There's Something Seriously Wrong With Me

Like most things that go awry in my quotidian, the following post has an awful lot to do with my mother. I don't have mommy issues...I suffer from something profoundly more twisted and frightening.

Allow me to expound.

Let me quickly get this out of the way: I love my mother. She is a strong and snarky human being who fears absolutely nothing. Believe me when I say that when I want someone to get it, I unleash them on her. Fo' realz. This is a woman who once made a cashier (a grown man might I add) cry because he over charged us for oranges and Dunkaroos.

"I know why you did this and it's because ripping people off is a game to you. Don't give me that look, I'm not afraid to fight you."

The exchange lasted for a full 10 minutes before the manager had to intervene and tell the poor cashier to go home for the day and my mother and I strolled outta there with a 50 dollar voucher. What's a goon to a goblin, right?

I've lived the majority of my existence terrified of my mother. I never snuck out at night to see friends, I never went anywhere without telling her where I was going or who I was with, and when I lie to her you could easily mistake me for a stroke patient. I get sweaty, I don't speak coherently and my eyes twitch. I still believe it is the natural order of things that one should fear his or her mother.

Has this kept me in check? One could argue yes. I was always a good student, I've never had problems with men or gotten pregnant and I don't get trashed every weekend. On the other hand, I basically dropped out of school this year (I'm going back in September...maybe...uh, yeah that's another topic) and all I've been doing is spending money on clothes and music.

Am I rebelling? I don't think so. I think I'm just relaxing a little and trying to enjoy life a little more but how on Earth will I break it to her that all I want to do is write and travel for a year. Consciously, I know I'm an adult and she really can't do very much about what I decide to do with my life. However, every time I start the conversation, my voice breaks and she gets very suspicious. I go into the bathroom and take a few deep breaths before I go back and start a totally different conversation. She must think I'm snorting Xanax or something.

Hopefully I'll just come out with it and she'll be totally accepting. And by "accepting" I mean she might not whoop me.

There's No Excuse

...ok MAYBE there's one: my computer died.

It has since been resuscitated but for the past month I've had no connection to the internet other than my blackberry and I am positively dreading the phone bill I'm about to be slapped in the face with. So, alas, that is why I have been missing in action for what seems like forever.

Basically, there was a virus in my computer that had intimate relations with about 12 other viruses and took away any chance of my computer ever functioning properly again. I'm back now and I will be posting more often.

Major events in the past month: I walked out of a public washroom with my skirt tucked into my underwear and a man (quite possibly Kellan Lutz' doppelganger f.y.i.) had to be the one to explain to me why children were crying around me.

That's all really. Please tell me how you've all been.

Hair. Yes, That Is All.

Before I really get my hands into this, here's a quick heads up to anyone reading: the following post will be nothing but superficial meanderings that (I think) most people will find filled with ennui. For those people I'd like to give you THIS . At least you can't say that this post was for naught!

Now onto the problem du jour (du year if I'm honest) : my hair. For as long as I can remember my hair has been long and, well, big. If you met anyone I knew and asked them to describe me they would make a gesture around their heads signalling an unusual, perhaps unnatural, mass of tresses that lay about half a foot away from my face and most likely had a bird hiding in it. Well, I never had anything in there other than insane amounts of mousse but my hair could rival the Jackson 5 in their heyday.

I then made the horrendous decision of dyeing my hair. It wouldn't have been the such a horrible thing had it not been for the simple reason that I also relax my hair and the two chemicals seem to have a slight issue with one another. That issue resulting in the most dramatic change I've ever seen happen to me. Back in February of '09 I coloured my hair and all was good until about July or August when I had to get my roots relaxed. To spare you gory details, I'll just fast forward and let you know that I lost more than 50% of my hair.

Now with the other 50% that was still on my head, I tried to retain for as long as I could. I put in clip in extensions, I wore a bun everyday and I even wore head wraps to cover it up when I was out and about. I was holding on so tightly to that hair because I was afraid of one thing: having short hair.

Why I had an aversion to short hair is something I never thought about until I was faced with the ultimatum of either cutting my hair short or looking like a Flock of Seagulls reject. Why did I hate short hair so much? Why was it consuming my thoughts? I knew the reason secretly but I didn't want to come out with it. But I will for you guys: short hair is unsexy to me. And it is unsexy because I believe that men find it unsexy. Yes, I was one of those women who styled themselves to look more appealing to men.

How pathetic. I was pathetic. I think part of me still is if I'm completely honest.

It's not that I don't think short hair looks good on other women, I certainly do. I think it can look super sexy on some women but on myself it was as though I'd be an alien. It might have had something to do with the fact that I had so many hangups about the way I looked except concerning my hair. My hair was always on point and always the envy of many women. I realize now that I used it as a security blanket, as something to fall back on because even if I had a pimple on my nose my hair was still bangin'.

In January, I cut the uneven parts of my hair off and was left with a cute little pixie cut. Not too short but short enough that my hair didn't cover my ears. Since then I've been grappling with the fact that I have the slowest growing hair on the face of the Earth and that everyone seems to think short hair looks good on me. I take their word for it but I can't wait until my long hair makes its return. In the meantime, I'll be steering clear of the hair products aisle at Walmart.