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Thursday, August 30th, 2007 10:56 pm
the flatiron of iniquity
I had a creepy epiphany today.
No, wait. Let me tell you of my first week as a student again. It's short. I learned how DVDs are burned, what a box is in reference to a computer, that algorithms are the adult version of a thing I had to do sixthish grade where we had to write very specific instructions on how to do something.
Okay. The thing is.
I get a lot more attention with straight hair.
Last week I randomly had some time, did the blow-dry-with-round-brush thing, sat down with the thermal spray, a Chi flatiron, and a hopeful expression. We had straight hair. Nice. My male workmates learned from the last time and complimented, including my boss.
A random older male smiled and said hi in the hall for no good reason. Huh, I thought and went on my way. He did it again the next day.. And then today, and then--yeah. What.
But.
Okay, crazy, this, but keep in mind I have the perceptive ability of, say, Rodney. But--people would look at me. Male people. There seemed to suddenly be a larger number of males in my vicinity. I--was in class today with a guy I *KNOW WAS SITTING SOMEWHERE ELSE* suddenly right behind me (why? THAT SEAT SUCKS. I AM FIVE TEN AND I BLOCK THE VIEW) and in the lab someone--Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm writing this--did something complex that looked like a wink! I AM FREAKING SERIOUS I NEARLY KNOCKED INTO MY DESK HE IS LIKE TEN OR TWELVE OR TWENTY WHATEVER.
What. The. Hell?
Thirty one years. I've worn things that are illegal in some states, had a short phase where all my shorts could double as underwear (in the name of God do not ask), boots that *should* be illegal, and my freaking hair is the deciding factor on my attractiveness? Seriously? I--don't even know how to process this.
I kept--being torn. Between doing horrifically girly things like pull out the clip and whish-whish the miracle hair around like a commerical and running home and washing my hair. It has to be this and the light brown/heavy blonde highlights.
Life is strange. What if someone--God--asks me out? (this has not happened in more time than I wish to ever explain because people start laughing hysterically and I am a tender and delicate rose of girlpain. Womanpain. Whatever.) I mean, obviously unless they can solve a millennium problem on the spot it's a no (fucking thank you SGA you have forever screwed up how I rate attractiveness in males forever), or a maybe (maybe they are registered to carry a sidearm at all times, or I accidentally say yes becuase they aer wearing a black t-shirt), or--I mean. I used to debate with guys when to let it drop I was a parent (the most fun you can have really, especially that internal debate), but--will I have to debate telling him about the flat iron, I ask you?
Life hard. Staring at flatiron.
No, wait. Let me tell you of my first week as a student again. It's short. I learned how DVDs are burned, what a box is in reference to a computer, that algorithms are the adult version of a thing I had to do sixthish grade where we had to write very specific instructions on how to do something.
Okay. The thing is.
I get a lot more attention with straight hair.
Last week I randomly had some time, did the blow-dry-with-round-brush thing, sat down with the thermal spray, a Chi flatiron, and a hopeful expression. We had straight hair. Nice. My male workmates learned from the last time and complimented, including my boss.
A random older male smiled and said hi in the hall for no good reason. Huh, I thought and went on my way. He did it again the next day.. And then today, and then--yeah. What.
But.
Okay, crazy, this, but keep in mind I have the perceptive ability of, say, Rodney. But--people would look at me. Male people. There seemed to suddenly be a larger number of males in my vicinity. I--was in class today with a guy I *KNOW WAS SITTING SOMEWHERE ELSE* suddenly right behind me (why? THAT SEAT SUCKS. I AM FIVE TEN AND I BLOCK THE VIEW) and in the lab someone--Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm writing this--did something complex that looked like a wink! I AM FREAKING SERIOUS I NEARLY KNOCKED INTO MY DESK HE IS LIKE TEN OR TWELVE OR TWENTY WHATEVER.
What. The. Hell?
Thirty one years. I've worn things that are illegal in some states, had a short phase where all my shorts could double as underwear (in the name of God do not ask), boots that *should* be illegal, and my freaking hair is the deciding factor on my attractiveness? Seriously? I--don't even know how to process this.
I kept--being torn. Between doing horrifically girly things like pull out the clip and whish-whish the miracle hair around like a commerical and running home and washing my hair. It has to be this and the light brown/heavy blonde highlights.
Life is strange. What if someone--God--asks me out? (this has not happened in more time than I wish to ever explain because people start laughing hysterically and I am a tender and delicate rose of girlpain. Womanpain. Whatever.) I mean, obviously unless they can solve a millennium problem on the spot it's a no (fucking thank you SGA you have forever screwed up how I rate attractiveness in males forever), or a maybe (maybe they are registered to carry a sidearm at all times, or I accidentally say yes becuase they aer wearing a black t-shirt), or--I mean. I used to debate with guys when to let it drop I was a parent (the most fun you can have really, especially that internal debate), but--will I have to debate telling him about the flat iron, I ask you?
Life hard. Staring at flatiron.
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