Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Random Lessons From Clip-On Hair

Ah yes, the first post of the New Year, highly anticipated by those of you following this well crafted, highly intellectual blog. Those who were there for the first post, four posts ago, about junk mail and procrastination, I could not let you down. Nor could I begin my blogging relationship with those new to this blog with an inferior offering. No, you need the best. This post is for you.

With the New Year comes a new beginning; born of discoveries about one’s self, and I am no different. Some lessons are moments that pass with a smile, others have lasting implications, and not to share would be a crime, for in my journey you may find new things about your own.

I sing the bologna song way too much, especially when tired and around a particular roommate (I have no idea why, she just makes sleepy-me want to sing about processed meat with a first and second name). She pointed this out to me one night when she said “You always tell me about your bologna when you’re tired.” But it wasn’t until going to work after a short night and feeling the death rays of an accusing glare from a coworker when he stopped whistling about his bologna abruptly. Then my boss yelling desperately for me to stop when I sung “My bologna has a seventh name, it’s B-O-L-O-G-N-A” when she hadn’t been there for the other six verses, then I realized I have a problem and it’s name is B-O-L-O-G-N-A.

Yet, even with this incident, I have come to the conclusion (because it affects mostly me) that it is ok to have the same cd playing in my car for a couple of weeks strait (has it been more than a month since you last got in my car and this same Bollywood cd was playing? Really? Ummm I have listened to other things in the interim, I swear!). Mostly ok.

Ah but what new year would be complete with out a candy discovery, be it a new candy, the rediscovery of a childhood favorite, or why there is usually candy in the pantry. Recently (this afternoon when buying dark chocolate raisinets) I have come to believe the reason chocolate bars can sit on my pantry shelf for months (which baffles some frequenters of the pantry), and a bag of peppermint patties doesn’t last 2 weeks, and dark raisinets mere hours, is because individual sized candies are easier to devour without noticing, but a chocolate bar takes commitment.

Then there is the odd. Not noticing the odd thing here or there, but noticing something odd – about my hair. Your raising one eyebrow right now, aren’t you? Ya, me too. Actually raising my right eyebrow independent of my left is something learned just this past year, before I had to lower my left brow to make my right higher…anyway my awesome hair. It is curly and there is a ton (from my dad), it’s some where between light and medium brown and has random gray strays though out (from my mom, the color and pattern of graying, not the actual gray hairs), and it is pretty long (from not getting it cut since May…Melissa, my dear friend…). But even with this clear picture of my hair, I discovered something new and strange on Saturday.

I went to a church activity which included a dance, so I painted my face with Covergirl and Almay and did my hair. Since my hair was wet from being freshly washed and hair dryers = frizz, up it went with combs and bobby pins allowing some curls to fall loose down my neck. I don’t know about you, but I can’t see the back of my head. From the front my up do looked pretty good, or I thought so anyway. When I asked a friend how my hair looked she hesitated and then said “good”. Clearly I needed find out what the back of my head looked like. And so when I got home I took out my camera phone and found out it’s hard to take pictures of the back of my head, as evident by the picture of the bathroom shelf you see here.
I also (more importantly) discovered the color difference between the darker hair closest to the scalp and the blondish hair at the tips, coupled with lots of curl, actually looked like clip on hair. GUHH?!?!?!?!
Ok, now there must be evidence that the hair in the curly mass was actually my own and not some ten dollar mall kiosk offering. So 80 bobby pins and two combs later, my still damp hair cascades in curls down my back and I get a picture.

Ya, it could be mine.