Oh, Vanity

I was styling my hair today--for those of you who just started freaking out, no, I was neither on medication nor did it have anything to do with dye or high- or low-lights--and started thinking, "man, I have great hair."

Yeah, I know--for the love of cheese, who puts that kind of thing into a blog? Me, because it's all I could think about to write, and I was in a writing mood. Anyway, back to my hair.

Now, I'm not saying that I always do great things with my hair. Absolutely not. I mean, I have style, but I have been the victim of some pretty huge fashion faux pas, some mine and some other people's. There are, of course, the (multiple, if you can believe that) instances of dye+Nyquil=flamehead, which then had to be rectified; the time I thought that bangs were the best thing in the world, when they're big and barrel-curled (thank God that only lasted a year or so); the pigtailed french braids every day for a month (variety is the spice, and Heidi is no spice at all). And the cuts: the Katie-cum-Alsatian really long hair of senior year of high school; the flat pixies of senior year of college; any time I have two antenna-like curls, one on each side of my head a la Francesca's wedding (rest of the hair looked good, though); the tall nouveau flock-of-seagulls that caused my boss to comment, which in turn made me cry and run to the hairdresser who made it worse by giving me; the post-chemo spike cut; and any time I'm in the process of growing my hair out when it's in the 'tween lengths.

You'd think, with all those errors in judgment, my hair would be the last thing I would write about, except that the hair itself is awesome. It's wicked thick (sorry, Dad), does pretty much anything I want it to (which makes those mistakes listed above all me and not the fault of the locks) and is pretty sweet color wise. I used to call it my mood hair, because depending on the day it can seem reddish, blondish, or brownish...and then will change again when it's exposed to sun. It really is my favorite thing about myself. It has also garnered me the most interesting(albeit weirdest and most out of place) compliment of my life:

"You have sex hair."

My response was, clearly--"Excuse me?" And yes, I had heard him correctly (a friend who shall remain nameless). He said "sex hair." I had no freakin' clue what that meant. At that point in time, I had the Paige Davis (Trading Spaces host) hair from the first couple of seasons; spiky and flipped in the back, side swept bangs, textured in the front. Fun hair, but it needed to be styled every morning and all I could think was "If he means it looks good the morning after, he'd be terribly disappointed...I normally have a faux hawk when I wake up...anything but attractive."

That is not what he meant, however. He meant my hair is sultry; it has attitude but is still touchable, has movement, swing and style. And, doing my hair this morning, I thought, "yeah, it does!" So, yay me, winning at least one round in the genetic lottery. Not gonna lie, probably wouldn't have called it "sex hair," but he's a guy, so that was the best he could come up with, and when it's an eh kind of day, it's something nice to have in my pocket. The compliment, not the hair, which is clearly on my head and not in my pocket. How creepy.

Song of the Moment: "Trashin' the Camp" from Tarzan... I was trying to think which version, but I like them both...Phil Collins + Cast, as well as Phil Collins + *NSync