I may be bankrupt, but my hair looks fantastic

I've now been on stress leave for a total of 5 months, and have succeeded in racking up an originally empty credit card to thousands of dollars in order to supplement the Canadian government's income support I've been getting during that time. Now obviously, when living in such a situation, an intelligent person would ensure that the majority of their expenses are reserved for necessary purchases and services such as rent, groceries, telephone, heat, power, and transportation. After all, there is no actual income coming in. It's not like you can put some overtime into your sick leave to pick up a few extra bucks. What you get is - well, what you get. You spend more than that, and you're fucked, because you can't really start making larger payments into your credit card account. Your only choice in that case is to take out a cash advance from your credit card, and then a week later put it back in to make your minimum monthly payment.

I never said I was an intelligent person.

Yes, all right, I shouldn't be too hard on myself. It's not like I decided to rent a condo in Morocco or buy a yacht. However, I have indulged in things during my sick leave that I have never done while working. Of course, the simple reason for this is that I'm not being worked into a grave and actually have energy to enjoy my life for once. The idea that I should then sit back and eat tuna from a can and recycle my coffee filtres in order not to put myself in an awkward financial situation is simply not an option. Right?


First, there's the trip to Big Sur country in California slated for the end of August. Hey - it's a writer's retreat, and I'm technically certifiable. I need to be surrounded by nature, away from the rat race, contemplative and at peace. It's purely for medicinal purposes. It's part of my treatment. I simply had to pay the registration fee and buy an airline ticket. Hey - my therapist thinks it's a good idea, and if she says so, then it must be necessary.

Um, of course, I do pay $130 a session to see her, which I put on credit.

Then there's the mattress. I spend a lot of time at home lately. Obviously. I also had spinal surgery 2 years ago, and therefore must keep my vertebrae in tip top shape. The futon on my couch is 13 years old. It's so thin I get splinters from the edges of the slats if I move too suddenly. It was imperative that the mattress be replaced with a product dense enough to support my ample ass without flattening out like tits after breastfeeding. Again, this was for my health, people.

One simply cannot go without mentioning the impending visit from my lover. He's presently far too far away, and everyone knows that a human being can actually, literally die when not in the arms of their significant other. It's a serious hazard to one's well-being. This visit is a unique form of preventative physiotherapy, I'll have you know.

Certainly there was also the purchase of the standing fan for my bedroom, the summer clothes, and the towel set to replace the one used to mop up neighbour sludge, but I can't allow myself to overheat by having inappropriate ventilation or apparel, and I don't care how many times I've rinsed my original towels, they are never touching my body again.

I'm sure you completely understand - these are medical expenses. They're crucial. They're necessary. I'm not being financially irresponsible. I'm being health conscious.

OK. Um. Well. Except maybe that one time.

You see, in April, when I went to Vancouver Island to visit my mother, I was overcome with the great need to remove every strand of my unbelievable hair. So I shaved my head. Ahhh, the relief. Well, as it began to grow back, I had a whim strike me: "hey - what would I look like blonde?" So I found out. *bling* Blonde hair. It looked pretty damn good, surprisingly. Turns out my skin tone can cope with almost any kind of hair colour. Now, the thing about dyed blonde hair is that it doesn't stay that way. OK, yes, the hair that was originally protruding from your scalp stays that way, but within a month you have a half inch of dark brown roots surrounding your noggin. This is all well and good, for a while, if you have long hair. What's an inch of brown when you have 10 fantastic inches of platinum hanging from your head? However, if you only had about an inch of hair when you dyed it blonde in the first place, then that other inch of hair looks very, very stupid. Very. Like, for instance, this poor soul:

There but for the grace of god go I.

It was time to take action, not only because I was starting to look like an idiot, but because, due to said unbelievable hair's innate qualities, I was starting to look like an idiot who had a Chia Pet growing out of their skull. Therefore, I went to the hairdresser.

Now, hair may not be a necessary item per se. It's not like, if I let the roots continue to grow unimpeded and brown-like from my head, and if I simply took a pair of scissors myself and cut off all the blonde parts, my life would collapse and I'd be admitted to the psych ward. Hair care is a luxury. I'm aware of this. I acknowledge it. I am a bad, bad girl. *bends over for spanking*

OK, now that I've been punished I'll get on with the worst part of my sin. Hey, if I waited until the end, you'd have to kill me, and that's definitely not good for my health.

The worst part of it is - I scheduled said hair appointment with my usual hairdresser. The, um, high end hairdresser. The hairdresser located in the swanky part of town - or, at least, as swanky a part of town as Edmonton will ever have. This is a hairdresser to whom people go after taking out a second mortgage on their home to pay for the visit. I couldn't help it! I have unbelievable hair! It requires professionals, man! And, and - and they give hand and head massages! With aromatherapy oils! And great coffee! And everyone's hair is so sleek and perfumed and perfectly coifed and just plain fabulous! And so is my hair! It's fabulous! I have fabulous hair! How many sentences that end with exclamation marks do you think I can write consecutively? (Oh. Well, I guess "10".) It's perfectly dyed, perfectly cut, and exudes fabulousness. *tosses head* See?

No, I'm not telling you how much it cost.

Nuh uh.

No way.

All right, all right. It may have cost perhaps possibly in the vicinity of one hundred and *mumblemumble* dollars.

I am so ashamed.

But I'm ashamed with fabulous hair, and that makes all the difference.

make idle gossip (15 comments so far)

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Last 5 entries:
01.14.2007:Finally, a support group we can all get behind
01.09.2007:The City That Ever Reeks
01.08.2007:Waiter, there's a uterus in my soup
01.03.2007:Long Lost Mummy of Nefertiti Found in Smoog's Apartment
12.30.2006:New Year's resolutions we can actually keep

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