Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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Had myself a bit of a breakdown yesterday. I probably shouldn't tell you why, you'll just think I'm an asshole. But you probably already think that anyway, so fuck it.

Right before my doctor appointment I went to get my hair colored one last time. Yes, I think it's safe. But if you want to give me shit about it you can leave a comment here.

I colored my hair because I'm going gray! And also because I won't have time to go for the next few months. I asked her to cover my roots and take it a shade lighter, with lots of white-blonde highlights around my face.

It's not as bad as this scenario, but I feel like it should've processed a bit more because I'm seeing more orange than I'd like to. I do feel a bit like Tony The Tiger. Except my hair? It is not grrrrrreat. Also? I may or may not have screamed at a shocked Serge that with my big, fat potato head and stupid hair I look like fucking Vince Neil now. He did the right thing, quietly leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

After getting my hair did I raced over to my doctor appointment, hoping that he'd tell me KID B's head was hanging out my vagina and I should head to the hospital, like, NOW.

He didn't say that.

As for what he did say: It's what I'm babbling about today. And I want to know what you think. I really do. But keep my delicate condition in mind and also that I cried a lot yesterday. Because I am a big, stupid, Vince Neil-head, crybaby assface.