Wednesday, February 29, 2012

I'm Calling This Post "Haha I GOT AN AWARD And You Didn't" Because I'm Mature Like That

Oh yeah! That's right. Who's a badass little blogger?

Me! That's who.I just received an award for blogs with under 200 followers or as I like to think of it, some-of-the-best-little-blogs-you-aren't-following...yet;) It is for, as Gossip Girl describes it, the grooviest blogs.

And on that note, special thanks to Gossip Girl for choosing my blog. You rock! I am humbled that you picked it and glad that you enjoy it and more importantly, don't get offended by my spoon sharp wit and humor. Be sure to click the link below or the Liebster Blog Badge on the side of my blog so that you can check her's out too which she describes as: "1C of "Oh Hell No", 1/2C of Controversy, 1T Humor, 1t of a little entertainment and a pinch of My Opinion..."
So now it is my turn because there are rules and as much as I hate rules, I really like the little award thingy considering the only other major awards I have received are a Blue Ribbon in 6th grade for the Longest Softball Toss (that's a life skill that comes in handy) and an induction into the National Honor Society in high school (The boys were beating down my door after that, let me tell you! Yeah, I'm a nerd).

To accept the award you must do a few things:
1) Thank the person that nominated you on your blog and link back to them;
2) Nominate up to 5 other blogs for the award;
3) Let them know via comment on their blog;
4) Post the award on your blog.

So now, I get to choose 5 blogs with under 200 followers that I think rock and that you should be reading, in addition to mine of course. Here they are and in no particular order:

1.)The SSS Porch Party - "a unique group of noisy neighbors that share the passion to get together to party, drink, and act crazy. As you can imagine, many funny party stories have evolved over the years, and will continue well into the future. The characters and stories are narrated with text, pictures, and videos as observed through the eyes of Barfly."

(I can't guarantee you won't get offended BUT I can guarantee you'll laugh;)

2.)Buttons Are Not Currency - I am crazy about Nellie's sensual and poetic writing style. Be careful because her words will seduce your mind, and may just capture your soul.

3.)Muppets For Justice - If I was given an opportunity to spend 5 minutes inside Addman's brain I don't know if I would be more excited or frightened to my very core. With titles like: Brain Shits and Fate Of The World (Or How I Learned To Stop Vegetarianism And Love The Bomb), you never know what will come out of his mouth next, but it will be funny.  

4.)Pull My Funnybone - "Pull My Funnybone contains sick & twisted stories to offend and disgust you and hopefully make you laugh so hard you pee your pants."

I could try to think of something to convey how funny and offensive her blog is, but I think you should check it out for youself;)

5.) Hills Block View - This Mr. Mom describes himself as "Twice the idiot, none of the savant."
I just discovered this blog the other day and am already in love with it. Very funny! If you need a laugh, he'll supply one or ten.

Picking just five wasn't easy, but I tried to pick the ones that I know blog often and that I think have the most universal appeal. Writing at it's best. Seriously, it's worth clicking off FaceBook, Pintrest or even the porn sites you claim your not looking at and don't know how they got into your browser. Enjoy! (The blogs...not the porn, eh, the porn too. Why not:)

Monday, February 27, 2012


OK, I am writing this now because I have something floating around in my head that I can't get out. Well, it's not so much floating as it is bouncing off brain tissue like someone is kicking a soccer ball around my head and irking the shit out of me.

Have you ever had an idea in your head that you think might be true, but that you hope to God you were just being paranoid about? You know, like one day you'll be lying on the beach or at a baseball game and out of nowhere, a meteor will plunge into the earth and end life as we know it? Could it be true? Sure. It could happen. But it is also ridiculous to be on edge and constantly paranoid that it really would happen.

However, I am thinking more along the lines of a back handed "compliment" for example: "You are really pretty, I mean especially compared to the dog you used to be;" or while talking to your best friend about running into your ex having her say in passing: " Don't even bother thinking about him. I mean he was such a jerk. I never told you this, but about 5 years ago while you guys were dating he and I made out twice. The guy is a total dirtbag."

These things put you in an akward situation. Do you say "Thank you" for saying I'm pretty, or get hurt and angry that the person likened you to a dog? And what about the best friend comment? Obviously you know your ex was a jerk, but are you just supposed to slough of the fact that your befri made out with him even though it was 5 years ago? If you walk up and punch her in the face or put Nair in her shampoo bottle, does that make you the asshole?

For a long time, I had my suspicions of something, but had never had any confirmation and to be honest, I would probably have prefered to believe it was me being paranoid or overly critical because it was something that 1) Proved me right and validated everything I thought (and that isn't necessarily a good thing); and 2) makes the other person a total douchebag.

I know what you are thinking: Why do you care what a total douchebag thinks or says? Well, I would like to say that I don't. I have always prided myself on never giving weight to the opinion or advice of someone whose life I don't respect. I think that is what is bothering me most: the fact that I consider myself to be a confident, happy, forward thinking person that lets the negative comments (and people) slide right off of me, yet I can't shake this thing out of my head and the stupid anxiety it is causing me.

It is the equivalent of having someone tell you, "OMG you look so amazing. You've lost so much weight. Yeah your thighs are still a little big, but you should be proud of what you've accomplished." We automatically focus on the negative. What most people (or women at least) will walk away with is my thighs are fat. You don't want to think that way, but somehow the next time you are working out or trying to buy jeans, it will creep into you head out of nowhere like a little cockroach gnawing at your brain.

If anyone has any suggestions or ideas on how they squash thoughts like this, or if you have one that you need help squashing, please feel free to share.

I wrote this post for therapy, which is not something I normally do. I am hoping by writing it down, it will remove the cockroach and soccer player from my brain and allow sunshine and rainbows and ponies back inside. If this doesn't work, I am off to buy a can of Raid to spray into my ears in an attempt to fumigate the hell out of it.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Shay Lynn...PORN STAR

For those of you that aren't aware, and by now you should have heard me screaming it from the roof tops followed by a WHOOP -WHOOP and happy dance, I am having my book published. Yes, it is very exciting and it will be coming to a book store near you in about August, so buy it and make me rich.

Now, as any writer knows it is incredibly difficult to get published unless you are a highly respected person in a particular field (I am not), have a shit load of money (I don't) or are a celebrity with a sex tape (still waiting for Colin Farrell or Johnny Depp to call me back).  No, I fall in none of the aforementioned categories.

Or so I thought...

But tonight, after receiving an email from my publisher I have discovered something I never knew about myself: I'm a porn star. That's right, a bend your legs behind your head, threesome havin', into guys with cheesey mustaches and maybe some girls too, pound me hard porn star.

Shay Lynn (Porn Star)- Not me

OK, not really, but if you google me, that's what you will find: Shay LynnXXX. I even have a video on youtube and a Twitter following. And apparently, for those that are curious, I am not only "bad" but I am also "Nationwide." I am not even certain what that means. Is that how my porno starts? Am I a good little insurance agent by day and a bad, S&M dominatrix by night? Instead of the normal porn music, Bow chicka bow wow do I get down and dirty to the Nationwide insurance theme?

I know what you are thinking...I know a lot about porn. Well, I should...I'm in the industry.

I don't know which accomplishment to be more proud of: My book publishing or my successful career in the pornographic industry.
Me - Writer NOT Porn Star
(& about as Porno as I get!)

So, after receiving this email about my pen name-sorry to all of you that thought Shay Lynn was my real name. I still love you, just not enough to let you know my true identity. Kind of like a super-hero, only less glamorous. Anyway, so after receiving this email message from my publisher, I did what any good writer would do. I sent her a message back that said:

Do you think it will help us sell more books?

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Ummmmm...thanks? Worst gifts I have ever received...

OK, I should totally be working on the edits for my book, but I have about as much concentration as a puppy with ADD that just sucked down a butt load of pixie sticks right now (I like to create an image for my're welcome:), so I decided to blog instead. Especially because something popped into my head that I had all but forgotten...or maybe I tried to surpress.

Have you ever gotten a gift that makes you say (or at least think) WTH? I'm sure someone has given you a gift that wasn't really you. But have you ever received one that made you think, Oh my God! What kind of drugs were they smoking when they picked this out for me?

I have received three such gifts in my life. The first, and perhaps least offensive one was probably from my ex-husband's mother. One year she presented me with a Christmas present that she thought I would just love. It was a doll on a rocking horse and was about 10 inches tall. Given the fact that I wasn't 4 years old, the sentiment was lost on me. I would've normally assumed that it was some sort of sarcasm or jab directed at me, but she also got one for her 38 year old daughter and another 30 year old friend of ours. Maybe she thought we could start our own posse. Who knows?

The next one was given to me at one of my four 30th birthday parties. Thank God I didn't have a problem with turning 30 because if I did, four parties would have made me hurl myself in front of one of those big Disney parades and let myself be trampled by any one of the cuddley, furry, gama-ray exposed, freakishly large characters we have come to love. Anyway, at one of my "surprise" parties, my sister-in-law brought one of her friends along. The girl was sweet enought to bring a present for me to the party. Someone handed me the bag with tissue paper peaking out of it. I smiled and said, "You didn't have to do this," thinking it was going to be one of those safe staples that you give to a girl you don't know; a candle; lotion; a picture frame. But no, this chick went in a completely different direction. As I pulled it out of the bag, I was literally rendered speechless-something that if you know me at all, you know that is something I have never been in my life. She gave me... she gave me a rock.

Got to love the internet. Even though
I don't have it anymore, I typed in
"Rock with painted raccoon" and Voila!
That's right. A rock.

Apparently she was at some craft fair that day and came across this rock that had a little raccoon painted on it and she thought to herself What a perfect gift to commemorate a 30th birthday! I'll bet she doesn't have one of these. And you know what? She was right.

Yet this still wasn't the most bizarre present that I had ever gotten.

No, the strangest gift I ever received was from my first boyfriend's mother and aunt. I was very close to his family. They considered me a daughter. So for my birthday, they took me to a fancy restaurant and after we ordered, they presented me with a bag with tissue paper in it. In retrospect, that should have been my first clue! I pulled out 2 shirts that were identical except for the color. They could've been considered a little whore-ish, as they were both slightly see through, but I thought, hey, I can throw a tank top under it and make it work. Then I pulled out the final gift. A sweater. Only it wasn't just a sweater... it was a cow sweater. And I'm not talking one of those funny little kid shirts with cows in a pasture. No, I am talking full on black and white look like they shaved Bessy, sowed this thing together and gave it to me.

I gazed at it with a stupid smile on my face, not certain if it was some kind of joke or a strange cultural thing I wasn't getting (my boyfriend's family was Filipino and one time they gave me what looked like a green lifesaver on a chain that I later found out was a Filipino good luck charm). Apparently, it wasn't either, which was made obvious by the many pictures they were taking, ooohing and ahhing over the black and white wonder.

A very young, teenage me with  the infamous "gift."
Needless to say, I was not expecting a cow sweater and therefore didn't have a gauged reaction ready. So I did the only thing I could. I gushed over the cow sweater. They were so happy that I liked it that they wanted me to put it on right away. I declined saying that it would clash with the other black and white clothes I was wearing and they seemed to buy that.

A part of me still thought they were kidding and was waiting for them to let me in on it. But nope, it was a planned, thought out gift. For some reason, while shopping for my birthday, they saw this little bovine beauty and thought OMG! That is SO her!

Now tell me, why on Earth would anyone, especially another woman, think someone would want to dress up like a cow? You know, unless they considered that person competition and planned to have them hit on the head, ground up and turned into hamburger later?

To this day, I still have no idea why they bought me that sweater. Cows don't even want to dress up like cows. I broke up with my boyfriend a long, long time ago so it's not like I could even ask them. To be honest, I can't be certain that I didn't end the relationship in a pre-empted effort to squash any future cow clothing or periphenalia I may receive and to avoid having to wear the sweater, which mysteriously vanished, never to be seen or heard from again. (A moment of silence please)

I know what you're thinking. You still think the rock is a worse gift, right? I will give you two reasons why you are wrong. First, with the exception of Charlie Brown, I am probably the only other person that can utter the words, "I gotta rock."

Second , the good thing about receiving a rock as a present is that you can throw it at any one that tries to give you a cow sweater!

What is the worst (or strangest) gift you ever received that made you say, WTH?

Friday, February 17, 2012

OK, I know I usually post funny stuff, but...(ok, I will still throw in something funny)

This is too good not to share. SO many people get caught up in how they have been wronged or who has wronged them (note, they rarely think about those they have wronged). Either way whether you focus on being wronged or wronging someone, I think this is great:

OK, I can't leave you without something funny. After all, I am me and as we all know, I pretty freaking hilarious;)

LOVE this! It is SO something I would I would have.

Isn't this great?

Peace, love and sarcasm!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Can Men and Women Really Be Friends?

My whole life I have had mostly male friends. Even when I was born, one of the first things I received was a welcome to the world card from my 1 year old new be-fri, Scott. I guess that is how the whole thing started.

When I was 4 years old, two boys moved into the house where my former best friend, Sherry had lived.  The day they moved in, I put on my prettiest dress, rode my red tricycle to their house, introduced myself and we proceeded to spend the day making mud pies.

Throughout the years, I continued to have more male than female friends and that still rings true to this day... or so I thought.

Recently, I saw something on one of those morning shows that you listen to only half paying attention while you are doing your hair and getting dressed before you head out the door. The subject was about whether or not men and women could really be friends.

Now, first let me say, When Harry Met Sally is one of my all time favorite movies. That statement is actually relevant, just bare with me. There is a scene in the movie where Meg Ryan (Sally) and Billy Crystal (Harry) have an argument about whether male/female friendships are possible. Sally insists that she has several male friends. Harry says she doesn't and tells her that men and women can never really be friends because the sex part always gets in the way. He tells her that even if she isn't attracted to the guy, it doesn't matter because, well the guy is still a guy and just wants to be friends with her so he can have sex with her someday. Sally is, of course, appalled.

I always watched this part thinking that the statement wasn't true. As I said before, I have lots of guy friends and am pretty certain that we are not having sex. And in the interest of truth in journalism (although I don't know that blogging counts as journalism) there has been a time or 2 when the envelope has been pushed (you know who you are and may I say, "How you doin'?")

Hey a girl has needs. Deal with it.

But, for arguments sake, and because 98% of my male/female friendships have been nonsexual, let's discuss this. Where was I? Oh, right! The stupid morning show.

So the person on this show says that while women can honestly become friends with and maintain a nonsexual relationship with a guy, men are only interested in becoming friends with women that they think they've got a shot at having sex with.

This is upsetting for several reasons. First, if it is true, it makes all that stuff I said to jealous ex-boyfriends total crap. Apparently my guy friends did all want to have sex with me. Second, it meant that a great deal of my male friends had pictured me naked, and frankly, if a large portion of men are going to be viewing my naked body, I would like it to be on the pages of Playboy...not that I would ever actually have the guts to pose for the smut mag, but still, it's the point. If I am going to be viewed naked, I want to be viewed in my natural state like the models. Meaning I want to be air brushed and have them photo shop the hell out of me. And of course, I would like to be paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for the pictures of my "body." That way I could afford to have my body nipped, tucked and sucked so that it might actually resemble the photo.

But I digress. So I want honest opinions and responses, especially from the male community. I love my guys. I have been friends with most of them for a minmum of 20 years. They are like brothers to me which besides making the whole thought of sex with them icky, it makes the whole picturing me naked thing all the more creepy. I believe they view me as a sister...and not in the Alabama "my sister is my wife" kind of way. Sorry all you Alabama folks out there, not trying to pick on you, but I gotta tell you, that crap doesn't fly in Detroit.

So come on men, and be honest. Do you have female friends and if so, are you friends with her because she is an all around great girl or because you hope one day, she'll look at you, realize she loves you and you'll live happily ever after...or at least that one night she'll get drunk enough and bang the hell out of you?


Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Why Dave Barry is My Hero

When I was younger I never knew that writing could be, well, funny. Sure I had read such childhood staples as Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and Super Fudge.  And in 5th grade I anxiously awaited the last half hour of each day when my teacher would read a little of James and the Giant Peach or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Hearing about Grandpa Joe, Grandma Josephine, Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina lying in one bed too old to move, while now I perceive as somewhat creepy, was comical to my 5th grade mind. As was the idea of a garden where everything was edible; lollipop flowers; trees that produced gummy bears; cream-filled mushroom caps and a chocolate river. Who am I kidding, I still think that is as cool as hell and would love to have one. True I would probably gain about 100lbs, but who would know? I mean, if I had all of that why would I ever need to leave my house again?

As I got older, and by older, I’m talking middle school and high school, we got into books such as Of Mice and Men, Sons and Lovers, A Tale of Two Cities, and, what in my opinion is one of the worst books ever written, The Sound and the Fury. (Curse you Faulkner!) I’m sorry, but any book where you have to go through and use 3 or 4 different color highlighters before you even begin reading it because the author drifts from one subject or time period every other sentence or paragraph is not a great literary work. It is a cocaine or acid trip, or at least that is what I hear, but not literary brilliance. Anyway, not exactly knee slapping, belly laughing, tears coming out of your eyes humor.

Then, one day, while skimming through a newspaper, a headline caught my attention: The Easter Bunny Caper. The first line read: 

"Like most people, you probably often ask yourself: ``What, exactly, are my legal rights if I am wearing a bunny outfit?''

Bunny costume (in case you couldn't figure that out)
Not your typical Detroit News article. I was intrigued. I thought, wow, what are my rights while wearing a bunny suit? This is information that may one day prove valuable.

As I continued reading the story of a man and his friend that were pulled over for allegedly wearing, you guessed it, a bunny suit in a town that apparently frowns upon that, I began laughing so hard, orange juice came out of my nose (did I not mention I was drinking orange juice), tears were streaming down my face and my gut hurt so bad I almost threw up. All of which to me, are tell tale signs that something is really funny. 

"Screw the candy! Get me outta here."
I began reading the weekly column of, what to me, was this prolific comedic genius writer named Dave Barry. I eventually moved on to his books which describe such things as the time when he was at a snooty sommelier competition and everyone was critiquing the wine that was being served. Some said it was too oaky; others thought it was too dry. Dave offered up his own description to the pretentious crowd: “Bat urine.”

I love this guy!

So thank you, Dave Barry, for showing me that writing can be funny and entertaining. I like to hope that someday, someone will compare my writing to your’s and in a "She has the writing style and wit of Dave Barry" and not, "This girl's writing sucks! She is certainly no Dave Barry." To this day, you taught me that it is perfectly acceptable to prefer humorous, sarcasm infused literature greats as Dave Barry’s Greatest Hits, Shit My Dad Says and Go the Fuck to Sleep over such classics as Catcher in the Rye, The Good Earth and as I mentioned above, The Sound and the Fury. After all, sometimes I think people read those books so they can say they are well read and appear intellectual when really, like me, they would much rather be reading the funny papers. Will that insatiable Garfield ever get his lasagna? What mischief will Marmaduke get into today?

Most famous bunny suit of all?
Ralphie- A Christmas Story
Now, if you will excuse me, being fully aware of my rights, I am going to go test exactly what I can get away with wearing a bunny suit. Don't worry. I have my lawyer on speed dial-just in case.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Shameless promotion for myself and A-Z Challenge

Good Morning!

Just a quick note. My blog is being linked in a promotional blog on the A-Z Blogging Challenge website. (Wow, that's a lot of "blog" in one sentence.) Be sure to check out the A-Z Challenge page and sign up. You can also click on any of the blogs in there for some advice on the how to tackle and survive the challenge.

Good luck and don't forget to check out my blog about the challenge, as well as my other blogs because, well I said so.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday!

Thursday, February 2, 2012

My Time as a Smurf

Dyed black for Halloween
I have commitment issues...with my hair. If it is blond, I want it brown. If it is brown, I want it red. If it is red, I want it black. If it short, I want it long and if it is long, I want it bobbed. For some reason I have an easier time committing to a house or a boyfriend than I do to a hairstyle.

Red hair -the night I was mistaken
for a transvestite.
My hair, fed up with my fickle behavior, retaliates by being baby fine and refusing to grow long. I have even tried to woo it with lavishly thick lavender/vanilla conditioners, boar-head bristle brushes and refraining from dying it blond for 2 years. (Which, by the way, have been the longest 2 years of my life!) I believe my hair is still getting back at me for the perm I got in 5th grade, followed by years of late ‘80s-early ‘90’s teased to capacity hair cemented with Rave No. 5 hairspray. WTH were we thinking?

90's hair- Sexy isn't it?
Still, one day, my hair went too far.

I was a suicide blond and had been for a while. I decided I wanted to start over and try to build a long-lasting, healthy relationship with my hair. Never partial to my natural color, a mousy brown, I decided to dye it a chestnut brownish-black and have it chopped into an inverted bob. The cut came out great.

Golden blond
Money was pretty tight, so I decided to color it myself. I had always been pretty good at doing that, so I had no qualms about tackling the task this time. I bought my color, which upon examining the box, said it was done on the blondest of blond hair. I thought, Great! This is exactly how it should come out.


After putting in the color and rinsing it out, I took the towel off my head and noticed a blue tint. I thought Ok, it is probably just my eyes playing tricks on me. I combed through it, flipped my head over and blew it dry. When I flipped my head back up my mouth dropped as I realized it wasn't black with a blue tint or even blue with a black tint. No, it was Smurf blue!

I sat and stared at it for a moment, then just started laughing. Having to be at my brother-in-law’s work to pick up something before I went to see my sister across town, I did the only thing I could do: Threw on some clothes and headed out the door.

Just smurfing perfect!
As I arrived at the office, I was greeted by one of the employees, a red faced, tobacco chewing, redneck complete with holes in his 1970’s AC/DC shirt and pants that looked as though if he took them off, they would run away screaming looking for the nearest washer to jump into. He always spoke like he had a mouth full of marbles- a combination of hillbilly slang and poor grammar.

“Yar lrk lrk a smf” he mumbled with a smile.

“What?” I asked having no clue what was coming out of his mouth besides tobacco spit.

“Yar lrk lrka Smurf,” he repeated, giggling.

“I look like a Smurf? Oh, yeah. I know right?!?” I said ducking into the building.

As I walked in, mouth’s dropped and camera phones came out. Gotta love technology!

“I like it,” one guy said snickering.

“I do too,” one of his co-workers chimed, not sensing the sarcastic tone. “I just sent it to my girlfriend and told her she needs to dye her’s like that.”

I grabbed what I needed & headed to meet my sister at the mall. She was arm deep in a sales rack when she glanced up, looked back to the shirt in her hand, then flung her head back up with her mouth agape.

“OH MY GOD,” She exclaimed, “your hair!”

“What? You don’t like it?” I said faking as much disappointment as I could muster. My sister had lived in this rigid Bible Belt community for over 20 years. I knew she would be utterly mortified if any of her conservative, southern, Republican friends saw her socializing with some blue haired freak. I went up and hugged her. She hugged me then quickly pushed me away staring at my coif.

“We can’t go to lunch like with you like that,” she declared.

“Sure we can,” I said enjoying her discomfort. "I can still eat."

We went into a restaurant and were seated. Any time someone came near us -a waitress; other patrons- my sister would make a point of chuckling and saying in a very loud voice, “I can’t believe that you accidentally dyed you hair blue!” as if to tell people that this was a mistake and in no way should anyone think that she would be seen, let alone associate, with someone with blue hair.After the 3rd or 4th time she did this, I chose to act like she was hearing impaired as well and shouted, “I know. I wanted that nice Muppet green color, but I got this. I’ll dye it green when I get my Mohawk next week.”

I could tell she was trying to decide if she should crawl under the table or just make a run for it. I decided to finally let her in and tell her it wasn’t done on purpose. No longer able to take the embarrassment, she marched me over to the salon.  

“We’re getting this fixed now. I’ll pay for it.”

Now normally, I would have sported it for a few weeks, if for no other reason, than to watch the horror and embarrassment that came over her face every time we went out in public together. I can admit, sometimes, I am the girl that likes to take joy in other people’s embarrassment, especially because I don't get embarrassed easily. However, I remembered that I no longer lived in Orlando. There no one would have even looked twice at my blue hair. In fact, in a lot of places, I would be considered a prude for not having more colors in it. No, now I lived in the uptight, conservative Baptist infused South. If you have been a fan of my blog, then you know my neighbors already thought I was a drug dealer. This would surely send them into a full blown panic convinced not only was I selling drugs, but also running some kind of weird alternative S&M club out of my house.

Fearing a lynching, as I already had 2 strikes against me: 1.) The drug dealer thing; 2.) Originally being from Michigan I was, (and I have to type this in a whisper)  a Yankee,  I decided  to take my sister up on her offer.

As we approached the salon, the receptionist gasping at the sight of my hair began looking through her appointment book before we even made it up to the counter. She looked at me completely exasperated, “I’ve gone through it all. The earliest we can get you in is next Thursday.” More than a week way.

Smurf me!

I started my journey back home wondering if I should wait for the neighbors to do it or just suck it up and chase my own ass out of town and save them the trouble. Suddenly, my phone rang.

Brown hair-couldn't find pic
with short brown hair
“We just had a cancellation. We can get you in at 10am tomorrow,” the hair salon receptionist exclaimed, unable to hide her glee.

The next day, I was there bright and early having my hair dyed back to a normal, plain old brown. Since then, the relationship between my hair and me has gotten better. We still have our ups and downs, but it has forgiven me for the perm and overly teasing it in the past and I have forgiven it for what has come to be known as the Smurf Incident. We still have a long way to go, and by long way, I mean it still refuses to grow past my shoulders, but at least now we have an understanding: I don’t dye it platinum blond; it doesn’t cause me to almost get lynched by turning blue.