I have been too busy to write here, too busy out there living. But these are the times I should be writing, documenting these changes happening in my life, so that the record of my life were I to look back on it on a bored day, would be something more than stoned entries about how I comfort my loneliness in this city, in this world, in whatever this thing is, this life, with burritos. Unfortunately though that is when I most feel like I have the time to write in my diary. Right now, for instance, I should be going to bed since I have another day lasting from 7am-10pm ahead of me tomorrow, but before doing that let's first engage in a little bit of documentation. Let's put up some scratches on the cave wall to show what life was like in this particular moment for this particular cave dweller.
First, we will start off with the fact that I am a blonde. This is all shorthand for now because I want to explore this topic in more depth on some future date. A couple weeks ago, gay pride weekend, I was rejected again by P. The next day I was feeling hungover, had quite a bit of regret and anger, and it was a Britney moment, an impulsive hair decision brought on by some desire for change. I bleached my hair. It took several bleachings and tonings to get it to where I wanted, white enough. But I eventually did and it turned out way better than I had expected - I was expecting I would really have to have a Britney moment and shave my head, that it would end up looking terrible. It did not.
I am still surprised by how much other people seem to like it. I know I look more attractive with this hair - I see it myself when I am getting dressed in front of my mirror. I am not sure why bleached blonde hair should have this effect - and it may be temporary, may be just the newness of it - but I am enjoying the benefits of it. People have been a lot nicer to me, boys. Lots of guys have complimented me on my hair. I have been getting a lot more "Hey girl" looks from guys on the subway and on the street than I ever have. It's all a very nice feeling and one that is helping rebuild my confidence after the couple of hits it had taken in this insane, dogged pursuit of this boy despite his continued rejection of me. I am a new woman with this blonde hair - a sexy woman full of confidence - feeling how Madonna looks on the cover of True Blue. It's a pose, a character, but the hair helps me inhabit the role pretty well. So, what am I saying, is guard your heart cause this new woman I am just wants to break it, just wants to roll around on fancy sheets and pose for the camera above me.
The other thing to mention, certainly probably of more importance, is that I started school a couple days ago, which is why I am so exhausted and why I believe I should not spend time writing that instead could and should be used to get desperately needed sleep. I am going to advertising school to study copywriting in a two year program. I want to find my way out of hospitality and into something that allows me to indulge my creative impulses in a fashion from which I could make a living. I am really excited to be doing this, only wish that I had done so earlier. So far, I like the people teaching my classes, and they all have me excited about trying to work in this industry.
I do not, however, like the commute to Dumbo from Bushwick - it is way too long to be commuting every day and I am dreading doing this for two years. I also am exhausted from working each day before class. And also, I am not so thrilled about this life of poverty I see ahead of me for the next couple years. My recent payment for this semester put my account into the negative until pay day, this Friday. Today, at the grocery store by my house, with the eight dollars I had left in my wallet, I went grocery shopping. I added up the cost of the various items I picked up in my head before heading to the register, seeing that they would come to just under eight dollars. The eggs I bought rung up for about twenty-five cents more than they should have. That difference brought the total to just slightly over eight dollars. I pointed out the price discrepancy to the cashier, a little shamefully, suddenly being hit with flashbacks to being a kid at the grocery store with my mom, the frugal shopper that she had to be as a working mom raising two kids, pointing out price discrepancies to cashiers over items advertised one price on the shelf and being rung up as another at the register. I remembered how that always used to embarrass me and was a bit embarrassed to ask this cashier about the price difference, but literally only having eight dollars in your wallet really changes quickly what you think is too petty, too embarrassing. It also makes you really fucking appreciate how amazing your mom was and is. The manager changed the price and I was able to purchase these eggs.
In two days, I will have money in my bank account again. I will be buying some more hair bleach on that day. I will also be dancing somewhere, shaking this blonde hair around in the air, because that's what we do, us blondes - dance, have fun, get drunk, break hearts, slut it up.