the boy cried blue

It's fading by now, but for about an entire week my hair was dyed blue.

I was once asked what my favorite feeling was, after being about four pints of beer deep. I replied honestly: "spite". Although I may have jumped the gun on it being my favorite feeling, it is certainly high on my list. This leads to...

Several months ago I asked my mom if she would be upset if I showed up to Christmas with blue hair. She nearly shit at the very thought of it. I told my band I would dye my hair blue for our upcoming show, yet they didn't believe me. Granted, I didn't that night, but their doubt remained pretty steadfast.

For weeks I would casually remind others that is was coming. Disbelief seemed to be the name of the game, almost as if I was the boy who cried blue.

Almost another week passed by when I made an actual effort to purchase the dye. This was it. Go time. Believe it or not, this wasn't the first time I ever dyed my hair. In fact, I was dying my hair for almost all of 2007, after trying to match my hair to a fake beard I had bought for a halloween party, which was dark brown. I later found out that you can just as easily buy women's hair dye to use because, in reality, it's the same hair, and they have about 400x the options.

So one night, after partying late, I asked two friends to assist me in dying my hair. They agreed and before I knew it I was rinsing my head off into a shower, looking down to what looked like a shot from a Psycho Smurf shower scene parody. It was blue.

And it was the right time: I didn't have a job and I had an entire week off school. Life is very different when your hair is blue. I found myself balancing on the edge of embarrassment and entitlement, as if having that color of hair is reserved for a very specific class of society. Although I really did enjoy walking up to a counter to address the clerk with my hat on, order a coffee, and just before paying I would take off my hat to catch that look from the person serving me. I feel that they either took one of two things away from my appearance: that this guy is a total nut, or knows exactly what he's doing because nobody in their right mind would ever have that hair color.

I suppose it was just one of those things I had to do in my life. When I look back on the photographs of my life, I want to see some fucking blue hair.

I guess what you can take away from this piece is don't be afraid to dye your hair and that disproving people's disbelief in you is one of the most satisfying and dignifying experiences in life. Keep your promises and try not to be full of shit, more or less.

kick a blah blah blahhh

After Tiffany informed me of more ridiculous Kick a Ginger Day antics, I had to look it up for myself. So ridiculous. Another cultural reference blown way out of proportion.

Maybe I didn't get kicked because I was out in the sun most of the day? They probably didn't suspect a thing. Besides, if they did decide to kick me, I'd probably allow it out of sheer admiration for their gall. Especially when I'm carrying a dizi in my backpack.

shine on, ginger

I have red hair, and it took me 22 years to realize it.

To be honest, I've never really liked my hair color. In fact, I constantly forget that I even have red hair until somebody mentions something. Some people (a select few), love my red hair. They think it's unique and a nice shade of ginger, especially my mom. I can still remember the disappointed look on her face when I chopped it all off for the first time a few years ago.

There was even a period last year where I dyed my hair brown to cover up the ginger-love. I originally colored my hair to match my fake moustaches, but decided to keep it up, probably because I got tired of hearing about it.

Although, I have recently come to not only the conclusion that I have red hair, but that I actually like my hair. Should I repeat that? I LIKE MY RED HAIR! BOOYEAH!
I guess I've just decided to embrace my genetics, because that's all I'll be for the rest of my days. I've even started cracking jokes about ginger-ism, kind of like how black people bring up slavery jokes every once in a while, except mine are usually about the sun.
I do consider myself a fortunate red head though. Why?
Because I didn't really get any of the downsides to being a ginger cunt. Such as:

a) I can probably tan better than you, and I rarely burn.
b) I don't get a lot of freckles, which I'm bummed about
c) My body hair is blond, and nothing like my red head
d) I don't bruise easily, which is apparently a genetic default for those with red hair
e) I probably won't have red headed children either, considering that I am the only one in my family

So, there you have it. A first-hand proclamation on my new found pride into the world of gingers. So crack all the jokes you'd like Matt Stone, because for the first time I'll actually laugh with you, because I really don't care anymore. Shine on, you crazy ginger.

Photo credits: top - Kathleen, bottom - Darcy