So Fall.
It’s mofo Fall already.
Oh, sure, not in the rest of the country, but here in Wisconsin, we are only scant weeks from seeing white stuff. We don’t actually have Fall or Spring here. We get like a week of Fall and a week of rain that we call Spring. And then schwoom! into frigid bitter cold or smothering heat and humidity.
When I got up this morning, it was dark. Oh sure, I did set my alarm half an hour earlier so that I could get back on the Operation Hottie track, but still. Dark. Dark when I’m waking up. I hate that. I hate dark. It brings about this primordial sleep response wherein I need something like 14 hours of sleep to function. Not to mention fattening yet jet-propelled Starbucks Mochas with a shot of Vanilla syrup.
Over the weekend, I made a decision. I was slated for a refresh of my hair color. I really enjoyed my crazy rock star look. The blonde bits were really fun. It was truly a magical haircut, because it seemed like almost anything I did looked good.
Well, almost anything. I did have one night where bad things happened. It was terrifying. The more I tweaked, the more everything went dreadfully wrong. I could have been a sidebar in “When Bad Styling Products happen to Good People”. You know, in some kind of Surf Betty magazine where they care about such things. Strangely enough, Penny even complimented me on my hair that night, stating that no matter what I did, it always looked cute and quirky.
And seriously, is that a freaking bald spot? I mean, can what is obviously a gross misuse of too much Tigi Bed Head and Manipulator make you actually go bald? Shouldn’t they put a warning label on the container? Well, obviously they should put one on already that says “Caution: Don’t cover your head with two cups of styling product or you will achieve a look that Kato Kaelin would be proud of” Or am I in need of a little Rogaine? I’m not sure what’s up with that right there, but it’s freaking me out.
But, in deference to the impending mercury drop, I decided that it was time to stop being the haphazard multi-colored touseled head that I’ve been all summer. It was time to go dark, subtle and respectable. It was time to put the carefree attitude behind me. It worked for Courtney Love…sort of.
Thus, instead of streaking my hair with blonde and red, I had Stacy give me streaks that are sort of paprika and chocolate, giving sort of a “lowlight” effect with my generic light brown. The effect is less than stellar. Don’t get me wrong. It’s exactly what I wanted.
Subtle. Refined. Subdued. Responsible.
FUCKING BORING.
God. I’m having Post-Blonde stress disorder or something. I think I may have aged like 10 years. Instead of Rock Star, it’s now the color I call Librarian. Or maybe if you squished together the heads of both Mary Richards and Rhoda. Oooh… that’s a disturbing metaphor.
My face used to light up the room, now I slink in with the trash. The other night, pre-Librarian, Esteban told me that I looked like a beautiful little angel while I was sleeping. Now I look like a drooling mouth breather who makes sleeping noises not unlike truck stop coffee percolator. There are a few streaks of blonde here or there, just enough to look like I got a little wacky with the Clorox during Saturday’s wash. Just enough to remind me (sniffle!) of what used to be.
Did my hair ever know that it was my hero? Did it ever know that it was all I wished I could be?
Did it? I think not.
Oh, I know. I was all freaked out by the blonde two months ago. It’s not really the hair color, it’s just the transition to Fall that’s sogging my Frosted Flakes. It’s the fact that across town, the Packers are playing their last pre-season game and already it’s starting to get chilly. It’s the fact that it was DARK this morning when I woke up. DARK! It’s the fact that I’m starting to want to do indoor activities, like scrapbooking and playing for hours on the internet. It’s the fact that I looked at my bathroom floor, all covered in bathroom schmeng and wisted ‘You know, nothing would make me happier than a bright and shiny bathroom floor.’ Then thought ‘Whoa! Where the fuck did THAT SHIT come from?!’. It’s this entire shift from Slacker Girl to Ms. Kick Ass, the twist from grasshopper to worker ant. I actually asked the bank to start withholding some money from my paycheck and put it into my savings account. VOLUNTARILY! I mean, that’s Malibu and Diet Coke money. What’s more, I was shopping this weekend and saw something or other and thought to myself, ‘Hey, those would make great Christmas presents!’ That’s a sign, people. I never think about other people during the summer! Never! I’m a selfish Nelly and damned proud of it. I get by with a smile, a giggle, a shake of my hip and a roll of my eyes. None of this altruistic ‘save for winter’ crap.
I had more to say, but mostly I just lost interest, so let’s just leave it at that.
Oh!
I broke down and purchased my airline tickets for JournalCon tonight. I love me some Midwest Express. I’m so excited. I love to travel. I love the empowerment. I love sleeping in a king size bed all by myself. And I promise not to fawn over Pamie too much.
If you are an online diarist and have an interest in learning more about the other people out there, you can go to the link above and sign up. But hurry. You only have until August 30, I believe. Hope to see everyone there!
