My hair is all fucked up.

It should be a short dyke spike and it's bordering on a majorly bad grow out, mullet-dyke do. I'm looking like the kind of dyke who-tucks-in-her-shirt-and-wears-mens-levi's-and-a-brown-leather-belt-and-a-Tommy-shirt-look-alike.

I want my dyke spike back. I want to be the spikey-dyke-who-wears-makeup-and-has-ok-legs-until-you-get-to-the-ass-and-wow-that's-a-big-ass-dyke.

I'm there. Ok. I'm not. The only way I'm going to grow my hair out is if I keep telling myself I'm growing it out to donate it to a child who has cancer and needs hair. I don't know if I will donate it if it gets that long, but ya know.

My friend had breast cancer at age 25. Her insurance paid $700 towards a wig. I guess what they do with the hair they get is totally bleach it out and then re-dye it. I did not know that. I didn't much care for her wig. I think if I had cancer I'd wear a bandana. I used to put on my mom's wigs (because there was a time in the late 60's were EVERYONE wore a wig) and they itched like crazy. Speaking of which, my Auntie who I went to visit Monday had a wig during that time too. I mean wow. I remember pictures.

She was the wild one. HA. Sort of. Truth be told, my grandma was a pioneer of sorts, but Auntie P was a single divorced mom of two girls and (GASP) used to get babysitters and go party. To hear my mom tell it, it was like Auntie P was neglecting her kids and I'm pretty sure it wasn't that way.

I went to the mall with Both mom and Auntie P once and ran into a male friend. After talking to him, my aunt was running after me in an impressed tone "WHO WAS THAT!?" while my mom's tone was slightly scornful "Who was THAT?!"

It was Bruce. The man who showed his penis to me while I was in Lane Bryant hanging up stuff and he was behind a kiosk and whipped it out because he was....that way. It was sorta funny and no I didn't feel violated because he warned me he might.

Ahem.

A little too much disclosure goes a long way.

You know, in my divorced days, I did a lot of stuff I dont' regret, yet would never do again.

*************

When did I become old? I'm "ma'am" more and more. I have my three girlies in the grocery store with me and the bagger people are looking more and more like they're 12. And I feel like when I talk to them I'm this old lady.

Ok, the dude that helped us at the Godiva chocolate kiosk in the mall was funny and one tall drink of water. Whew. He was damn cute and friendly. Uh, dude, can I ride naked on a horse for you?

I'm sorry people. That was sick. I subjected you to a mental image of me naked on a horse and that was sick and wrong.

But you still love me. I hope.

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