WARNING SIGN

Hair dye should be sold like drugs, and I don’t mean out of the back of some black van in a dark alley. I mean it should be sold by prescription ONLY. There should be some system where people are given exact instructions for the color desired. Then there should also be some aptitude test to see if you can even comprehend exact instructions. After completion of both, only then can a person get a prescription for hair dye.

In such a case, I’d have my natural hair color for life. There’s no doubt that I’d fail any aptitude test. I a miraculously fuck my hair up time and time again. This hair topic is certainly repeatedly discussed, but I repeatedly fuck it up.

Here’s the story. I’m to see my folks this Friday. I thought it’d be this wise idea to dye my roots lighter, so they’d match the rest of my hair. Naturally, it lightens my entire head of hair. I think nothing of it (because I’m retarded) and proceed to apply the same Red Pulse color I’ve been using for the past month.

Surprise-surprise… the Red Pulse took to the lightened hair like Butterfingers take to my ass. So here I sit at my desk a 27 year old who looks like she’s trying to be some punk kid with over-sized furry purple pants, jelly bracelets half way up her arm, and a lollipop painting her tongue green. And I’ve written that the topic of my hair has replaced the weather and how annoyed I was about that, but now I deserve. I deserve any and all comments about my hair. I am retarded. A true retard. A retard with fluorescent red hair… and when I say fluorescent, I’m not fucking around.

I should come with a WARNING SIGN. It would read something like this:

WARNING DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE:

SELL HER HAIRDYE
BECOME HER FRIEND
HAVE SEX WITH HER UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR COCK SIZE A BLOG ENTRY
COME WITHIN 20 FEET OF HER ASS
BECOME HER BOYFRIEND
SMELL HER VAGINA (SPARE YOURSELF AND OPEN A BAG OF FRITOS)


Update:

The Brother, last Thursday/Friday tells me he’s having “doubts” about whether he can have a successful relationship. Fuck that, like I solve any problem, I got drunk and high. After slurring some words over the phone, he brought over a fire and ice rose and apologized. Note to self: again, drunk and high work.

Thank God:

Thank God for nothing… look at my hair!