good hair, bad dancing, another day in a girl's life
2003-10-04 - 1:06 p.m.

I HAVE THE MOST FREAKIN' COOL HAIR.

Ahem. But let's pretend for a moment that this entry isn't going to be shallow and self-obsessed and incredibly girly, no, not at all! It will be philosophical and deep and existential and universal!

Well, that was a good moment.

I spent three hours in a hairdresser's chair and the hair formerly mine now looks like Josie hair from Josie and the Pussycats plus it has a wicked blue streak in it (which accidentally has different but cool shades of blue in it).

It's so damn different, I keep seeing glimpses of my reflection or my shadow and wondering whether I'm different (answer: am still a big dork so probably not).

But it's crazy and I love it. It goes a fair way to redeeming the whole entire suckfest that has been this year; now I can look back and think "Sure 2003 was easily the worst year of my non-life, but damn I had good hair." There were some pictures taken, so perhaps if they turn out I'll find a way to post it up so you can gasp collectively (if you at all care about my hair, which I bet you really don't, unless I can tie it in to something deep and existential or at least about some famous cute superstar... but I'm not gonna! I'm a diaryland tease)

Thirsty Merc gig was superb, I totally bopped out, although that was bad because none of the people I was with at all busted a move; to my left were all these strangers rocking out and to my right was a line of 4 people I know who seemed interested in the gig but could have easily been elsewhere.

So yes I was looking right and left and right again and thinking "Wow, I can see the exact spot where the groove died," and then I had to wonder whether in my, erm, enthusiasm I had unintentionally killed the groove.

As I'm quite sure my dancing looks vaguely like someone overly enjoying a bout of epilepsy you can see the conclusion I had to draw.

Also later Shelley got the lead singer to sign my EP cover and as he handed it back to me he said that he saw my dancing.

Cue for me to moan and slink off. I'm in a death cringe of embarrassment, at this rate I think my insides will stop contracting by about Thursday.

Anyway, I'll stop going on about it. I have kick-arse hair, the music was truly kicking, and even though I feel sick of playing the side kick... I still lived it, loved it, bought the t-shirt.

I hope when I'm old I can still rock (read:bop) out some or at least reminisce about how the sign of a good night was coming home late reeking of cigarettes (and not me turning into the hermit old woman who throws hairless cats at passers-by... the sadly still viable alternative).

Finally, and here's a good tip for the particularly teenaged, if you do something outrageous that your parents are bound to want to kill you for (in manner of blue streak, something my interfering old people who are children of the 40s [40s!] would just not get), here's the best way to introduce them to it:

Do it in the day, and stay out til way past their bedtime. When you get home go straight to their room, wake them up, flick the lights on and say "Look what I did!"

A good 60% of the time I'm sure they'll say "Like we care, turn off the lights! go away!"

...unless the thing you're showing them is a bad-ass gang member you picked up.

It's 2am, and I'm being a spaz, I'll make deep thought-provoking comments and sharp, insightful witty barbs later, I swear.


<< >>