i can not stop looking at myself in the mirror. or in the windows of my office. or in the little mirror i brought to work so i could look at my hair in case there wasn't a mirror. the pressure to look hawt has increased exponentially and is crushing my soul.
because let me explain something to you about my hair.
it hates me.
it is uncooperative and surly. it was fine until we hit puberty, then it got all sullen and shit. you know, stayed out past curfew, pierced its tongue, slept with the football team. then i sent it to wilderness camp, where the-man-du-crunchie-granola glacier mountain wolf tried to change its ways, but that hair, it's stubborn. at least it didn't get arrested for crashing a boat into a family of seven. while it can occasionally be tricked into looking reasonably attractive, mostly i have to strap it down and give it a couple (hundred, thousand, whatever) CCs of thorazine. and sometimes haldol. only sometimes, though, 'cause sometimes i keep that one for myself. (gluuuuuurg. haldol is bananas. hehehe.)
before, i would tie it all up on the top of my head into what i like to call "my pineapple." see, you thought when i drew pictures of me that looked like this
that i was joking. i assure you, i was not. the pineapple is no laughing matter.
now that my hair is too short to be the pineappley (pine-APP-ull-ee) wonder it once was, i have to you know, style it. which means a hair dryer and some hot stick thing and more weird pink girl stuff, to put in my hair and then sit around looking like this
because my nice new cut is supposed to present itself like this:
but because i am lazy and usually drunk, i do not like to wait for this result. i want instant gratification. i don't want to blow dry. it sounds hard.
"pick up [my] hairdryer and direct the flow of air along the hair under tension. this flow of air must be from scalp towards the brush but not on the brush. [i am] really drying the hair that is pulled straight between the scalp and brush, using the brush as a griping (sic) tool rather than a brush."i can barely read that! and i have edjimication!it's just too complicated, seeing as my brush would apparently need bowels and i'm pretty sure it doesn't have any. (this is why we spell check, kids. to insure that our inanimate objects don't inadvertantly develop excretion systems.)
so anyways, i tend to go bed with wet hair. then i wake up like this. and it ain't pretty.