Blonde

     Recently, the number of people who have asked me if I dye my hair, or get a perm, has increased dramatically. To start, the answer is no, I do not dye my hair, even though when it's straight it does look like I received a bad ombre job:

A little exaggerated, but you get the idea.

     This past weekend, I began to worry about how many people thought I was lying about my hair when I realized: A) "haters gone hate" and B) I have experienced too many "dumb blonde" moments for this accusation to be true. 

     At Voodoo Cafe this past weekend, we were downstairs listening to some live music. I was really starting to feel the beat (just kidding) when I felt someone touching my hair. I turned around, and it was a guy around my age with very long hair (hellur'). I said hello (fearing that I had already met this person) and he began to tell me that my "hair is crrraaaaaazzzzzyyyyy". I said thank you, but that wasn't the end of this ecstasy (who knows?) driven fiend. He persistently asked me if it was real (nope, it's weave!) and there was just "no way" that it was natural. I stopped talking to him before my internal instincts kicked in: protect the value of the locks. 

    The next night, it happened maybe four or more times in different places. How would you feel if I came up to you and pulled your hair proclaiming that it was a wig? WOULDN'T FEEL TOO GOOD, WOULD IT? 

"Dumb Blonde Moments" by Sydney Fletcher:

     Who honestly knows the length of the Red River? Apparently, everyone. One day this past summer, some friends and I took the boat out onto the ol' Red. We drove quite a ways down Highway 1 and loaded near the dam (I think?). We passed under this red...railroad? Bridge? Structure. I asked (please withhold judgment) "oh is that the Barksdale Bridge?". Immediately, the boys of the group began to harass me. After clearly being embarrassed (when I say clearly, I mean my face turns the shade of blood and against my (real) blonde hair I look like a blonde tomato) they asked me if I knew how long the river was. I'm sorry that I don't frequent the Red River enough to know that it isn't only from the casinos to about a mile past the Dickson's farm. Okay, that's not an excuse. But, whatever. 

     The other day, I had purchased some new clothes and was delighted to show Madeline my new threads (gnar). I showed her a couple and then I held up this adorable yellow blouse that I had been excited about buying for quite some time. Her reaction wasn't what I was expecting. After seeing Madeline's puzzled look, I asked her what the deal was. She looked at me and this was our conversation:

M: "Don't you already have that shirt?" 

S: "No.......do I?!"

M: "Didn't I wear your shirt like this on my birthday?"

S: "Oh my gosh...I hadn't worn it yet so it never sank into my brain that it was mine..."

M: "........................................."

S: "I bought two of the same shirts."

This is the one. Don't worry, I wear a camisole. 

     Last week, one of my dearest friends, Remy, came in town. We were all over at Hannah's and I wanted to show her my new house (the Manor). I was so excited to see her reaction because the last house I lived in with Mal was atrocious. We all drove over there and got out of the cars when I realized I had left my keys at Hannah's house. Derp. Granted, we've all done the whole "Where is my phone?!" to realize it's in your hand, but the amount of times this happens to me is unbeknownst. 

     Shopping with my mom one day, I had one of those buggies with the giant pole connected to it (just in case you're feeling the five-finger-discount on a grocery cart...sigh.) and was admiring one the advertisements hanging from the ceiling. Besides being blonde, I am ADD (I've been this way since I was six, so for all of you people with fake ADD...get on up outta here.) and I started to go back and forth with my (I could make an extremely sexual reference by saying pole, but I won't...oops) cart pushing the ad like a swing (how fun) when all of the sudden the damn sign fell off of the hooks and I was pummeled by a 20-ft. advertisement. 

     Hannah W. and I went to Discount Builders Material to see if they had any treasures. They did. I found a hammock chair that hangs from a hook in the ceiling for only twenty dollars. Sold. Before I purchased my find, I wanted to make sure it would work. They had one hanging on the cinder-block wall by a nail so I casually went up to it (this is so stupid) with Hannah making sure no one was around/watching and "tested" it out. Failed that test. I started off by barely putting any weight on it and gradually trusting the chair. When I realized it was holding all of my weight, I stood back up and looked at Hannah and said "3-2-1 GO!". Right when I said "go" I lifted my feet up and then the rest is a blur of me getting knocked out by the pole it hangs on while sprawled out on the floor. Hannah was keeled over, trying not to wet herself, and I turned around to see that I had physically busted the cinder-block and sent that nail flying across the store. We left immediately (but after I bought the one I hadn't used as a weapon). 

It looks so inviting.

     I'd like to think that I'm an intelligent person, and I would hope that people (at least Mom and Dad) would stand by that. Everyone has their "blonde" moments, just some more than others. The point of this post was to let all of you speculators out there know that my hair is naturally blonde. One time, Hannah D. and I tried to dye my hair brown our sophomore year of high school and it turned burgundy. After that, I didn't touch hair coloring anymore. Sorry again about that, Mom (she was not happy with me). 

I think that the lesson learned today is to not judge a book by it's cover...or terrible hair roots.

 Have a good week everyone! I'll be going to Baton Rouge this weekend for Chi O formal and St. Patty's Day activities, so make sure to keep up with the blog because every time I'm in Baton Rouge, we always end up with a weird story. Love you. Bye.