Sound; Adam woke up this morning singing the same song he always sings. If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh at my baby. "Tra la la la la, triangle, tra la la la la la, triangle, tra la la la la la, triangle!"...and this is where I sing "My life is such a tangle!" This is sung in an authentic country accent and makes me think of trailer parks. I have no idea why he sings this song almost every day but it's one of the reasons I love him so much.
Sight; Adam came home early and cleaned yesterday. But STILL no dishes.
Taste; Club sandwich. It always tears the roof of my mouth to shit.
Touch; Clean hair, thank freakin' god.
Smell; Patch Oil.
Beware the ideas of March.
Graphic Intensive
I just received my confirmation email from the SunBelt Graphics 2000 show. I'm sure that it will be boring and stuffy, but there will be artist energy there, I'm sure of it. I just want to go breath in other people's creativity for awhile. The horrible thing is that it will all be corporate, logo design and letterhead, advertisments and marketing, no real creative flow. Though in my mind I can warp any situation to my benefit. Where I see a suit, I'll imagine berets and long slender cigarette holders.
It is occasionally necessary, I think, to make your world fit you, rather than the other way around.
"But it's already red!" - Adam
"It's never red enough." - Sarah
"Your hair's gonna fall clear out of your head. Don't come crying to me when it happens." - Big Daddy
"I promise not to Dad, I'll probably have you in a home by then. OW!" - Sarah
Three weeks ago at Target I picked up another hair color because it was on sale, the same color I had for my wedding, a burgundy red, more purple than red. It never looked quite right, too dark, I figured I just let it stay on too long the last time.
I have to admit here that for a split second I wanted to steal it, instead of pay for it, although I had the money. It's just one of those things that smacks me upside the head every so often.
I learned that lesson a long time ago though. It's different to be a thief when you're a teenager, than when you're a married adult woman.
I was going to do it right this time. I left the box sitting on my sink for the next three weeks, propped against the faucet and mirror so I could stare at it until I was sure I wanted to do this again. Then yesterday I was in Eckerd's, waltzing through the hair products...oooooooh, I need this, because my hair does tend to frizz and they say that's not good, I need this too, because I don't have split ends now, but how can I be sure about the future...pomade? frizz ease? gel? spray gel? holding spray? hair spray? hair mist? deep conditioning? wax?... I saw through a halo of blinding glory, that they carried the Rouge Romantiques colors. Pompous name for red dye. Here's my new color, a tad bit more shocking red than the last. I'm doing it once I get home from my father's tonight.
You're probably wondering why I go so deep into the whole hair color thing, why don't I just buy a box, dye it, and shut the hell up? I take a lot of shit from Big Daddy and Adam for changing the color so often, even though it's red, just different shades, every time. My mother dyed her hair constantly, and later in life she had to go through quite a hassle to maintain it's health because of it. Because my father watched this over the years, he automatically assumes that they still use the harsh chemicals and bleaches that they did 20 years ago. I think he just likes having something to poke at me about. I do the same thing to him... it's almost the basis for our entire relationship.
Boring day, see, look at my desk and you'll see how important it is to me to surround myself with color. I'll admit at home I've shown great restraint in our decor and funishings, taupes and creams and greens and blues. Beneath all that, my mind is a whirling mass colors. It's calming and exciting at the same time. In 7th grade, I did my science project on the color people identify with and what that says about said person. All I can remember now is that purple stood hand in hand with immaturity. That irked quite a few of my friends at the time. I was a green, but for the life of me I can't remember what a green is.
