Bess is mad at me because I haven’t been blogging.  I’m mad at myself.  Hey, remember when I said I was going to write everyday bloggity bloggity Carrie Bradshaw?

I had plenty to talk about, plenty goings-on - but after sitting at a computer for eight hours a day, I just wanted to veg out and watch DVR’d eps of Oprah about puppy mills and cry for an hour, ya dig? Or maybe I needed to clean the apartment, because both Damon and I are probably the messiest couple known to man.  (Seriously, I was always untidy as a child, always had stuff strewn about, but thought that would go away when I was living with a boyfriend on my own.  No - my space is messier, and the person who is supposed to tell me to clean stuff up is at a whole other level of unkept.  It’s like we taunt each other, how long can we last, how bad can it get, and Corona’s sitting there all, “Meow. F you guys, I’m fat. Gimme food.” Longest parenthetical ever.  Not surprising - you should have seen me try to create a powerpoint presentation today. Couldn’t narrow down my words if my life depended on it. I’m sorry, Client, you’re just going to have to read more than three words per bullet.)

Sum: Life is good, just busy, and nice weather and no laptop do not a blogger make.

So if you haven’t seen me physically since my last blog, I am now a fiery redhead — FIERCE!

I go to this amazing man named Beau at the Saavy Salon in Broad Ripple (plug, plug, tell him I sent you).  And even though I was introduced to him through Jana, I call him “My Beau” because even though I have a boyfriend, I so desperately want a beau.  I literally just sat down in the chair and said, “I want to go red,” and he gasped with joy and started his adorable hair-manifesto in which he practically hyperventilates while explaining what he wants to do, but you somehow trust him.

I haven’t had full-on bangs since the mid-nineties so I was at a loss the first day on what to do. I kind of went around looking like Tori Amos-as-Pip from her most recent tour.

Everyone seems to like it and the full stamp of approval was my father, who actually said “I like it,” which means, holy shit, he actually likes it. Everytime I see my parents my hair is usually different and he’ll just comment, “Wow, it’s a lot…darker/lighter/no comment.”

If you’ve ever dyed your hair red then you know it starts fading the second you wash it, expose it to sunlight, blow on it, practically.  My hair is not nearly as vibrant, which is sad, but you know what remains? The feisty.  It always does.