house in response to her daughter’s sounds of distress.  “What happ – oh no!”

Jan was greeted by the sight of her middle child’s head pinned to the back step of the tricycle and her feet up by the handlebars.  On closer inspection Jan determined that Heather’s precious locks of hair were wrapped around the rear wheels of the tricycle like an invasive vine around a tree trunk in the jungle.

“What in the world have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“I wwwas just looking at the clouds while riding.  It was so pretty to looook up,” the captive child stuttered between sobs.

And so began the arduous task of removing Heather’s hair bit by bit from the greasy wheels.  Some of her beautiful mane was ultimately sacrificed for the cause.  Thankfully she had enough hair to go around.

It was confirmed that I’m a natural blonde…

when I was mountain biking in Crystal Cove State Park (CA) with friends a few years ago.  I started down a hill that consisted of a scary grouping of boulders covered with a nice dose of sand – my two favorite mediums for downhilling (oozing sarcasm here).  I managed to fall part way down – big shocker – but was not daunted.  Oh, no, this chica was not going to be conquered by a hill, especially when her friends were watching her not-so-graceful descent.

I hauled myself  off of the ground, disregarding the blood that trickled relentlessly down my right shin, and hoisted my dust-tanned self back into the driver’s seat.  Resuming my downward slide, I was perplexed as to why the handlebars felt unusually close to my abdomen and why I was riding so high off of the bars. 

Reaching the base without any further incidents, I celebrated with a “Whoopee” and soaked up the cheers of my friends.  Just call me Queen of the Hill!

When time came to resume our ride, I commented, “It’s so odd, but I think I broke my handlebars.  They’re totally out of position.”

“Really?” a friend queried.  “That is odd.”  Leaning in to take a closer look at the damage, he continued, “Uh, Heather, your handlebars are backwards.  They must have gotten turned around from your fall.”

At that moment two things became readily apparent: 1) I couldn’t have been much dizzier in that scene even if I had drafted a script; and 2) I had discovered a hidden mountain biking talent that, much like being able to raise one eyebrow at a time, had the potential to make me famous on day.

This is the first in the series of “It was confirmed that I’m a natural blonde…” stories that I will periodically post on Wednesdays as part of the A Little Something Funny category.  Enjoy!