Another reason I know that movies aren't real:

I looked like I was going bald. That's what happens when you have really blonde hair and you dye it black. The roots grow in and kind of match your scalp, so you end up looking like those kind of creepy guys without allot of hair in the middle so they grow allot on the side and comb it over the balding part. And sometimes they grow a ponytail too to compensate...which adds quite a bit to the creepiness factor if I do say so myself. This is a bad thing if you haven't already figured that out. The best part is the fact that the blonde starts to show through on the upper back part of the head, making it look like a yamaka. I didn't want a yamaka. This led me to the decision to bleach my hair. Now if any of you guys out there want to feel really dumb, decide to bleach or color your hair and do it at a salon. Seriously. You'll feel dumb. Trust me. First you have to call and make an appointment. Then you will have to end up telling someone that you can't do something because of your "hair appointment" which you cannot say and sound masculine. I promise. So I sit down and this girl cuts my hair, goops on some bleach stuff, puts a plastic bag over my head, and leads me across the room. This is where it really starts to get embarrassing. You know when you see movies about hair salons how you always see about eight or nine women sitting in chairs with those helmet type things over their heads? That is what I was being led to. A single chair with a little bowl thing on a hinge. So I'm sitting there by myself with this thing drying my freshly bleach coated head...and it stings. Allot. Like a whole lot. Then the process has to happen again because after one bleaching my head looks like an orangecicle. So she goops more stuff onto my head, puts another baggy on, and leads me back to the chair. Once more...burning...lots of burning. Then she has to wash out the bleach, and was using cold water...which felt how water tastes when you are dying of thirst. It felt wonderful. But then she wanted to check the color, so she uses her friggin' huge nails and scrapes them along my scalp. Imagine having a sunburn that borders on blistering, and then someone scraping their nails across your sunburn. It's not a happy feeling. But I guess my point is that when you are in one of those helmet chairs, there is air blowing really hard onto your head and it's really loud. I was being asked questions from one foot away and couldn't hear anything. But in those movies, all those women sit there and gossip...talking quietly. I promise you it wouldn't work. Movies are so fake.