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Today. I have Barbados hair.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Feb. 22, 2005

Yanno that colloquialism, “Well, I just got a wild hair so I just decided to…” fill in the blank? Shave the cat. Down twenty mini Reese’s peanut butter cups and snort a line of coke off of a hooker’s tittie (or is it with a y?). Or, twirl my parasol seductively whilst showing my ankles to the town parishioners. The Shame!

Anyway… That’s me today. Not the colloquialisms, the wild hair.

I used this stuff from TIGI this morning that was given to me by my director. (And you call that Acting!? Heh…sorry.) It’s called Control Freak Extra Extra Straight. And apparently it is supposed to be a hair straightener. To the 4th power. Like the Nth degree of hair straightening brawn. Notice the extra extra in the name.

Yes, yes… it’s all very dazzling to a moppy-headed curly-q lass like my self. But alas, I got out of the shower this morning and combed out my locks, sprayed a palm full of this stuff into my hand, smooshed it around to emulsify, and applied it to my hair.

Then I scrunched, yes… yes, Daisy Fuentes is going to kick my ass for scrunching, so what. I was running late, I needed to get that crap through my hair and dry it pronto.

Then. Uh, yeah, then… I used my hair dryer, and a diffuser.

I feel like I’m admitting to larceny and petty cash theft like Christina Applegate in Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead. Except without the larceny. Or peplums.

Um.

Do you guys remember when Monica and the rest of the cast of Friends went to Barbados? No? Just me? I’m the only loser here? Fine. Well, let’s just say that her hair was friggin huge.
Monica: [with her big fuckin hair] “Phoebes, I have some bad news…”
Phoebe: “What?.. You’re leaving the Supremes?”

Heh.

Well, yeah. Today. I have Barbados hair. It’s a mass of ringlets, large and in charge on top of my head and the worst part is it’s a little crunchy. Crunchy! My hair is like KFC people. Or is that crispy. Either way.

Did you guys remember that people used to pay to have their hair done like this on purpose?

Oh, and this morning a memory arose… well, several did… while in the shower, like they normally do. Where I don’t have paper to write them down. Darn that paper for disintegrating in water! I normally just keep repeating them in my head until I can write thoughts down on paper, but then I normally mess something up like a jacked up version of Telephone only played between myself and… well, myself. It doesn’t work very well. I end up stumbling around sounding like a broken record version of Rainman with too much on his mind and a little too much Control Freak Extra Extra Straight in his hair.

This morning I was thinking about where those pictures of Randy the MasterBlaster’s ass could be, whilst thinking about where those pictures of the jaguars could be… because I was thinking about laundry because there was a towel over the chair in the bathroom and the laundry room is right next to the garage and the garage has a bunch of crap that we have yet to unpack (And did I tell you guys that we aren’t moving?… yeah, turns out the president of the company that Mister went to work for lied about his solvency. So yea, again with the unemployment. Boo.) and the garage holds many secrets of the universe like, where on earth is that large bowl that I like to put fruit in for the kitchen table?

Anyway… so while I was thinking about a few things this other thought floated to the surface. When I was young and relatively cute my mother had me listed with a children’s talent agency here in Dallas. I did some print work for places like Sears and Mervyn’s, I was an extra on Dallas a few times and an extra again for Dallas The Early Years. All of these bit pieces and parts were nothing. I wasn’t a shy child and my mother never pushed me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. I even did a filmstrip for science fair projects before filmstrips became obsolete… *ding*! Heh. I had my little portfolio and my headshot that was updated yearly and my labor license at the tender age of twelve so I could do these things and save the money for my college education because I was so very responsible at that age. Yes, gag, I know… shut it.

I just remembered auditioning for this movie role. An actual movie role when I was like 13 or 14. I remember taking a day off of school so I could go to the audition. I took a book with me and I hung out in the lobby with my mom with all the other girls and their moms. We were all there to audition for the lead in this movie called Desert Rose or Texas Rose or something like that. It was about a 13 year old girl who… angst… hard times… perseverance… some older person to love and watch over her… maybe dies or something… annnnd scene. Yeah, you can tell, I was really into it.

So, all these little weasels were so hyped up all nervy and freaked out. Worried, vomity totally posting their whole self worth on acceptance or rejection from the people in the room we were being called into. I just sat there with the moms and read my Stephen King novel (Word up Steve… call me… yo.) so when it was my turn, I put my book in my bag, looked over my lines one last time... yes, I had looked over them before… and went into the room. The casting director asked me to read a paragraph or two, then something completely different, which didn’t throw me at all and I left.

I got called back for a second audition either the next day or the day after.

It was down to three girls and I was one of them. Weird huh?

Well, suffice it to say, I didn’t get the part, maybe I wasn’t hungry enough… or maybe I was too hungry. I may have been going through a fat stage, anyway (maybe they didn’t like my crispy hair). I was just thinking that if I would have gotten that part. My whole life could have been so different. And I’m not sure if I would have liked that at all.

Not even sure if they ever made the movie.

Dudes, if ya’ll want to do a Desert Rose the Adult Years I’m your gal. As you read up yonder, we could use the extra cash yanno.

Post scripty thing: This is totally not what I wrote down at all when I finally got to some paper this morning. Maybe I’ll write about that tomorrow. Oh, and thank you all for the kind words yesterday on the #150 post. I appreciate each and every one of you for reading and sticking with me.

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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