Pulling My Hair Out

Evidently, last week--when everyone else was blogging about what they were thankful for--I was thankful for Weezer.  A little over 12 years ago, I went to one of their concerts with a hawt guy I'd been trying way too hard to just be friends with.  Our 12th wedding anniversary is in less than three weeks, and we're still listening to Weezer together.

And this morning, I pulled out my one white (not gray) hair again.  I only have one.  I don't have a problem with my hair changing color.  In fact, I think white hair is beautiful.  And I think this girl needs a nose.  Really.  

I wanted to bleach my hair white when I was 20, but my mom convinced me the reason the model in the picture had short hair was because she'd destroyed her hair.  So, I'm fine with my hair turning white.  The problem is I have one white hair growing right in the middle of the top of my head.  The white hair is always conspicuously shorter than the dark hairs surrounding it (couldn't have anything to do with my yanking it every three months or so), so it sticks out at weird angles.  It looks kind of like this, only whiter and without the bird.   

And it reminds me of the nursery rhyme: 

Once there was a girl with a curl

right in the middle of her forehead.

And when she was good, 

she was very, very good.

And when she was bad,

she was horrid. 

You thought this post was going to be about my NaNoWriMo experience.  Didn't you?