Upon returning from the January SAT's, I began to go through a bit of a "quarter-life" crisis. In substitute of a fancy and expensive sports car, I decided to dye my hair. I went to the hairdressers and four painstakingly long hours later, the tips of my hair had transformed from a dull brown into a shade you'd see in a Katy Perry music video. My fifth-grade self would have been appalled. Back in 2005, I cringed at the word "crap" and was completely terrified of the teenagers walking into Hot Topic with their dyed-hair and obscure facial piercings. I vowed never to leave my GAP kids ways, and swore by my polo's and pleated skirt's. My father is horrified, and is determined that I'll never be able to find an actual job (but it's probably my lack of ~sophistication and work ethic that shot that one in the face not my hair), and my mother has no opinion on the matter because she regards this as "just a phase." By the start of the summer I'll probably dye it back to my natural hair color because the maintenance is too much for my laziness to handle.