In an effort to blog more often than once a month, a habit that has been commented on several times, I'm posting a new post. I have been told that I should really be getting a post up and out at least once a week, especially when I get published. People are going to want to know more about me and my thoughts. That is a very scary thing. I don't think you people understand what you are getting into. I try to post substantial things, or rants, and that takes a good month. I usually think about what I'm going to post and try to form a well rounded post. But once a week? Really? I mean, I'm crazy. Like bat-shit crazy. I tame the crazy, but it is there. Making me post once a week, I can't make any guarantees that the crazy will not seep through. Gone will the insightful things that make you think. Gone will be the rants that took me a while to compose. My blog will, instead, be filled with the weird and random. And the ramblings. Lots and lots of ramblings.
My first rambling moment is as follows: Non- Natural Hair Colors.....
I have pink hair. I don't mean bubble gum pink. It is darker than that, more of a shade of fuchsia. It is bright. You really can't miss me. I have had pink hair off and on for a while, much to my mother's dismay. She hates that I color my hair in the first place, but the fact that it is pink is a burr in her saddle, to use a southern colloquialism. I am a natural blonde. It varies from a dark blonde to a very bright gold depending on how much sun I get. According to my mother, woman pay thousands of dollars a year to get my natural hair color. I hate it. With a passion. I have always hated being blonde. Because I'm a woman, with a large boobs, and blonde, I must be stupid and, therefore, you should have the right to treat me like I'm an idiot. I have had my hair a spectrum of colors. I garner more respect when my hair is darker. It is a fact of life. People say that blondes have more fun. It could be true. It is easier to sit at a bar and have men buy you drinks so they can get into you pants if you are blonde. And, hey, since you are blonde you must be an easy get. Okay, that is an unfair rant, but still, my point. I was not allowed to dye my hair until I was 18. My first color was a dark auburn. I loved it. I go back to that color every once in a while. As a surprise for my mother's birthday, one year, I dye it black. I thought she was going to have a heart attack at her party. Her face was priceless. I stayed with the natural colors because I worked in the event management field and I needed to maintain a professional look. Once I left, I decided to dye my hair pink. Ever since I saw the music video on MTV for “Simple Kind of Life” I have wanted pink hair. What? Yes. MTV used to play music videos back before the days of You Tube. The “M” actually stands for “Music”, something the channel seems to have forgotten. But I digest.....and digress as well.....So I decided pink it was. The only problem was bleaching out my hair. I didn't really want to do that, but I did and the pink came out wonderfully. I loved it. It started with strawberry blonde hair with pink streaks. Eventually, it became completely pink, or “Properly Pink” as I call it. When my mom and Sir Step Dad married last year, I was nice and died it a normal color for the wedding. But, I have been itching to color it again. So, after asking my new bosses, who don't care what color my hair is, thankfully, I bleached it out and we are back to the fuchsia (ba dum chink!). My mom already hates it.
I love reactions to my hair. There is always a double take. People have to make sure that I, indeed, have bright pink hair. Once they realize I do, they
1. Quickly look away while trying to steal glances without looking like they stealing glances.
2. Say, “Oh I love you hair!” or “I wish I could do that to my hair!”
3. Blatantly stare. Ignore it. Be jealous, honeys, be jealous.
4. If they are children, they will either stare or say something cute.
5. Find my hair so incredibly offensive that they give me dirty looks, or in the case of the lady at Panera, flat out tell me, “Just so you know, your hair is offensive.” My response was not very kind. I said, “So is your face, but you don't see me complaining.” And that, folks, is why I should not be allowed out in public unsupervised. In my defense, Brian was there, but she decided to wait until he left to say something. I had also spent an entire weekend with my friends doing nothing but sitting at a dinning room table and writing and surviving on an obscene amount of coffee. I was slightly tired and grumpy.
All in all, I love the pink. One day I may try blue or purple, but I really love my pink hair. I don't really care that people find it offensive or like to bitch about it. I really don't. Honestly, when people give me crap about it, it show more about their character than it does mine. If you can't accept my ever changing hair color, that is on you. I'm allowed to express myself if I choose to. That is the benefit of being an adult. I'm 30 years old and don't really care if you approve of my life choices. I am me and that is all I need to be.
My first rambling moment is as follows: Non- Natural Hair Colors.....
I have pink hair. I don't mean bubble gum pink. It is darker than that, more of a shade of fuchsia. It is bright. You really can't miss me. I have had pink hair off and on for a while, much to my mother's dismay. She hates that I color my hair in the first place, but the fact that it is pink is a burr in her saddle, to use a southern colloquialism. I am a natural blonde. It varies from a dark blonde to a very bright gold depending on how much sun I get. According to my mother, woman pay thousands of dollars a year to get my natural hair color. I hate it. With a passion. I have always hated being blonde. Because I'm a woman, with a large boobs, and blonde, I must be stupid and, therefore, you should have the right to treat me like I'm an idiot. I have had my hair a spectrum of colors. I garner more respect when my hair is darker. It is a fact of life. People say that blondes have more fun. It could be true. It is easier to sit at a bar and have men buy you drinks so they can get into you pants if you are blonde. And, hey, since you are blonde you must be an easy get. Okay, that is an unfair rant, but still, my point. I was not allowed to dye my hair until I was 18. My first color was a dark auburn. I loved it. I go back to that color every once in a while. As a surprise for my mother's birthday, one year, I dye it black. I thought she was going to have a heart attack at her party. Her face was priceless. I stayed with the natural colors because I worked in the event management field and I needed to maintain a professional look. Once I left, I decided to dye my hair pink. Ever since I saw the music video on MTV for “Simple Kind of Life” I have wanted pink hair. What? Yes. MTV used to play music videos back before the days of You Tube. The “M” actually stands for “Music”, something the channel seems to have forgotten. But I digest.....and digress as well.....So I decided pink it was. The only problem was bleaching out my hair. I didn't really want to do that, but I did and the pink came out wonderfully. I loved it. It started with strawberry blonde hair with pink streaks. Eventually, it became completely pink, or “Properly Pink” as I call it. When my mom and Sir Step Dad married last year, I was nice and died it a normal color for the wedding. But, I have been itching to color it again. So, after asking my new bosses, who don't care what color my hair is, thankfully, I bleached it out and we are back to the fuchsia (ba dum chink!). My mom already hates it.
I love reactions to my hair. There is always a double take. People have to make sure that I, indeed, have bright pink hair. Once they realize I do, they
1. Quickly look away while trying to steal glances without looking like they stealing glances.
2. Say, “Oh I love you hair!” or “I wish I could do that to my hair!”
3. Blatantly stare. Ignore it. Be jealous, honeys, be jealous.
4. If they are children, they will either stare or say something cute.
5. Find my hair so incredibly offensive that they give me dirty looks, or in the case of the lady at Panera, flat out tell me, “Just so you know, your hair is offensive.” My response was not very kind. I said, “So is your face, but you don't see me complaining.” And that, folks, is why I should not be allowed out in public unsupervised. In my defense, Brian was there, but she decided to wait until he left to say something. I had also spent an entire weekend with my friends doing nothing but sitting at a dinning room table and writing and surviving on an obscene amount of coffee. I was slightly tired and grumpy.
All in all, I love the pink. One day I may try blue or purple, but I really love my pink hair. I don't really care that people find it offensive or like to bitch about it. I really don't. Honestly, when people give me crap about it, it show more about their character than it does mine. If you can't accept my ever changing hair color, that is on you. I'm allowed to express myself if I choose to. That is the benefit of being an adult. I'm 30 years old and don't really care if you approve of my life choices. I am me and that is all I need to be.
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