The Day the Blonde Died

"Let's just blend the roots this time," I offered to my colorist on Ash Wednesday.

"No," she said. "Let me grab a swatch. I'll be right back," and waddled off. She returned with a palette full of goth blacks with clown red hues, "What do you do for a living?"

I was repulsed by the swatch palette. "I work for a software company; I can't do that. Besides black is not me. It's not me at all." I looked ahead into the mirror to admire the blonde. I've been blonde since I was 18 and the only Georgia Tech student I ever dated dumped me because he only dates blondes, not redheads. I grabbed the bleach bottle just to spite him. He tried coming back after the switch, but the damage was done.

My colorist dropped the scary black swatches and pushed one full of reds towards me. "What about going red?"

"I was a redhead for seven years. I'm over it." I dropped my chin and studied my crown--the natural hair color was much longer than I anticipated. A level three brown, I've learned from years of coloring. It's hard to get hair that dark to blonde, but it's possible.

It's a battle I fight every time I sit in the Aveda chair. They don't want me to be so hard on my hair. I like what comes with being blonde. Having been every color on the hair spectrum, I know that blondes are treated differently. Blonde hair lightens the face and its features, making us appear happier and perkier. Brown is just so... Yankee. Yankees have brown hair and they aren't nearly as easy going as we are.

To shut up my colorist, I grabbed the blonde swatch she was hiding underneath all the others. I pointed to one of the darker ones. "What about that, with highlights?"

"No. I want something for you that will bring out your eyes."

"Er, my eyes are almost black."

"I know, that's why I wanted you to go black!" She grabs the scary black swatches and waves them in front of me again.

"Seriously, I'm not doing that. My skin is too fair."

She waddles back to the station and grabs more palettes. This time she returns with a dark chocolate. I didn't know why she was arguing with me. It's my head and my money. My head was already pounding from Fat Tuesday. The phantom baby made its first appearance and began kicking me, giving me sharp abdominal pains. Honestly, I just wanted to go home and sleep. And the only way to do that was to stop arguing with the Satanic colorist.

"Fine, whatever."

And the blonde in me died.

She pulled the gown off me and already I looked more serious. Less jovial. Less funny. Less.

And the reactions at work? Not good. Everyone wants to know who the new employee is.

It's the less version of me.

Lesson of the Day

When he calls to lament to you that he's had a really tough day and that he's going to blow off some steam by going to watch Bridge to Terabithia, you should probably tell him you read that book in the fourth grade and perhaps he should wait to see it.

I'm just saying.

I blame the cubicle neighbor

I thought my body was just tired and hungover, but after a solid week of hugging my trash can at work with imminent need and spending hours in the bathroom dry heaving and sometimes not-so-dry heaving, I think it's finally time to admit that I am sick.

Or carrying a phantom baby. Your call.

Omph.

I'm alive, but I'm not exactly kicking.

Recent partying has taken it's toll on me. Last weekend Bonnie threw another one of her gatherings. To review Bonnie's past parties:

• Beer, Sex, Beer: where you were guaranteed two out of the three.
• Stoplight: you wore green in places you liked to be touched and red in places you didn't.
• Jammin' with Salmon: The Nintendo Power Pad was pulled out and Will grilled salmon. Notably the exact moment he started juggling machetes was the exact moment the police showed up.
• St. Patrick's: My catch phrase "Beer me" was printed on t-shirts to read "Beer me, I'm Irish." Hilarious.
• Not a party, but there was the time Bonnie and I posed for a newspaper ad for a bar in our bikinis for the grand charge of one free shot each. Yes, I still have the ad. No, my parents don't know.
  

The lingerie party on Saturday was actually our second. Pictures are up on the MySpace account.

For Fat Tuesday, I drove back to school because my platonic lover for life and ex-roommate came home and we partied like it was 2003:




More photos on the MySpace page. Turns out 21 bucks in Athens will buy you 2 Sapphire and Tonics, 6 well shots, and 6 beers.

I miss Athens.

I at least had enough foresight to schedule a sick day on Ash Wednesday. However, I did not have enough foresight to cancel my hair appointment on Wednesday.

And that, folks, is a story for another day.

The Leavers and the Leftbehinds

"The Leavers put on lipstick and they cry like no tomorrow...
The Leftbehinds will try and land, pale-faced and fighting to the tooth."
--Steven Jackson, "Leavers & Leftbehinds"

I've never been much of a Leaver -- too many other people have that role filled. It seems easy for them to walk away, to give up. I don't know how they do it; I'll fight kicking and screaming for the people I love. I'll fight longer than I should, and only when I know I gave it my all, can I accept my status as a Leftbehind.

Being a Leftbehind, being told that you're no longer wanted -- that their lives will somehow be enhanced by the absence of your own -- is a very humbling experience. It's an experience that I've lived through more than I care to admit. It's also a status that I've become comfortable with. I know the drill: clutching a dog that doesn't understand only because I know she can't tell anyone and the tears. Oh, the tears. Inevitably, this is followed by equal parts of gin: a jigger of gin for every jigger of tears.

In the end, the gin will outlast the tears until the gin itself begins to trickle. In the end, I'm always okay whether I want to be or not. And maybe this is why I'm complacent with being a Leftbehind -- I'll always turn right-side up.

But after a particularly bad episode followed by undesirable results, for the first time I am debating transitioning to the Leavers. I am faced with questions I do not know the answers to. When do you give up on someone? When is it just too much to forgive?

And the guilt? The guilt is horrible.

But the more I think about it, the more being a Leaver makes sense. Hell, I'm in anguish over a person who hasn't even truly asked for forgiveness. Let that be a testament to my character and to hers. I haven't become a Leaver yet, but the idea gives me peace.

Maybe my father felt this peace when he chose another family. Maybe another felt this peace when he chose the bottle. Maybe another when he chose his music. And another for his art. Another, his fat-assed ex. Another... I don't even know why.

"And the Leavers fare better than the Leftbehinds this time.
The freedom and the broken ties,
the upper hand, and the last goodbyes -- this time."

Talk about arrested development

I was listening to my favorite Internet radio station today when this song came on:


I haven't heard this song since 1994, and, as usual, my freakish memory of song lyrics kicked in and I discovered I still knew every word as I tried not to sing along at work.

I could be so much smarter if I didn't have songs like Mr. Wendal tucked in the folds of my brain. I would be so smart. Like cure-for-cancer smart.

Mr. Wendal is killing the cure for cancer.

Fun with MS Paint

A VD I won't remember

There is a reason why this is probably my favorite place in Atlanta:


I got this in my inbox this morning from Park Tavern:


I had to go over it a couple of times to make sure I read it correctly. I wasn't planning on going out tonight, but now I might just have to.

Naked at School

Inside every grownup is a 14-year-old girl. She's the one to blame for all the gossip, nasty thoughts, and catty insults that come out at times.

My 14-year-old girl is very angsty at the moment. Like carving black hearts into desks while listening to Avril Lavigne angsty.

I'm going through some things and my 14-year-old girl has come to the forefront while I deal with them. I'll be back when I'm feeling a bit better.

A word from our sponsors

This blog post is sponsored by betrayal. And selfishness. And the acts of one friend that had me crying in the bathroom at work for most of the morning.

It is also sponsored by another friend, who read the original blog post and called me up to take me out, and, yes, I can wear the slutty top because she knows it will make me feel better.

Support

The company I work for has it's own technical support staff for the customers who have difficulty following directions. They are located on the other side of the office next to my office husband.

The number of times I've had to call our own technical support because I invariably screw up something on the program I write: 4.

So far.

I'm pretty sure that by the end of next week we can make it 5. Or possibly 6.

Jamie

"What's your name?"

"Jamie."

"Spell it."

"J-A-M-I-E."

"That's my name!"

"Spelled the same way?"

"Yep!"

He glanced sideways really uncomfortably, "That's a little weird."

It was at this moment I chose not to tell him that when I was 16, I had a boyfriend named Jamie.

Fridays are for MySpace

1. Is your second toe longer than your first?
No. I'm what's called a "normal person." I don't have freaky toes. And those of you who say that the second toe being longer is a sign of royal blood, remember that they often intermarried to keep the bloodlines "pure." Sexual deviants.

2. Do you have a favorite type of pen?
One that doesn't leak on me when I stick it through my mouth. One that doesn't bleed through paper. One that doesn't smear when wet. One that doesn't smear at all. Oh, and one that doesn't stain my shirt when I inevitably accidentally mark on myself.

3. Look at your planner for March 14, what are you doing?
Watching American Idol. Shut up. You will be too.

4. What color are your toenails usually?
Whore red. I mean red.

5. What was the last thing you highlighted?
The horsepower statistics of water coolers. Who knew?

6. What color are your bedroom curtains?
No curtains! That's because I don't have a window in my bedroom. Take that Atlanta Building Code!

7. What color are the seats in your car?
Gunmetal grey. Yeah makes it sound fancier than aluminum grey. Or shitstorm grey.

8. Have you ever had a black and white cat?
We had a black cat with a white patch on her chest when I was really little. That thing was the devil.

9. What is the last thing you put a stamp on?
A CD I made for my friend in Australia. I actually had to put a lot of stamps on it. $2.75 worth of stamps.

10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wyoming?
No.

11. Why did you withdraw cash from the ATM the last time?
For the strip club. I mean, for the valet to the strip club. I mean, for the valet. At church. And by church, I mean bar.

12. Who is the last baby that you held?
My nephew. My dog got jealous and grabbed him by the foot and tugged him off of my lap. So good to know how she would react if I ever decide to squeeze one out.

13. Do you know of any twins with rhyming names?
Yes? No? I don't know.

14. Do you like Cinnamon toothpaste?
Never had it.

15. What kind of car were you driving 2 years ago?
Either my Explorer or my stepmom's truck that I used until the insurance payment came through for wrecking my last truck.

16. Pick one: Miami Hurricanes or Florida Gators
No. The Hurricanes is a team of thugs and I could never root for the Gators. Ever.

17. Last time you went to Six Flags?
Uh, two years ago?

18. Do you have any wallpaper in your house?
Do I look 80?

19. Closest thing to you that is yellow:
My pimp dollar sign paper weight. Actually I think it's supposed to be gold.

20. Last person to give you a business card?
Some guy in some bar.

21. Who is the last person you wrote a check to?
The people that own my soul: Gables Community.

22. Closest framed picture to you?
A Bermuda beach scene from my friend in, you guessed it, Bermuda.

23. Last time you had someone cook for you?
Cook? For me? ROFLMAO!

24. Have you ever applied for welfare?
Um, no.

25. How many emails do you have?
Just over a 100 in my public. Just under 80 in my super secret one. I delete daily.

26. Last time you received flowers?
What a funny survey! I've never been sent flowers! Ever!

27. Do you think the sanctity of marriage is meant for only a man & woman?
No. I'm not here to limit the civil rights of anybody. And you know what? The majority has no right to decide the civil rights of the minority. A guy named Jim Crow tried to do that once.

28. What are you listening to right now?
The Decemberists.

29. Do you play air guitar?
When I'm really really drunk.

30. Do you take anything in your coffee?
I don't "do" coffee.

31. Do you have any Willow Tree figurines?
WTF?

32. What is your high school's rival mascot?
Trojans? No, that was us. Dude, everybody hated us. Sprayberry was the Yellow Jackets. Pope was the Greyhounds.

33. Last person you spoke to from high school?
Miss Melissa Cosgrove

34. Last time you used hand sanitizer?
That stuff dries the shit out of my hands. Literally.

5. Would you like to learn to play the drums?
No.

36. What color are the blinds in your living room?
er, Gables Community off-white.

37. What is in your inbox at work?
Some big announcement about the closing of Piedmont and Peachtree for the next month. DOT said that teleworking is recommended for the duration. My boss snorted when I showed her that.

38. Last thing you read in the newspaper?
The big traffic jam we had yesterday morning. Something like 25 car accidents within 3 hours and 50,000 people being at conventions 2 miles from my loft.

39. What was the last pageant you attended?
Miss UGA my freshman year of college.

40. What is the last place you bought pizza from?
Fellini's Pizza with Phil. God, that seemed like months ago. Was it?

41. Have you ever worn a crown?
Er, do the Burger King cardboard ones count?

42. What is the last thing you stapled?
A specification I filed away.

43. Did you ever drink clear Pepsi?
It was called Crystal Pepsi, so that must be a yes.

44. Are you ticklish?
Oh yes.

45. Last time you saw fireworks?
A couple of weeks ago? I have a pretty good view of the city and there seems to be fireworks a lot.

46. Last time you had a Krispy Kreme doughnut?
Years and years and years ago. Doughnuts don't agree with you when you don't want to be fat.

47. Who is the last person that left you a message & you actually returned their call?
Hahah. I have no idea because I'm terrible about that.

48. Last time you parked under a carport?
I didn't even know what a carport was until a few years ago. So, never.

49. Do you have a black dog?
My father does.

50. Do you have any pickles in your fridge?
No, just relish.

51. Do you find Dan French irresistible?
Does Dan french well? If that's the case, then yes.

52. Who has the prettiest eyes that you know of?
I have no idea; I don't notice eyes. Ask me about asses.

53. Last time you saw a semi truck?
Wha? This morning, I'm sure.

54. Do you remember Ugly Kid Joe?
No. Yes. No.

55. Do you have a little black dress?
I have two!

A single girl has to think about these things

Is it vain if I tell you I have pictures of myself picked out in case I ever go missing and my parents need ones to hand over to the police and local television stations?

If it were left up to them, they'd probably use the "Look at Fatty hovering over the cake" ones.

If it were left up to my friends, they'd probably use the "Jamie's drunk again and consequently can't keep her tongue in her mouth" ones. Or even worse, "Jamie's drunk again and has her finger up her nose/someone else's nose" ones. Or worse yet, the one from Christmas where I managed to do both.

So here it is, my official missing person's photo: