I have many many things to share; yet I cannot seem to make any of them “go” into written word. Perhaps I could do you an interpretive dance? Kidding—I wouldn’t do that to you; at least not today. Let’s see. I’m blonde. Which is even sort of my natural color; when I was a little sproglet I had white-blonde hair and many sunburns. I distinctly remember sitting in the back of the classroom in first grade and while the class watched a movie I just kept peeling off my extra skin seeing how big of a piece I could get. I then rolled all the pieces into a (*vomit*) skin ball before throwing it away. I don’t remember the movie—but I do remember getting some seriously large pieces of skin.

Seriously? I go free-form writing and I come out with the term skinball? I really don’t know which of the many things wrong with me has caused this joyous post but on the off chance it gets worse—I am sorry.

So, yeah—I bleached the ever living hell out of my hair and now I am blonde and holy crap did I feel NAKED. Did any of you know I was hiding behind my dark hair? No? That’s okay, I didn’t know either. That said, bleach is NOT friendly to yon hair and let’s just call me conditioner’s bitch. I need to grow this all out and then play nice to my hair for a while. Well, niceISH anyway.

I posted the bleaching FUN on facebook and received mixed comments and reviews and located in my messages I received the following words:

you have the eyes and smile that can be framed with any hair color. You allways look amazing no matter how you paint your pallet. Just sayin’.

Well, hell. This made me all fidgety and uncomfortable the way any nice comment does when suddenly I blushed. Yep, a full face bright red experience. There was a human in the world who thinks I am pretty; in fact there are a few people out there who think I am quite lovely….do I?

Lately I have been scrawnifying. I have never wanted to be a delicate flower (I have always wanted to be exotic) in fact, due to my upbringing where thinness equated value I have actively fought against the thought that my happiness was dependant upon my size. As a child I remember feeling guilty every time I saw the tone soap commercial—yes, I felt *guilty* that I didn’t have a hard muscled thin body at 8 or 9 years old. So, anyway back to this decade (why am I going back to my childhood in this post?)—I’m thinner. Most of that has to do with getting my diabetes under control and other medication side effects which cause me to eat very little. I’m doing okay. Today I rode my bike to work for the first time (yes, I got a bike, and it is flipping amazing), but holy shit that was not easy. I had to stop and walk it a few times. So, yes—I am skinnier, but am I woefully out of shape. ~sigh~

Tonight I have to ride back home (there is no magical teleportation device) and it just started raining! LOL I don’t mind rain I just thought it was funny that as soon as I typed that it was CUE DOWNPOUR.
So, there was a wee little update on me. Nothing to drastic – still diabetic, still poor, still have animals, and now I have a bike. YAY!

Kisses.