Dont Mince Words

I love trends, especially when they save me time and money. Since granny gray is in, it was time to have a chat with my hairdresser.

I’ve been coloring my hair since I was a teenager. My first gray hair appeared before I was packed for college. I’ve been some shade of red ever since. At this point in my life, I have to color my roots every 17 days in order to maintain the color. Two boxes twice a month. Red doesn’t cling to gray long.

My hairdresser understood my desire to go natural but wouldn’t double process my hair into a gray shade so my naturals could flow in. Too damaging. So now I’m a transitional blonde as my roots come in. And it’s weird. I feel like some of my personality washed away with the red.

I’m waiting on the “more fun” part of being a blonde. Right now I’ve got “more time.”

Not a dick pic!

Nothing makes me feel more alive than visiting New York. It also gives me an excuse to wear all my black t-shirts.

After I arrived in Penn Station, I helped five people with directions. I told the last person I had not lived there since 2003. “Wow, you just really look like you know what you are doing…like you live here.” That’s probably the best compliment you can give someone who has moved away and misses elements of New York.

I was above ground less than 30 minutes, walking down 14th Street, when a guy six feet away from me says, “Wow, you are a MILF. I need to get to know you.” While I am no mother, I will happily own the F part of that acronym. We exchanged numbers, I suggested getting a drink, and he said he’d text me (like a good Millennial would).

This small act by a horny Brazilian boy reminded me what I miss most about New York – real men. Men who do not hide behind screens but actually nut up and talk. It’s refreshing. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard similar stories from girlfriends who visit New York. Invisible in one place – noticed in another.

I didn’t expect boy to text me, but he did the next day. We didn’t connect for that drink and he said he was “sorry” that I didn’t live there.

Several days later I was back in Richmond trying to enjoy my first Tinder date. It was over when he whipped out his phone to show me photos all his grandchildren. I’ve reconciled where I live. I haven’t quite accepted the dating pool I have to work with.

You know what the start to a perfect day is?  Freshly ground coffee? Bacon frying? A blow job? Today, for me, it was a perfectly coiled crap in the toilet. You know, one of those “no way!!!!” works of art that you really feel will never be duplicated. Don’t worry, I didn’t take a picture. I did say “alright” loud enough that Dixie came running. We then took a three-mile walk and I finished my taxes. A shit is all it took to make me happy today.