Wednesday, June 10, 2009


Hot Mess versus Cold Mess

I've often wondered why people call things all sorts of wrong a hot mess. If it were truly bad wouldn't it make sense to call something a cold mess? I mean anything is more tolerable if it's heated. Well I was able to put this theory to the test last night.

My awesome hairstylist has moved salons and is no longer a few blocks from my house. Now he works downtown and I never get to see him due to a combination of his new location, my packed work schedule, and my unwillingness to part with the money required to work on my hair. Now if you've been reading this blog at all, you know that I have a long and tangled hair history that doesn't need to be revisited. Needless to say I thought that I was managing my hair pretty well and could make it one more month before seeing my hairstylist. Then last night happened.

Last night, I was on my way home from work when I ran into a friend of mine. This friend happens to be a drag queen who lives in the neighborhood. Now last night my friend was in fine form having just had some extensive dental surgery and not bothering to put on a bra or shave. My friend also had imbibed a few drinks and was having no problem letting loose opinions. I would classify this as a cold mess. All sorts of wrong and not at all hot by any stretch of the imagination.

My friend saw me and gave me a lovely drunken hug. You know the kind. The one when the drunk person falls into you and throws their arms around you and you're not sure if it's a hug or a cry for help. After we got the greetings safely behind us and everyone supporting their own weight. My friend tells me in a nice drunk voice that I should stop by sometime to get my hair blown out and straightened. Mind you, my friend is not my hairstylist. In fact my friend makes wigs. But it does make me wonder. How bad is my hair when my friend who makes wigs offers to help me out. Am I walking around looking like a hot mess?

As I continued my walk home, I kept thinking about hot mess versus cold mess. How bad did my hair look? Was the only person to tell me the truth a drunk man dressed as a woman? Once I had convinced myself that my friend was just drunk and I was fine, I actually ran into my hairstylist. OF ALL THE NIGHTS!! We exchanged pleasantries and I made an appointment on the spot. Last night I learned to stop debating hot mess versus cold mess. A mess is a mess.

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