A few weeks ago a friend and I were walking towards a club when the bouncer of another place said, “Cool hair.” I said thanks, and we continued walking only to find out the friends we were meeting were at the place where the bouncer had just commented on my hair. When we got to the door, he checked my friend’s ID and as she started to walk past him, I pointed the top of my head and said, “I’m sure you don’t have to see mine.” He responded, “Well why did you have to go and say that. I thought you had someone do you hair that color.” Oops, my bad.
There’s no hiding the gray, not even with a hat.
Some call it platinum!
I suppose that vanity has been my friend since childhood. I don’t necessarily remember the start of our relationship, but I’m told countless stories about how, in spite of my crippling shyness, I would visit my neighbors in Puerto Rico in whatever new dress or outfit I had at the moment, simply to tell them “Me veo bonita” (I look pretty), a statement, not a question.
I absolutely despise dyeing my hair. I will be 43 in six months, which will mean that at some point during that year there will have been 30 years of chemicals poured onto my poor head. That can’t be good, can it? But it’s not just about the chemicals at this point; the truth is that I’m exhausted.
I sat in the semi-crowded train a few days ago, oblivious to the people around me, trying to send a text before we went underground. Text message sent, still above ground, I looked up and realized that people were staring in my direction. I looked down, and I saw my cleavage. Feeling a bit of discomfort at the thought that they may be staring at me because of it, I pulled my blouse up to ensure that I was fully covered. I looked up again, everyone was still staring in my direction, but not at me at all. Annoyed at the silliness of my initial assumption, I grabbed my phone and sent a text: “Let’s play psychologists!” “Ok” “Would you say that I’m uncomfortable showing cleavage because of my feelings about my body or because of my feelings about my sensuality?” “I’d say it’s the feelings about your body.” The train went underground. I lost track of the conversation, and my thoughts went to the day before and my post regarding my Red bull addiction habit, where …
As of today it’s been four months since I’ve had a Red Bull. To understand why the the 27th of December, 2012 is an important date to commemorate is to know the following: I’ve tried to give up my Red Bull habit more than 5 times since I started drinking them in 2006 After 2006 my weight began to creep steadily upward to scale numbers I never imagined I’d see A conservative estimate of my annual Red Bull purchases comes to almost $3200 My adult skin acne issues were becoming much like if not worse than my teenage skin issues The janitor at work who didn’t know me enough to tell me when I first started, would take out my garbage and tell my co-workers that he was afraid for my life upon seeing 3-4 empty cans More exhausted than ever, I don’t think that I ever felt the much ballyhooed ‘wings’ they promised The last half of 2012 was a time of many transitions in my life. A time to stop just throwing things …