Or perhaps, more appropriately, the "I wish my damn hair would grow faster" chronicles. I know, I wouldn't have to bleach it every two weeks if it weren't growing. My insane wish for immediate gratification has left me an empty feeling filled only with the thin gruel of forced patience. Not only was I stupid enough to chop four inches of my precious and damaged tresses three months ago, but then I compouned this sin with getting it professionally fixed, and giving the stylist her head when fixing it. It ended up shorter than when I was trying to look like a boy five years ago. Now when I curl it I get tons of "My god, you look just like Marilyn" comments. And I still can't get my damn hair to DO anything.
So not only do I love being blonde (I get so much attention!), but there's the dividing line between attention and keeping the hair healthy. Do I keep the hair champagne blonde (even though both loves of my life really would raher I be brunette again?) or cut it all off again and let the gray fly? I am SO not ready to look anything close to my real age.
Though today is a co-worker's birthday, and she proudly and loudly admits her age. Susan Sarandon shall be my role model for aging gracefully. That chick is sexy as hell...
So I'll just keep on pulling a my hair, wishing it would grow...
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