A Quick Prayer to the Hair Gods

Please Curly Hair Gods. Tomorrow is my first day with a new hairdresser. Please be on my side this time. Make my hair bounce with beautiful curls. Let the hairdresser listen to my needs and actually try to follow them, instead of doing her own thing. I beg of you, don't let her hack off my hair so then my hair starts looking like one big triangle. I've tried being (somewhat) good this year. I don't believe in Santa Claus anymore, but I do believe in hair karma.

Slim Pickings

Unfortunately, the title of this blog stems from the feeling I've had from going out these past couple of months. I think I'm in something one might call a "dry spell." Actually, that's not true. I have had....er, "interactions" with guys recently (actually only one) but no butterflies. Man, I miss those suckers. The pickings have been slim.

Take, for example, when I went out to a bar a couple of weeks ago. I was already in a bad mood that day. My hair, normally curly, was pseudo-straight, meaning I had straighten it earlier, but Mother Nature was pmsing that night and decided to cry her eyes out non-stop for 4 hours. Thus, my hair was something in between a wavy and fro-ish. Not happy.

The bar wasn't too busy when we arrived. I immediately made my way to the bathroom to fix my hair monstrosity. I freshened up quickly in the bathroom and made my way back to my friends. I drove to the bar with The Cheerleader and she was already at the bar trying to order a drink. I saw out of the corner of my eye a group of four guys looking over at us.

"Ugh," I thought to myself. "You have got to be kidding me." Definitely not my type. 

The guy next to the bar started talking up The Cheerleader while she waited for our drinks. His friend, I'll call Moron #1 tried to engage me in conversation.

"So, how's it going?"

"Fine," I replied.

After that opening, the conversation got fuzzy. Actually scratch that. His speech got fuzzy. Moron #1 kept trying to talk, but I just wasn't haven't it. I have no patience for drunken morons.

Then the unthinkable happened.

I was wearing my new shirt from Zara, a short-sleeve red empire waist shirt with a pretty flower sewn on over where my heart is. It was flowy and made my boobs look hot. Good enough for me.

As I'm avoiding eye contact with the tools next to me, Moron #1 leans down with his face practically touching my chest, bites then smells my flower, then proceeds to look me in the eye and says, "Mmmmmm, smells like breast."

Wow.

I didn't have a chance to react. You know when something starts happening to you you feel like it's going in slow motion? That's exactly what it felt like for me. I literally was looking down at this drunken idiot with his face in my chest thinking, "What.....the......f*#k?!"

The Cheerleader was having trouble getting the bartender's attention, so that's when she grabs my arm and pulls me towards the other end of the bar. I tell her what happened and her mouth falls open.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing, I was just looking down at him not even able to comprehend what was happening."

"What a jerk."

"Aren't they all?"

"Too true," she said. We clinked our glasses. Cheers to that.