not that i know if there's much readership this week.
my one diligent reader is on vaca, so i could, currently, be speaking to an empty box of sadness and anti-matter for all i know...but i'm going to take a moment to talk about something trite.
(yes, because everything i talk about here is usually so philosophically heavy and intellectually stimulating.)
the subject has come up again.
my hair.
laugh at me all you want, but you all know that you spend much more time on your hair than you should. you know that, late at night, you stare in the mirror and speak to your reflection in hushed tones about a brighter future...one where you can afford beautiful highlights and feature-worshipping layers.
...if you actually do this, well, that's...that's cool.
i don't take it that far.
so, i was taking my usual 4pm cigarette break (i'm very scheduled, you see...8 cigarettes a day as per ms. hepburn's advice. anything more would just be unladylike.)
yes, i was standing there, staring off into space and contemplating whether i should eat another piece of candy when i got back upstairs.
thank you to my co-worker for leaving that heaping bowl of chocolates by the reception area.
it has afforded me a reason to get up and stretch my legs...
every other minute.
(pah. unhealthy! did i mention i'm getting cheeseburgers tonite?!)
ok. ok. anti-tangent powers engage!
i'm staring off into space.
people walk by and one girl looks back and makes eye contact with me.
i have my headphones on, so i wasn't sure what she was mouthing...
then she points to her head...points at me and gives me a thumbs up.
i cracked a crooked, unsure smile...
you see, mes amis, whenever i plan on making any sort of drastic change to my hair (in this case it was considering going blonde...and i'm not talking about punk-hay-platinum, but actually professionally done blonde) i, very suddenly, get random compliments on the protein strands atop my weary head.*
the hair gods keep bamboozling me!
i put my foot down and say, "why, yes, friday. yes...you are going to do this to your hair!"
then i wake up the next day and there's volume in the right places and just enough messiness to make it look like i slept on it in the perfect way. suddenly, bangs decide to lay right and wisps decide to wisp in the correct positions.
so, curse you, hair gods!!!
i shake my fists at you furiously...(if you could advise me on where, exactly, you reside, that would be helpful as i'm currently shaking my fists in all directions...making me look less like i'm cursing something and more like i'm dancing with imaginary maracas.)
as a side note, i'd like to inform you that i've decided that the names of the hair gods will be as follows:
- growseidon (god of length) - (please refer to this earlier post)
- huermes (god of color)
- texturtemis (god of perms, waves, curls and straighteners)
...but beware...
by hook or by crook, i will find a way to do something!
*compliments are generally dashed aside like decorative toys on a birthday cake in the face of a horde of sugar-crazed office workers around 4pm...also, i'm convinced that all people who dispense said compliments are blind and/or stylistically challenged.
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