Shelly is on the left looking cute as usual and I am on the right looking like a maniac. A maniac! What is happening with my bangs? Who put that outfit together? Why does my face look like it's going to explode?
Look at my beautiful cousins! Did they use blow dryers and hair product? Apparently they did. Despite what you might be thinking, I do own a blow dryer and I have access to clean running water, electricity and hair products.
The worst part of this is that I thought I looked cute that day and my cousins apparently thought the same. Which begs the question....what do I look like when I am NOT trying? Dear lord....
Yesterday I put on my new, snazzy Evan Piccone suit and straightened my unruly locks into long silky tresses just like the movie stars and headed out to interview. Except that, well, my tresses were not entirely silky. They were sort of stick straight with frizzy ends. It looked a lot like what my best friend Stacie calls "doll hair" while she points and laughs. It turned out something like this.
I thought I looked great. I thought I looked pulled together. Then I started to notice while on interview number two that my hair was not being entirely truthful with me. Sure, it said nice things from the rear view mirror when I checked my make up but now that I was facing a lovely, very put together Southern Belle I started to have doubts. Mainly because I was facing a mirror during our conversation. A mirror. Facing me. During an interview. My hair!!! I had walked in feeling so confident and found myself apologizing for my hair not once but twice! Egads! Apologizing is my nervous tic. It's such a bad habit. I think it's only slightly better than having Tourette Syndrome. Anyway, that is another issue. This is about my crowning glory. My hair and how it took me down yesterday in an interview.
On the drive home I started thinking about my hair history. It is long and tangled, just like my locks. A few years ago while visiting my former roommate I saw she had a picture of me standing proudly next to the first car I ever bought outright. I was 22 years old but I looked a lot like this.
Just try to picture the addition of puffy sleeves, pleated high waist jeans and me standing next to a sexy Hyundai Elantra hatchback. For the record, I chose this picture to represent me then because it was before I discovered waxing. Oh my.
Here is the thing, the main point of my diatribe today. I always have crazy hair! I have never figured out how to handle my hair. I am a grown woman who walks around with something akin to a shrubbery on her head every single day.
When I lived in Colorado, this didn't seem so bad because lots of girls are "earthy" and very natural looking. I have been living in the South for years now and the ladies here handle their hair. No amount of humidity or complications from texture and/or volume seem to phase them. It is time I get with it!
I realize it's a good problem to have (at least I have hair!) and it's reinforced by another good problem that I have which is this. The good people in my life really do love me! I can honestly say that after a week with my friends or family I leave convinced that I am a warm, funny and beautiful goddess. Very exotic and special. I leave feeling like this.
When in point of fact, I look much more like this.
I guess the point is that I need to be handed a can of Aquanet and a round brush before the cameras come out next time, guys. I know you love me but...sheesh! Tough love applies to more than just teens with drug problems. It's time we stopped tap dancing around the truth. I never married the gay man of my dreams. The lovely Queen who would stop me at the front door every morning with an arched eyebrow and send me back to the closet to try again. I promise I am going to try to do better but the onus is on you to step up when you see I've dressed like a bag lady who recently suffered electrocution in a wind storm.
Yours,
Miss Pierce