if you wanna be happy for the rest of your life

I was just reading about how whiskeyface cut off all her hair. Cecilia, it has been so hard for me not to do this every time I throw a fit lately. And I've been throwing lots of fits. Not saying that you threw a fit. I think it's easier for you to chop off your locks where as I usually first decide to leave the country.

I also want platinum blond hair as that is my other alternative hair rebellion. (Pink hair is not about rebellion, it's about reaching a state of peace of how much I used to love Nirvana) I think the blondness makes me feel sluttier in a sexy way ---but what the fuck I just learned how to pull off red lipstick a little over a year ago and I really don't need to shake my ass for much of anything these days-- so maybe this mentality should go away along with my misuse of punctuation. Here's to hoping.

I've been taking my feelings out on my hair for a long time. Last year someone broke up with me and my first instinct was to cut my hair, my second instinct was to get plastic surgery. My hair is still long. Did society do this to me or did I do it to myself? Do I get to blame my ego or my id? I'll blame the follicles and myself.

Randy, I still don't understand why I can't get a perm. A good perm. I don't really want a perm what I want is for someone to wash and blow out my hair every day. Like when I worked at the salon. I want fingers running across myself. When it becomes the winter (and to me winter is anything under 57 degrees) I become a beauty invalid. I would gladly let you dress me, bathe me, slip my clothing over my head. It's much more than laziness it's some larger exterior manifestation of giving up.

It'll be so romantic, baby. You can start calling me "Bartelby" and all I'll say in return is "I prefer not to."

Every sentence all the time. Then I'll do it anyway. I'm too tired to fight with anybody. I have a cup of iced coffee (the new kind that is tea bag coffee by Folgers-- every time I say 'tea bag' I still feel like someone is putting balls on my face-- but you should try it out) tea bag coffee, who would have thought.

Today I am going to continue writing my paper about how Homer was a 22 year old Sicilian girl. I mean about how Homer was me. How one line in one book changed my life & flipped my world upside down. But don't fret pet, that's all I am ever looking for. One line in one book that makes me question everything. That makes me get it right. That puts the focus on whats hidden deep behind the mop of teased hair.


Mostly I am Cher in "Mermaids". Mostly I am any female lead who can tease her hair with one hand, sing loudly in the kitchen & reserve special time to cry in the bath tub. Oh universe, if I was only this, if I was only that. Why can't I get a perm that is a perfect blow out every day?

I am sick of my writing with my fingers, typing with my hands. When will my wrists start to hurt? I don't want to sit down and read "Death in Venice" today. There is a hair salon opening right around the corner and I want to apply for a job. I never want to actually do hair. I like selling shampoo. I adore selling nail polish. I like washing heads and taking the towels out of the dryer.

In a past life it is a lot more likely that I was just the Avon Lady and not a 22 year old female Sicilian Homer spinning tales like Shahrazad. I am a Mary-Kay lady with a Pink Cadillac and I tell them in the back seat that I am a virgin every single time. And I know you think you can tell the difference, but if you don't know if you're a "warm" a "cool" or a "neutral" you don't know if this orgasm is fake, these tits are real or if the dye has seeped way too far into my brain.

No-- I'm just kidding. You can tell the peroxide must have penetrated my frontal lobe.

"The Penetration of my Frontal Lobe: An Essay on Hair Color, Epic Poems & The Whores that let them."

Told in 3 parts by Daniela Scrima.

If only my eyes were a little more eye like, I could be "That Girl," too.


& Mom,

How did you get your hair perfect curled like this? More negotiating with the devil? Why not pass that along in my genetic make-up?



Ladies.