Phew, it's been awhile since I wrote. Sorry about that. Uninteresting personal stuff.
While I was gone though, I got a make-under. Do you remember Jane Magazine? I looooved Jane Magazine. But I wasn't quirky enough for it when I read it. One of the editors hosted a party and served Pimm's Cups. I had to google what Pimm's Cups were. And I still don't know what they are. Anyhoo...they did make-unders for girls who wore too much red lipstick and liquid eyeliner. And girls who teased their hair about 12 inches too high. I loved that part of the magazine.
Well, I got a make-under of my very own recently. And it wasn't on purpose. And I hate it.
It started with my hair. The lovely lady that usually does my hair is actually a friend of mine. And she had a lovely baby. Well, a handsome, lovely, baby, and she couldn't do my hair. So, she suggested her friend at the salon do it in her absence. I actually somewhat knew said friend, and she is also a very lovely lady. And she did a nice job, except I couldn't help but hear the tiny voice in my head saying, "Your hair is tinted orange. Your hair is tinted orange." I ignored the voice. It's pretty much always there. I can't always listen to it, how else would I teach kids how to draw line segments and identify a right angle?
So, I drove home, still ignoring the voice (how else could I order my dinner from Chipotle?), and showed my Mom. I told my Mom my hair was orange. She said it was Strawberry Blonde. Well, that worked for me. I loved Strawberry Blondes! They were adorable, pretty, dainty, and quirky! Perfect! I would now be all of those things.
Except I wasn't. My hair actually got orange-err. Well more carmellyyy. Which I also thought sounded cool. But not dainty or quirky. Sexy. Trendy. Perfect. I'll take sexy and trendy. Except...carmel just isn't my color.
I decided I'd fix my problem by making an appointment with Lovely Hairdresser #1 (Friday, where are youuuuu?) Problem Solved. Right? Well, sorta.
In the midst of all the hair drama I popped in my favorite nail place to get my eyebrows waxed. It's cheap ($7), and they do a really nice job 8 out of 10 of the times. And even those other 2 are pretty okay. Well, let's say this last time wasn't really nice, or pretty okay, or even okay. My eyebrows are practically gone! I should've known when the tweezing portion (my least favorite part) was taking waaaaay too long. Or when she handed me the mirror for only half a second to look. Of course I said, "Very nice job. Thank you!" I always say very nice job!
So now I'm walking around with an awkward hair color, and even more awkward eyebrows. Dave still loves me. People still look me in the eye. And my students don't run away when I greet them in the morning.
And I probably seem so shallow for even writing this, but I don't care. I wanted to vent about taking a step backward in my quest to become cutely quirky.
Thanks for Listening,
Not So Quirky