No, I'm not talking fart jokes, kiddies! I'm talking about the amount of ammonia present on my body.

All right, I admit it! I colored my hair at Heather's apartment last night. I couldn't resist. The bottle was right there calling my name. You know you want me, it was saying. I'm right here. Just pick me up, mix the color, and you're on your way. It's that easy...

And no, my haircolor was not Devil's Angels At-Home Coloring Kit. It wasn't possessed and it didn't have a button on it to make it talk to you. I'm just going insane. Now, does that make you feel any better?

*points to a punk in my diary-reading crowd*

"Don't....answer....that."

Three guesses what color my hair is. Purple....no, sorry; you're about five months too late on that. White....nope, that's not it; bleaching isn't my bag, baby. Blue.....oooh, so sorry; I wasn't really going for the Gwen Stefani Temporary Insanity look.

Okay, you idiots, it's RED!!! Jesus, what did you really expect? Don't you even know me?

See, I guess this proves that my diary really is like a spouse. We have two-way conversations but most of the time I just argue with it.

Oh, yeah. I just finished coloring my mom's hair, too. So really, I'm not into lighting all my candles right now.

My mom totally did not trust me with her hair. She threw a fucking hissy fit when I took a wisp of her underlying hair and snipped it off to use as a test before she covered her entire head in orange dye or some shit.

"My hair is practically all gone now!" she screamed.

One little wisp. Just one. Not even an inch. I snipped a bit of my hair when I colored it last night. I've been growing my hair out for four years. And did I care?

Answer: NO.

But heaven forbid I make her go fucking bald or something so she wouldn't entirely screw up the color of her hair.

Anyway, the color was okay and so I started applying the color over her whole head. She didn't believe me when I told her to not rub it into her damned scalp.

But did she listen to me, in all my infinite hair-coloring wisdom?

Answer: NO.

Should she have?

Answer: YES.

Because when she rubbed it into her scalp she discovered a little place where she had scratched her head and apparently created a small flesh wound but it was too late because she had already rubbed dye into it and was screaming like a baby for ten minutes?

Answer: YES.

But I got her entire head covered in the smelly shit, okay? My eyes were popping out of my head trying to get some fresh air and my fingernails were beginning to develop their own personality.

*looks around and points to someone in my diary-reading crowd* "Yes?"

Reader 1: "So, amidst these hair-coloring festivities, did you actually manage to do something productive today?"

ME: "Yes, actually. I went to Circuit City and bought a phone because the battery in mine had gone dead, and I wanted one with a caller ID on the phone itself, anyway. And it's less expensive to buy a new phone than it is to buy a battery."

READER 1: "Cheap bitch."

ME: "Shut up." *points to someone else in the diary-reading crowd* "Yes?"

READER 2: "So, admist all these very productive activities on which you have enlighted us, did you actually manage to eat at any time today?"

ME: "No, I didn't. But thanks for being a sarcastic fuckwit." *plants a big Kathie-Lee smile on my face and walks away cursing you intrusive twits*

No....I love you guys. You know that, right? I do. I love you every day.

Well...when I'm not in a bad mood....

...Which I usually am....

...And I don't feel like loving a bunch of nitwits who sit around reading online diaries all day, and I've never even met any of you....

But I love you anyway!! You know that, right?

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Now that I've gotten all that "loving you" shit out of the way, my birthday is this week! Oh, joy!

Anyone wanna send me birthday wishes? Huh? HUH??????

*cough cough wink wink nudge nudge*

Nope? Okay, I understand.

(This imaginary "back and forth" dialogue is a pathetic attempt to disguise the fact that I get really crazy after inhaling vast amounts of ammonia.)

You understand, right???

(I really need to stop talking to myself. It can't be healthy.)

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No matter how much I wanted to bite my nails last night watching "The Practice", I didn't. They are still long. And really strong too, now that I've handled all this damned ammonia.

Go to hell, oral fixation!!!!

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I have orientation this Friday. Uhhh.....yeah. An entire day of being forced to hang around greasy pimply-ass teenagers who wear braces and slouch and say "that sucks" a lot.

I have to get my picture made for my ID card. It's totally ridiculous how much money those things cost, too. A Student Government ID card, which pays club dues automatically and gets you into all the dances for free, cost THIRTY DOLLARS.

THIRTY FUCKING DOLLARS.

I don't have thirty dollars! Do you have thirty dollars? I don't have thirty dollars!

Well, at least not to waste on a damn ID card, anyway. My savings are hoarded away like a squirrel's store of nuts to eventually be spent on CDs, I'm afraid.

Gaahhh....if my hair comes out bright red in the picture (which it probably will because of the flash), I am definitely not paying for it. That's ridiculous. I mean, it's torture enough I have to wear it every single solitary day, but looking like a freak in the picture would not help at all.

READER 1: *sticking his head back in the room* "But you are a freak!"

ME: "SHUUUUTTT UUUPPPP!!!!!!"

© alexa

The counter keeps breaking and pissing me off, so NO MORE COUNTER! Mwahaha!