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My Profile
She blinded him with whiteness - 2008-07-25
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8:27 a.m. - 2008-03-27
Boy, if you're ever looking for a random writing prompt look no further than the Top Searches box on Yahoo's home page. In part this morning's list had: Pregnant man, Carla Bruni, Tuatara lizards, and REO Speedwagon. That last one really hurt my brain, mawkish power ballad earworms just aren't my thing. Especially before I've had some coffee. "And I'm gonna keep on lovin' yooooooou. 'Cause it's the ohhhh-nly thing I wanna dooooooo…" Feh. Who needs this at 5:30am? For some reason Carla Bruni was mistakenly cross-referenced with Clara Petacci in my scatty mental filing system and I couldn't understand why Mussolini's mistress was such a hot topic. Though I adore the fact that despite being shot, hung upside-down from a meat hook in an Esso station and then her corpse was pelted with rocks and stabbed with pitchforks, somebody took the time to tie her skirt around her knees 'to preserve her modesty'. Gotta love people. "We hate you! We kill you! We despise you and your lover forever! Burn in Hell, you traitorous bitch! Oh wait, let's cover your underpants. There! Much nicer for you." I swear I had something to say this morning, but this Speedwagon earworm is killing me. Because you know it doesn't stop there. Oh no, no, no. With the Speedwagon came Air Supply ("I'm all outta love, I'm so lost without you…"), Pure Prairie League ("A-meeeee, whut chew wanna do? Ah think Ah could stay with yew fur a whiiiiile, mebbe longer if Ah could…."), Foreigner ("Juke. Box. Hero. See the stars in his eyes! Juke. Box. Hero…") and for some bizarre reason, Meatloaf. ("Lemme sleep on it, baby, baby, lemme sleep on it." "I gotta know right now!"). And while Paradise by the Dashboard Light is by far my favorite of this maddening iTune invasion it's still pretty damn annoying. Especially because once Meatloaf makes the scene then I'm stuck with Tim Curry prancing around in my head wearing a merry widow and do-me shoes. Because where Meatloaf goes so does Frankie. "Brad!" "Dr Scott!" "Janet!" "Rocky!" "Uh!" "Brad!" "Dr Scott!" "Janet!" "Rocky!" "Uh!" GAHHH! Shoo! All of you! Out of my head! And take Clara Petacci's underpants with you. As we speak my hair has assumed its somewhat more natural hues, but big hunks of it were pink and will soon be again. Unable to go to Zee, even at the discount rate she gives me, my poor mop had been growing out and becoming more and more Soccer Mom for weeks and weeks and weeks. Finally I couldn't bear to look at it and took after it myself with the scissors. When I was done it was certainly shorter and piece-ier, but my crop had taken out the very last of the highlights. I'm sorry, but this chick does NOT do turd brown. Which is what grows out of my scalp. Turd brown hair with a distressing tendency toward tidy nerd styles, if not forced into cooler and far more fetching shapes and lengths. So there I was staring at my turd brown coif and suddenly I thought, "You know, big whacking hunks of bright pink would help this awful mess. At any rate big whacking hunks of bright pink couldn't hurt." Yeah, bay-bee! Pink hair! That's the ticket! Raising a fist of power at my reflection I chanted, "Death to the Soccer Head!" and off I went to buy some 40 peroxide and pink dye. Early the next morning I got up and began the smelly hair alchemy. Started with random peroxide foils across the crown and painted in skinnier bits here and there. Tell you what, that turd brown puts up a helluva struggle. Hours with the blow dryer aimed at the Shoprite plastic grocery bag tied over my peroxide-ed head before enough of the color was stripped out to put in the pink. Then finally when it was time for the Color Fiend I decided against smearing my whole head with it. The pink would look better if contrasted against some of the bleached out pieces and wouldn't show up at all if applied over the brown parts anyhow. So more time with my now aching arms up over my head while I carefully painted in enough pink dye to make the whole process worthwhile, while leaving enough of the other highlights (which range from pure white to a golden brown) alone. It came out damn good. Mick loved it. Wolf loved it. Even my MIL loved it. I loved it too. At least until tragedy struck and the damn semi-permanent dye started fading immediately. I got about one week of glory and then the pink was going, going, gone. I can see now that if I want to have lovely stripey hair in fun circus colors that I'll have to re-apply the dye every week. Which actually isn't a bad thing. Mick gets paid today and I might treat myself to a couple other colors like lime and sky blue. Mix it up and keep things interesting. Hey, if I have to put up with outrageous nonsense inside my head I might as well do the outside to match.
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