Summer. Hot. Hot. Hot. And since our frickin' electric bill was skyrocketing like crazy, I decided to go malling last Monday (it being declared a national holiday...bless your soul, GMA). Passing by a salon, and seeing my unruly hair going in all directions, I decided pronto that I would get a haircut. Something nice but not bald (as almost every other guy I know or see sports his hair...or the lack of it).
Snip snip.
Somewhere in the middle of the shampooing and the snip snapping, I had the devil-may-care idea of dyeing my hair. And after some effortless prodding from the hairstylist cum colorist cum makeup artist, I let them snap on the head gear with loads of holes on my head...so they could begin plucking strands of hair that they'll streak with the bleach.
One hundred exchanges of sms with my friends later (i.e. to consult which color I should use), I've decided to go for light ash blonde. Well, that's way better than putrid orange, vomit yellow, marshland green, or cheetah spots, dontcha think so?
Hmmm. Maybe I should have considered erythrocyte red? Ehehehehe.
Hair coloring done. Nude photo shoot done (yep...and THAT will be a totally different blog). Bungee jumping next. And then a permanent tattoo. Somebody stop me. Heehee...
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