I Dance When No One Is Looking and my Hair is a Literal Chick Magnet

I have a remarkably brief and yet shocking confession to make:

I love ballroom dancing.

There, I said it.



To awkwardly and unprofessionally change the subject from the disturbing announcement made earlier in this post, I might inform you that my favorite thing about myself is my hair. My second favorite part of me is my left ankle, followed closely by my belly button and both of my nipples. But for now, we're just talking about my hair.

I am not generally a very attractive person. My nose is a bit large. My eyes are too small and my brow protrudes too much over them. I'm kind of scrawny and my tongue is a violent shade of orange. In fact, if I was bald, then I would be about as attractive as the shriveled-up demon baby from The Omen.

My hair is an anchor for me. My life is unstable--at any moment I could be thrown out of my house by my parents, beaten to death by a delirious homeless man, or raped and mugged by a violent metrosexual who literally thinks he's Reese Witherspoon. But one thing I'll always know for sure is that a) I'll never go bald and b) I have pretty nice hair.

You may call me arrogant. You may call me self-centered. You may even call me a stuck-up, self-absorbed, Nazi a******. I am a little bit of all of those things, but you have to remember that I don't have many talents or features that I can pride myself in. I get mediocre grades, I'm a decent writer but not a prodigy, I have an extreme lack of social skills, I'm not athletic, and I'm not the best artist in Drawing 1. But my hair is my strength. My one good thing. It is a mane of golden sunshine bestowed upon me by God Almighty. It is trustworthy, soft, clean, obedient, soft, machine-washable, soft, soft, soft, soft, and soft. And it's all I have to hold onto.

And, as I mentioned in the title, it is a chick magnet. Unfortunately, it's a chick magnet in the most literal and regrettable sense possible. Females in general (including overweight, middle-aged mothers) are constantly asking me how I bleach my hair. At random points during my day girls will seize fistfuls of my hair and just sort of feel it for a bit.

Last night, for instance, one girl did just that. She grabbed my hair and yelled "Your hair is so soft!" For the next five minutes or so, girls would just walk up and massage my head, occasionally asking me whether or not I use conditioner and whether or not I blow-dry it.

Yeah, on second thought, I kind of wish I was bald. Then I could tattoo a giant black eyeball onto my head to freak out really tall people.

I watched the movie Cashback today. Truly a stupendous film. I'll let you read the plot synopsis and junk I just linked to on IMDb because I just don't have the willpower anymore to explain movies to people.



I will, on the other hand, tell you the three reasons I really loved this film:

1) Everyone was British except for the Swedish student and one guy I saw in the fifth scene who I think might have been an alien.
2) There were loads of naked women.
3) The main character really reminds me of myself. I know that's always what people say when someone has just read a good book or seen a good movie, but I go through life a lot like he does. I live for those "frozen moments" he talks so much about, and usually life just seems so overwhelming, that's my only way to deal with it. Also, I'm an artist. When I see a beautiful woman, I have that same urge to just rip off her clothes, throw her on the floor like a rag doll, and...draw her.

Does anyone else here watch Psych? Did you see the Christmas episode? Yeah, you hear that sound in the distance? Yes? That's the sound of Psych hitting rock bottom.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy