I just got my hair highlighted. I’ve been planning it for almost three months now, and accordingly my hair hasn’t yet been cut since August when I went down to So Hour. Well, it hasn’t been cut until two hours ago, anyway. However, I’ve been asking for opinions from people since the idea occurred to me. Most of them decided that I should get something more conventional, conservative, or normal. (By normal and conservative, most of them meant red, yellow, or green.) My mother said I should get something that stands out against black (so everybody knows I’ve been spending money on such frivolous things as hair!) like red, yellow, or green. My reasoning went something like this: red, yellow, and green are accepted as the colors ‘cool’ people use. I am most definitely not ‘cool’. As such, it’s only fitting that I choose the color most opposite those, right on the other end of the spectrum.
So when I went to the shop this morning, I told the hairdresser to thin my hair down, leave it long, and highlight it blue. (It took her five minutes to find the tube of coloring, since it had never been needed before then.)
The hairdresser ran a comb through my hair, straightened it, sighed and said my hair was too short for a highlight job to look good. Then she said it would be a challenge. And then when I said I had money, she said it would be no problem at all. Things are always a matter of perspective, aren’t they? Especially since when I got back home, my mom went off on a rant about my too-long hair.
Anyway, the whole process took two hours (cutting, bleaching, and dying). And you know what? I’ve got a whole new reason to respect the Pig: anybody who can stand their head being boiled for half-an-hour on a regular basis deserves a tip of the hat. For their physical prowess, of course: I have nothing to say about the mental state of a person who actually enjoys having their ears steamed off their heads all the time. (It’s done to get the bleach properly into the hair, apparently.) Of course, it’s ironic that this is the first time I’ve got my hair done before the Pig; I’ve always been the one resisting the flow of fashion.
But the main point to me is that I’m home. Be it ever so jumbled, bumbled, or whatever, there’s no place like home, and even if the journey was horrible (I couldn’t sleep on the plane because of a literal crybaby across the aisle), I’m still enjoying myself now.
I arrived on Sunday, 1 a.m. and went to sleep at 3 a.m. because my sister kept me up listening to all her new albums and getting all the latest inside information on our mutual friends from KL. Needless to say, I wasn’t in the best of mental states yesterday in church. It didn’t really help that pretty much everybody insisted on being bright and cheery.
And I have decided that I do have traces of generosity in me after all: how else am I to explain the six-pack of Dunked Doughnuts I bought for my sister? (The buy-5-free-1 pack isn’t a legal defense here.) And I really don’t know how I’m going to explain away my buying the issue of 17 for my sister. I certainly couldn’t face the shopkeeper when I bought it. (Bear in mind that 17 is a girl’s magazine and I am male.) The doughnuts certainly were worth it, though. They tasted great, albeit a little squished: they spent seven hours in a little bag, after all.
I’ve found, to my horror, that piano skills are not life skills. I can’t play much more than the most basic of sonatinas or scales now. I used to be able to do major, harmonic minor, melodic minor, fifths, thirds, and chromatic scales: now I can barely make it through the first three without major and minor mistakes popping up every few notes. At least I’ve got plenty of time to practice now!
You’ll find me posting very infrequently this month, until somebody helps me get my template down, at which time I’ll compose an ode of praise. I just hate HTML.
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