You know those bitc-I mean, models in the Pantene commercials with the slow-motion shiny hair? If you're not Stevie Wonder playing the piano, why do you feel the need to toss your head around like that anyway? I mean, I'm not jealous; I'm just sayin'. Anyway, I don't have hair like that. And I used to think no one that didn't have a Matel logo on their ass had hair like that until I became friends with a girl who did (have hair like that, not the butt logo - well, at least I'm assuming). So this girl and I train martial arts together, and all through class she looks like some bad-ass Disney princess, while I look more like Buckwheat's older sister (still bad-ass though, of course). But I can't say anything negative about her because she's probably one of the sweetest girls ever. Love you B!
This wasn't even my point. My point is that this morning I discovered my hair's kryptonite. It's not a hat, it's not a gel, it's... a sparkly.
sparkly [spahr-klee] noun -item that sparkles, provoking the
viewer to breathe aloud,"Oooooooh!"
i.e., For Christmas my boyfriend gave me a sparkly and I
lived happily ever after.
In blogs to come I will explore the many powers of a sparkly, but this blog in particular is devoted to how sparklies battle that beast that is often my hair. Back to this morning...
With no time to tame the beast before the parking ticket fairy came around, I had to think fast. I had tied my hair into a messy bun. On some girls this offers a cute, tousled look. On me, it looked like my head had been squeezed out of a turkey baster. Suddenly, something shiny caught my eye. Enter sparkly in the form of gaudy rhinestone earrings. I put them on. Well, hel-lo. Instantly, the power of sparkly detracted all attention away from my Don King pouf. If I could keep all eyes on my sparklies, my hair was just a blurry backdrop.
I exited the building. I entered the public streets of Oakland. I moved my car. I evaded a ticket.
And I looked fucking fabulous. Thank you, Sparkly.