Sugared Harpy

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Atomic Pictures

I went to a salon for the pinkening. Because I am a pansy who has never touched a bottle of hair bleaching anything before. That is probably wayyyy less cool than doing this at home with a bottle of Boone’s Strawberry Hill like all the young whipper-snappers are doing.

But, still. Awesome.

Despite how much I can’t stand the pinkification of all things marketed to women, I do own a pink camera and just dyed portions of my hair pink.

The pink camera is something I despise but it was the right price at the time. It works like ass. Like I expected it to. Because it’s pink and the manufacturer probably thought its pinkness would be all it needed to do to serve womankind.

The pink hair? Sanity is nice. Sanity is sexy.

I could have gone with blue or green but a reddish something works best with my skin and dark hair, so pinkish or a vibrant red were going to suit my need for fun, wild, hotttt, and yeah, distracting and sanity-saving.

I picked something called Atomic Red or Pink or Something ridiculous like that.

June has been hard. Ask NB about who has been crabby and needy. Of course, if he’s a smart NB he’ll say NO ONE. He’s still around so kudos for him.

June has seen a difficult birthday, Father’s Day, and a wedding anniversary with the man I’ll be divorced from in a month. The kids went away to Florida for a week with their dad. I now have less distractions than a usual semester brings.

I am also getting tired of all these god damned life lessons.

Lesson 4215:
Learning how to receive affection that is not of the obsessive, co-dependent variety.

Tis hard, I say. Hard.

So when a girl has been thinking about doing something fun and kicky for a while, and she’s off for the summer, and hell, she works in an ART department anyway, she might as well pay her gazillion dollars to the nice stylist and get herself colorful and happied up.

I’m calling it self care.

Other people exercise and eat healthily, I sit in a chair for a few hours while someone washes my hair and rubs my head.

Oh hey, by the way. That shirt I’m wearing (without a bra) in these pictures? It’s from the Arch Rival Roller Girls of St. Louis. Go see them. Seriously. Anyone whose acronym is ARRG is a friend of mine. I like all things pirate-related, so it seems. And buy one of their shirts because they make your NB’s eyes pop. Not because the sexy pin-up logo, but because your breasts will look amazing.

And great hair and awesome tits are apparently all I need to take care of myself. Dear fucking god.

This one is totally gratuitious because I see I have a waist. This pleases me.

Posted by Melissa on June 30th, 2007 under Bliss, Boyfriendlies, Married Once, Twice, Whatever, Silly Hair Blogging

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