Clown Explosion


I jest.

Sort of.

This is what happens, I tell myself, this is always what happens and when you get used to it, it’s fabulous, but for the first day or so, you are uncomfortable.

I feel like a small car full of pink clowns exploded on my head.

I could only keep the hair straight for so long.

Once I hopped in the shower, I knew it was over and I prepared myself.

It’s actually really awesome.

In an over the top, oh my God, that’s pink, kind of way.

I’ve been messing with it for too long and finally just pulled it up in a big clip and now I have the bun of madness on my head.

I sort of want to stick a small rabbit in the mass of curls, just for fun.

I tried barrettes.

Too babyish.

I tired leaving it down.

Too much.

I am sure pig tails will do the trick, they usually do.

And give it a week and I won’t bat an eye and I’ll be yearning after the Manic Panic in the bathroom, sweet Cleo Rose, color me pink again please.

Because that’s how my brain works.

Always on to the next thing.

The next hair geographic.

I did feel stylish and sophisticated and pretty and polished for 24 hours.

That’s not bad.

And should I ever get it together to learn how to straighten out my hair on my own, I’m sure I could achieve that status again.

I even looked at curlers today when I popped into the SafeWay to grab some groceries.

I’ve spent enough on my hair, however, and I don’t feel like tossing anymore that way.  I have other things to spend my money on.

Graduate school tuition.

Student loans.


I don’t have graduate school tuition to worry about yet, but it is there, looming on the horizon.

I do know, however, that I have been given the green light on this so far and I don’t believe at all that I’m going to be dropped.

The money will be there, the tuition will get paid and if I’m paying off student loans for a while, so be it.  And stuff happens, miracles and magic and pink hair or no pink hair, curl explosion of glory, I’m always taken care of.

And in the mean time, I get to focus on the small tasks ahead of me.






I butted through about 190 pages of a book one of my cousins sent me a few months back.  He’s got quite the collection and he shipped me off a few of his favorites.

Although not what I would have chosen, story of my life, the books have been good and easy reading and I found myself lost in a book for a good long while today while I got used to the pink mania of my hair.

It is riotous.

It did inspire me to watch “Oh The Places You’ll Go at Burning Man” on YouTube, about well, duh, Dr. Seuss’s last book interpreted through the eyes of Burning Man attendees.

The first time I saw it, a co-worker of mine at Mission Bicycle Company showed it to me.

“Have you seen this?!” He asked me all excitedly.

I had not and it brought tears to my eyes.

“Damn it man,” I said, as I wiped my eyes, “we’re not even open yet and I’m smudging my eye makeup.”

“Gives you that smoky, sexy, just rolled out of bed look,” my friend assured me.

I don’t know about that.

I always just think it gives me the I’ve been crying look.


I’m ok with that.

A few tears will not make or break me and it’s good to let them out, tears of happy or sad or joy or love.

The swell of salt in my body wishing to return back to the sea from whence they crawled.

The sea was beautiful today, but I did not take a walk down by the ocean.

It was too breezy.

And when it’s that breezy up around my neighborhood it means, it’s really blowing down by the beach and nothing says fun like getting sand stuck in your pink glitter lip gloss.

I suspect I’ll be wearing a lot of pink and black the next few weeks until the color dies down a little.

Today I shook it up and wore coral.


I also did ride my bike along the Great Highway and it was indeed windy.

In fact, the highway got closed down at the end of Lincoln and the gates were swung shut on the highway.

No through traffic was happening.

Which made a nice quick commute for me on my bicycle.

“I see you all the time on your bike, don’t stop riding ever,” the guy at the garage sale said to me today as I pursued the goods.

It was a good yard sale.

The group that rented was moving, back to Florida of all places.

I didn’t even ask why.

It’s hard making it in the big city and I am lucky that I am where I am at.

I hear so much about people unable to afford rent, getting squeezed out, or bought out, or any other egregious acts of rental roulette in the city.

Either that or no one is moving, even if they don’t like where they live, there’s not really anything to move to.

I suspect that things will change, they always do, but for this afternoon I was happy to walk around my neighborhood while dinner was simmering on the stove (Italian white beans with tomatoes and basil, sautéed ground turkey, onions, garlic, black olives and celery over brown rice) and relish my life here in San Francisco.

I make about half of what one is supposed to make to live here.

And I do alright.

But I work my ass off and when the fun needs a release valve.


I tend to go the route of hair geographic.

I’m ok with that too.

Even if it does look Insane Clown Posse has sprung full-blown from my brain.

Like Athena springing from he brain of Zeus.






Pretty in Pink

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