I would listen to The Horrorpops, singing "Baby Lou Tattoo" at the top of my lungs and yearning for the 50s, when real women had curves and real music made you dance.
Some great things came out of that period, amongst them being my newfound love for high heels and frilly dresses and getting to see Wanda Jackson perform live.
Let's not even talk about my everlasting love for Elvis.
Sadly, that period left a permanent mark on me : hair dye.
See, paired with my tea dresses and my lacquered red heels, my dirty blond hair just wasn't cutting it.
Soon, I was dreaming of hair dye, fancying myself a pin up version of Debbie Harry.
I shouldn't have.
On bad hair days, when my roots seemed to be as tall as me and my hair had a life of its own (read : looks like a curly mop), I still hear the voice of my colorist.
"Are you sure you want to dye it ?" she asked."It's very high maintenance you know."
Yes I was sure, and frankly how high maintenance could it be compared to painting my lips bright red and drawing a cat's eye every day, right ?
At first, me and my platinum locks had a good thing going.
I loved it and it loved me back.
Sadly though, the honeymoon period didn't last that long.
Shampoo after shampoo, my dyed hair started to show its true colors (pun intended).
Soon, instead of looking like some Rock'n'Roll vixen who would have belonged at the CBGB, my dark roots and yellowish hair made me look like the washed up waitress behind the bar.
Not a good look.
To make matters worse, I soon discovered that my hair was addicted.
Give it its dye fix and it would look and feel amazing, but as soon as the effects started to wear down; my sad scalp needed another fix.
I just couldn't handle living with an ammonia addict on top of my head.
Don't think I'm cruel though, I did try to help it, but no amount of protective shampoo or hair product could cure it.
It simply had to go.
Funnily enough, while I remember in great detail the excitement of getting my hair dyed platinum, I don't even remember when exactly I went back to the dark side.
My hair might be less vixen-ish now, but hey, at least I can never be mistaken for Dolly Parton's long lost cousin now.
Back when I was an Anonymous Ammonia Addict.