August 17, 2004

"...Figuring out your daily hair is like figuring out whether to use legal- or letter-size paper in a copy machine. Your hair is you--your tribe--it's your badge of clean. Hair is your document."
--Tyler Johnson, global teen.

The past few weeks of my life has revolved around a small influx of cash that was dispersed by my grandmother, via a complex distribution chain that involved my aunt, a living trust, and ultimately, my mother. This unexpected bit of wealth spawned the opening of a savings account, an extra hefty payment of a few bills, and a sudden flurry of consumerism, as Shorn and I stocked up on a few things that we have done without.

Quite honestly, the mattress (oh gawd, the mattress!) would have been enough. The mattress has changed our lives in a way that only something that you sleep with every night can change your life. We go to bed earlier, we sleep in longer, we wake up happier. I am so smitten with this mattress that I have literally bored my coworkers to death with my lengthy descriptions of it's cushiness. I will spare you the gory details, just believe that this mattress is the best grand we've ever spent, and everybody should immediately go out and buy a new mattress. Seriously.

Oh, and then there's the car cd player....nothing like finally entering the nineties! But I digress.

In any case, I've also been needing to buy some random junky girly things, so I decided to make the trek out to Target this morning, to pick up a hair iron, and a few other things. The trip was an unusual exercise in frivolous shopping, but one that I was ready for. I spent an unprecedented amount of money to get my hair chopped off with a straight razor, so I figured I should at least get the equipment to keep it up. I've been wearing this haircut around for a week without using a iron, and it has me feeling vaguely guilt---as if I'm not cool enough for my hair. So I needed the iron. It's all about achieving that 'shattered' look, which is apparently very important.

So I picked up my Conair hair iron, but I wasn't quite ready to be done with shopping. I browsed the Target cosmetic aisle, picking up some essentials. And that got me thinking about the sad state of my wardrobe. So I headed over to the clothing section and realized that the 'fall fashions' were out--jackpot! The first thing I tried on was a size 14 skirt, and it fit (ninja training made me lose ten pounds). After that I knew I was doomed.

I made a record-setting eight trips back to the fitting room, before I unleashed my frenzy upon house wares. I picked up and smelled every Method product, and I was so excited that I bought most of them. And I was so excited by that, that I immediately came home and started using them. I mopped my kitchen floor. I wiped down all my counters. I did three loads of laundry. All while wearing my cute new green corduroy skirt. How cute am I?

And then, all of the sudden, it's 5pm. That job application I was going to fill out? Not done. The tires I was going to buy for my car? Forgotten. The weekly grocery shopping trip? Hadn't given it a thought. And what about the hours I was going to spend playing SimCity and reading my blogs? None of that for me, I guess. I descended headfirst into a pool of depression.

Just as I was reeling from this sudden wave of regret, I decided to check the mail, and found my rejection letter from last week's job interview. Not a big surprise--a lot of people had applied, and I had a gut feeling I wouldn't get it--but rejection always hurts. My pool of depression was quickly becoming an ocean--but then something interesting happened.

A rebound was needed, and I decided to go against my instinct, which is to, you know, pout. Instead, I decide that I had started this strange day as a fashion whore, and that's how I was going to end it. I went upstairs, put on my new shirt to go with my corduroy skirt, touched up my makeup, and straightened my goddamned hair.

It's not often that a makeover with lift me out of a bad mood, but some days it's just enough.