HAIR

It occurred to me that on my first day in the blogosphere, I should probably not have more than one entries.

I live on the wild side.

Boston needs to stop being so windy. I don't understand how I can look tolerable for work when from the moment I step out of my door in the morning, any progress I've made arranging my bangs before departure is immediately (excuse the corniness I'm about to release upon you) gone with the wind (phew).

I look like a little girl playing dress up right now. High heeled shoes, dress, jewelry, make-up...and windblown, unkept hair that looks like a child's valiant attempt at a fashionable updo. I managed to half-control my hair when I arrived at work, and then made the fatal mistake to head to the CVS on Boylston on lunch break for some toothpaste (curse you, need for hygeine!). My hair is officially beyond all hope of restoration.

I don't really care myself. Messy hair is something I've dealt with for the majority of my life, and since re-cutting my bangs last June, it's become an even more important issue to wrestle with in the morning. And by "wrestle," I mean "use blowdrier and patience on." O, how I loathe wrestling!

This could probably be solved with some hairspray. But I associate hairspray with being in a show. I will only ruin my hair with excessive chemical products if it's to better the theatrical presentation. Or at least makes me look good onstage (a hard feat, apparently, I'm told I have a "shadowy face"). So today I shall be Windblown McGee, and hope that someday, the wind tunnel next to my place of work will be revamped into a tunnel of sunshine. Or a tunnel of love (I'll just go ahead and say it: the businessmen of Boston are pretty sharp).