SISTERS IN CRIME

11.30.2005

It's those little things that say it all...
















This is not what I signed up for

So my parents just finished yelling at me about my hair. Again.

They're making me dye it back or else I can't go anywhere in public
"And if it falls out; too bad."

They said they hate my hair and they hate me and they're embarrased and humiliated. And I'm dishonoring God with my freakish hair.

BULLSHIT.

My dad said, "This week its hair dye, next week its tattoos, and next week it'll be drugs. I've seen it all, Dara." [I tried to interject by asking how hair dye and drugs were related] "SHUT YOUR BIG STUPID MOUTH AND LISTEN FOR A CHANGE."

My dad really lost it. Like really lost it. Like he slammed stuff into the counter and kicked stuff and yelled so loud it made my ears hurt. And then he blamed me for making him lose his temper. And I was crying and shaking uncontrollably and he told me to "stop acting like a stupid little three year-old."

I feel like I want to die.

Yes, I admit I'm a hair dye junkie

I decided I should starting asking the internet about more issues. Particularly issues in my own life. Because, yah know, the internet knows everything.

Monday I got this overwhelming urge to dye my hair an insane color. Every time we passed the hair section in the grocery store my fingers began to twitch and I started gravitating toward it. But I knew I had to get the parental units' approval or I'd be chopped liver. (And I'm not very fond of chopped liver. Ew.)

So I asked my mom in a sweet, shy voice, thinking all along she was going to say No.

"Mommy, I was wondering if maybe I could dye my hair again...?"

"What color?"

"Red and blonde streaks? I wouldn't be dying all my hair, just some of it. Please?"

"Mmm, well okay that's fine with me I suppose."

Yes! Score! Dad went to the store and so I asked him to pick up the stuff for me, which he did 'cause he CAN be nice sometimes. Although, I'd be lying if I said it was often. Its like once-in-a-blue-moon niceness.

Did I mention the red is a bright red? Like crayola crayon red? Well, yeah. It is. And I wanted it that way.
Apparently the parentals had something different in their minds. Not my fault. All I said was red. I've learned that divvying out the minor details of my life to my parents is not a good idea if I intend to live to my next birthday.

Monday night, they went to a meeting. Hmm, I think I'll do my hair right now. Can't you just hear the maniacal giggling?

This is how it turned out:

BE CAREFUL! LOOKING AT THESE IMAGES MAY BLOW YOUR EYEBALLS OUT OF THEIR SOCKETS!






Don't say I didn't warn you.

I must say it looks way better in person. Really it does.

When mom and dad got home, they homed in directly on my newly colored head.
Really, homed in is the perfect way of putting it. It was like two death missiles set to cruise their little deadly, blowing-up selves right at me.

I could see my mother's face was beginning to turn about as red as my crayola hair, while Dad seemed content in circling me, getting the whole 360 view, with nothing but a blank stare of disbelief.
Then he tries to level with me.

"What possessed you to do that to your hair?"

"Um, I just want to experiment with colors and see what looks good."

"Yah know, that's the kind of thing people say when they're doing drugs."

[PAUSE until uncontrollable laughter dies down.]

Um, sure, Dad.

So, internet, tell me your thoughts on this issue. Please tell me I'm not the only one who finds this absurdly, ridiculously hilarious.

First its red dye. What's next, you ask? MARIJUANA. Behind Walgreens. Every Friday night.

11.17.2005

It's a wonder sometimes the poor man can still remember my name let alone ever figure out why I do anything I do

"So Karina, D, and I are working on planning our annual marathon-girls-only-more-coffee-than-any-dozen-people-could-safely-consume-in-a-lifetime-Christmas shopping weekend."

"This is an annual thing?"

"Duh!"

"Since when?"

"Last year."

"But last year was the only time you've done that?"

"And your point is?"

11.03.2005

Wherein all grown-ups are estactic to drink out of sippy cups every morning

~The McCullough Daily Exchange~

"I love you and stuff."

"Well, I love you and stuff."

"You do?!"

"Yeah."

"Really?!"

"Yes, you can get more Starbucks."