You have arrived! To where, who knows? I don’t even know, to quote one of my favourite phrases, you’ve got Bob hope and no hope but you’re here and that’s just bloody lovely.
Hello to my new subscribers! Thank you.
For the newbies - I identify as a 44-year-old legend from the UK who has found herself in North Carolina, US. I’m married, no kids, no pet, nowt. Just me and the husband, committed to each other but other than that, everything else is too overwhelming and terrifying. Plus I don’t feel grown up enough.
Now that’s out the way, dearest reader, **Warning boring hair chat** I have to confess, at the time of writing this earlier in the week, I am sporting damp, ginger hair or if we’re in denial ‘Strawberry Blonde’ (with yellow roots). As the ladies in Downton Abbey would say ‘It’s a frightful sight’. I’m usually Platinum Blonde, a hue that has cost me a down payment on a flat, hours upon hours in the hairdresser, engaging in the most banal chat (even for the hairdressers) It’s exhausting and anyone who is this colour deserves a medal of recognition. For their dedication and devotion. Perhaps there should be a support group? This colour is not for the faint-hearted.
The wider problem is that I’m impulsive and having access to bleach in my home, it was only a matter of time before said hair disaster happened. It all began with me deciding to touch up my roots myself, can’t be that hard surely, I embarked on watching 100000 YouTube videos/tutorials, and Az would see my screen and say ‘Not again’! I ordered the best professional bleach and got to work. Oh, my Christ - not only was the process excruciatingly slow but I got bored halfway through and craning my neck to see the back of my head with the mirror placed behind me. The whole thing was a ‘Gong show’ (my Canadian friend uses this term and I’ve no idea what it means but love it) Az comes in periodically, shaking his head whilst trying not to pass out with the bleach fumes. I’m knee-deep now and have to begin the front two sections. FAST FORWARD - I wash it out and yes of course I’ve missed a bit - I look like a Cheetah with dark patches against the yellow tone, overall, it’s not terrible. But I toned it with purple conditioner far too long, so it had taken on a Lilac tinge. And not a good one. KILL ME. Where’s the oven?
I decide to correct the Lilac shade and I do a bleach bath - essentially weaker than bleaching but bleach nonetheless (I know it’s boring, it’s nearly over I promise) I FORGET to add developer and realise as I’m washing it out - Its unmistakably ginger. I have to laugh because my impatience has cost me a very embarrassing barnet. I go out in a hat.
I will attempt the correct bleach bath tomorrow and if I still have hair after, I’ll be lucky. I’ve always harboured fantasies of shaving it all off anyway. Perhaps it is time. Maybe I’ll resemble Sinead O Connor but likely more of a ‘nervous breakdown’ vibe.
Speaking of fantasies, in my dismal luck of securing a job, I’m thinking of reading, ahem, audio Erotica, I’ve been told more than once I’ve got a very ‘agreeable’ voice for this line of work. I used to record books for Audible that consisted of men wanting to be shrunken and put in private parts and used as a toy. I can’t think of anything more niche than that - it’s so impressive! Isn’t it? I took this ‘hobby’ up in lockdown, I ordered a self-assembling ‘Recording booth’ that consisted of Soundproof blankets, poles and a lot of instructions. Naturally, I didn’t assemble it - historically I’ve never been the patient type, I once nearly threw a flat packed chest of drawers out the window, and mum came up and asked ‘What’s going on up here’ whilst I was wielding a screwdriver looking very unhinged. So Az assembles it, quietly and methodically and ta-dar! I had my very own recording space where I read all kinds of unspeakable, nichey things.
Whilst perusing the audio Erotica website, I saw that they are hiring in their client relations team, this is so up my straza. Not your average company, suited to not your average gal. My cover letter was a charm, a perfect mix of humour, skill alignment and background suitability. I even signed off with ‘Warm regards (or should it be something spicier?!)
See? Adorable. Hilarious. If they don’t fall in love with me immediately and demand I’m on their payroll then they can 01-21- DO ONE. Or suck a dick. Either or, I’m not fussy and actually, probably the latter is more appropriate.
Despite my hair failings and never-ending job applications that receive no responses, I’ve kept my spirits up. There has been a shift in my energy and attitude. I can’t let this get to me anymore, I have an angel of a husband and whilst I’m berating myself for not contributing financially - I am doing a sterling job of loving him and supporting him through a stressful period in his career, I listen for the 100th time he mentions a work story, and even though I want to put my head in the oven, I encourage him and love him so hard. Whilst moving here was a joint equal decision, it was mainly for his advancement. There’s more to keeping marriages flourishing than just money and providing your share, it’s the emotional side too. And I’m providing that in spades so at least I’m bringing my special kind of lovin’ to the table.
Last night, I went clubbing (not for Seals) but for dancing. In a club. To a DJ. Genre: Techno! I had no idea who the fella was, only that my need for being in a dark room surrounded by strangers, listening to ear drum ripping music was needed more than the artist playing. As long as it’s not Line Dancing I’m peachy keen. Az didn’t want to come as he’d had an exhausting week of work, so I went with my old work friend, J. A perky and enthusiastic 25-year-old who didn’t even know what Techno was, not that she minded. There was no queue outside and once the ticket scanner saw my UK driver’s license, relayed his excitement having never seen one before and then proudly announced to his teammates ‘She’s British’! I swan through the door feeling like a 90s rapper.
Once I hear the thumping of the music, I feel giddy. There is no cloakroom so I tie my jacket around my waist and get down to business -my dancing style resembles a Pigeon jumping on one foot, whilst throwing my arms with wild abandon and high-fiving anyone who will look my way. This is what I love about clubbing, I look around and I see people of all ages, all creeds, Goths, Nerds, Tech heads, the boppers, we’re all here to stand and look at a man standing behind a mixer frantically twiddling some knobs whilst occasionally looking up. It’s bizarre really.
After a good 40 minutes of solid Pigeon-style manoeuvres, I am sweating and needing a break so I head to the toilet, a bunch of young girls all wander in, taking selfies and posing in their scantily clad outfits, I am not judging - I stood there in awe and recalled my clubbing days where I once went out with suspenders and frilly french pants on. When I got to the cloakroom, the attendant asked if I wanted to check anything in ‘Yes please, my skirt’.
We return to the dance floor and our new clubbing accomplice comes bounding over like a Labrador puppy, Antonio shouts ‘I thought you’d gone home’! So wholesome, we all high-fived like the Brady bunch and continued. Once I was thoroughly danced out and sweating I knew it was time. Cinderella had to get home and rest her weary feet. I’d had my fill, it provided a new appreciation of Charlotte connecting dancing and raving rather than just breweries and restaurants that we go to. I was grateful to be on my ride home, with ringing ears and feeling the release of energy. My Lyft driver tells me he’s a music producer, I make squealing noises and enthusiastically tell him that I’d love to make a record and I’m learning to DJ. He says my accent is ‘wild’ and that he’d love to feature it on a tune. This caps the night off beautifully, I feel like anything is possible at this moment - fueled by dancing and togetherness, staying out until 1 am (middle of the night for me) and as I exit I say ‘We should do a collab’! Who do I think I am, Mary J Blige? I laugh at myself and fall into a blissful slumber.
That’s all from me folks! Have a good week! And remember we’re all in this together.
Affectionately yours,
Your hair enthusiast and raver.
You most certainly are hilarious and adorable, and yes, anything IS possible. Go you!