I'm digging out the notebooks. The ones where I have started writing things and then left them to collect dust, those notebooks. I have several of them. Words, words, everywhere. Those words I had intended to "someday" put together in an organized manner and call it a book. Those words that have sat, un-viewed, untouched for at least two years. They need to go somewhere, so why not here?!
Do you really think that a support group for sex addicts is really a good idea? I mean, seriously. What do you think happens when 30 grown men and women who, through their own admissions (i.e., Hi, I'm Joe and I'm addicted to doing it), are put together in a semi-intimate setting discussing their trials and tribulations in overcoming their addiction? Can you imagine the scene in the parking garage after that meeting? Ugh.
And where are the support groups for those of us with less universally recognized addictions? For instance, what about Hair-coloring Addicts Anonymous (aptly abbreviated HAA!! since that's the reaction given by most who come in contact with a recently home-colored head of hair)? I believe this is a serious issue, which is widely overlooked, that is facing our great nation!
Millions of women trek to their local drug store armed with nothing more than $10 and an unreasonable expectation of looking like the bitch on the hair color box. I mean, I don't know the girl, personally, but surely she must be one. What with her perfectly hued hair and all. What should be highly guarded and perhaps even treated as a form of chemical warfare, is readily available on the shelves for any ill-prepared woman to purchase. You should, at the very least, be required to have a permit or a degree in chemistry to use this crap!
After making the trek home, it's off to the bathroom, which, suddenly, is turned into a dangerous chemical laboratory (as in, the warning label on the box which clearly states to never leave the mixture in the closed container for risk the bottle may explode!) I...er, um...I mean, those other women, begin the task at hand with the eager anticipation of beautiful, lustrous, perfectly tinted hair as seen on the packaging. Open. Pour. Shake like hell. The noxious scent of ammonia, or whatever the hell deadly toxin is in that stuff, quickly fills the air. And then, starting at the roots, working to the ends, covering each strand completely, she smears this toxic mess into her hair as if it were, in fact, her job.
Then it happens....you wait.
25 minutes of hell as you wait and watch with fright as your hair turns quickly from "Bleached out Bimbo with Dark Roots" to "High School Goth Chick" (the box actually said "French Roast or some bullshit). Then....the panic sets in. SHould I rinse now? It's only been on 6 minutes! Can I endure another 19 minutes? Will it really turn out like the picture? Of course it won't you dumbshit!
I can almost guarantee that there has never, and I mean NEVER, been a call to that hotline number on the box that went like this:
Rep: Thank you for calling That one hair coloring company. How may I help you today?
Caller: Oh yes, I just wanted to say thank you so much. My hair looks JUST like the picture on the box!
Now, while I've never worked at one of those hair-color help lines, I have, in fact had to call them. Yeah. I said it. I've called them. The conversation, in reality, goes a little more like this:
Rep: Thank you for calling and how may I help you today?
Me: Um, yes...I purchased a box of your hair color. It is color # 14G. It says "Rich Honey". The woman in the picture is sporting a wonderfully shimmery honey blonde maine. My hair, however, now looks like I just got a hair transplant from freaking Carrot Top!
Rep: OK. Ma'm. So, what can we do to help you today?
Me: Well, you can start by telling me who the color blind jackass is who fills these here bottles because surely to God there must have been some sort of mistake! It's not supposed to be THIS color!
Rep: I see. What we need to do now, ma'm is remove this color from your hair. Please give me just a moment while I refer to my incident manual to find the appropriate solution to your problem.
Me: Your incident manual? Refer to your incident manual?!?
Rep: Yes, ma'm
Me: So, you aren't a licensed cosmetologist or anything?
Rep: No, ma'm. The company puts its employees through training on how to handle these types of incidents and provides us with a manual with step-by-step solutions.
Me: Let me get this straight...you're using instructions, provided by the same company who put the instructions with the Fire Engine Red paint I just put on my head and you want me to do what YOUR instructions say to CORRECT the problem?!?!?!
Rep: Uh...yes, ma'm
CLICK!
Well, long live Carrot Top, I guess (at least semi-permanently!)
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