The Underlying Reason I Don't Post Photos of Myself

There are oodles of reasons why bloggers don't post photos of themselves. A yen for anonymity. A desire to not have one's attractiveness assessed by eleven-toed basement trogolodytes. A desire to swat away the Internet freakdoodles. A prehensile tail.

In my case, it's about 25 percent warding off the freakdoodles and 50 percent wanting to be judged on the merits of my words, vs. the merits of my bone structure, figure type, and hairstyle.

But there's a 20 percent I haven't told you about. I am, to put it diplomatically, not the photogenic sort. Posting photos of myself would cause a clutching of pearls across the blogverse, a collective gasp, and a rapid drop in traffic.

(If you aren't looking at me, I cease to exist. Hello? Hi! Look look look! Aren't I fantastically adorable and so funny that you could just pick me up and cuddle me like a fluffy little snarky bunny?)

There are the obvious photographic indignities. Most of the time, I am snapped swilling Boone's Farm, being headlocked/molested by one of my girlfriends, gesticulating wildly, or dressed in some sort of monstrosity that makes me look like I'm about to give birth. At Woodstock. In a tent. After a few go-rounds with the brown acid. Eeeeesh.

But sometimes, I just plain mutate. There's the Feral Child version of me, with wild eyes, curiously hunched bunny-walk posture, and an expression that makes viewers wonder if I regard them as dinner.

Even better is Devil Baby Shannon. She has red eyes, mysterious cleavage, and oddly elongated teeth.

Sometimes there's Every Woman Turns Into Her Mother Eventually Shannon. That's when I look angular, Australian, and vaguely disapproving.

Then sometimes, a bad angle makes my chins be fruitful and multiply. I call her Shannon the Hutt.

But I'm guessing the math whizzes among you are less concerned about a feral man-eating demonic multi-chinned blogger, when you can focus on the mysterious five percent missing from my formula.

I have a prehensile tail. You heard it here first.

In the comments, tell me if you're photogenic.

Hair Crowdsourcing: The Results

I’ve been known to do some very awesome things to my hair color. There was that time in ninth grade I let my friend Molly give me a Manic Panic purple stripe. Or, there was that time in college I decided jet black would totally work on me…only to nearly jump out of my skin every time my hair would fall into my face (I thought it was a coordinated spider assault).

After a late rally for red, I decided to split the difference and go auburn. I also decided the easiest path was to hit the toiletries section of the Chinablock Bed Bath & Beyond. On Friday. After happy hour. And to take Zipcode with me and allow her to pick out the shade.

Well, really, it was a collaborative effort. We hovered around some Feria boxes, and a clerk suggested that we try her shade. As I’ve always said, anyone in a smock possesses the wisdom of Solomon. So we grabbed the box and drank our way down to Arlington.

Saturday, I decided to dye first and drink later. Wise, no?

I began to dig out my equipment: the box of dye. Olive oil (it gets hair color off skin). A 1995 counterfeit hfsTival t-shirt, complete with typos. And then I decided to look at the instructions.

I liked all the ones in all caps and boldface. CAREFULLY OPEN FERIA COLOR BOOSTER TUBE. USE CAUTION WHEN OPENING THE BOOSTER TUBE. DO NOT TAUNT HAPPY FUN BOOSTER TUBE. (Note: the contents of the booster tube were an arresting shade of menstrual red.)

After about an hour of smearing gooey dye into my hair, and then letting the color develop, it was time to rinse. Normally, you rinse out, then condition, and you’re done.

Not with this stuff. It’s always nice when your hair coloring has a half-life of a thousand years. I had to use the Rinsing Shampoo, which also included lots of capital letters and boldface. IT IS IMPORTANT TO SHAMPOO TWICE AFTER RINSING OFF MIXTURE TO AVOID STAINING ON TOWELS OR CLOTHING. Hrm. It took three passes with the shampoo, and about twenty minutes in the shower, to get all the dye out.

As for the results, well, they’re interesting. I don't post photos of myself, so you'll have to use your imaginations. It turned out exactly like the color on the box…the box of animal crackers, that is. I’ve dubbed this shade Thermonuclear Auburn, and it tends to glow preternaturally in the sunlight. It’s sort of fun, really.

Though, maybe next time I'll consult a professional. Or, at least, take a Breathalyzer with me to the drugstore.

Crowdsourcing My Hair

I suffer from a highly conflicted form of vanity: I don't really care too much about how I look, but I want a lot of attention for the fact that I'm not vain.

I've spent the last two days demanding that my friends choose my next hair color. Stick with the reddish, or go back to dark brown? Granted, these changes are so imperceptible that I'm more or less asking them to choose between ecru and bone. (What? Exactly.)

The scariest option so far has been that I return to my natural color (thanks, Tyler!). Sure...if I had the faintest clue what that was. In fact, one of the meanest things anyone can do to me in a round of Trivial Pursuit is ask, "For the pie...WHAT IS YOUR NATURAL HAIRCOLOR?" My heart stops for a minute, then I realize the joke. And I start to throw things. (I'm a little slow on the uptake...I had to be TOLD Spinal Tap wasn't a real band.)

Then there are suggestions that I get highlights, or go to a salon. No way...that's like saying I should upgrade from my Wal-Mart brand cocaine. Whatever a salon can do, I can do better with a $9 bottle of Feria, two glasses of wine, and some olive oil for the inevitable drips.

Now that I've written an entire post about my hair, it's time for you to vote. Red or brown? And, since I don't post photos of myself, many of you are doing this blind. That's what makes it awesome.

Yes, But at Least My Bangs Are of Average Size

Me (responding to Facebook request): Hey! You look well. What have you been up to since high school?
New Facebook Friend: Wow! You look exactly the same! You haven't changed a bit.

Note: In high school, I had a bad perm, an ass like the inside of a spoon, and dressed, er, creatively. As in, I WORE RAINBOW LACE DOC MARTENS AND CARRIED AN ANIMAL CRACKERS BOX AS A PURSE.

Conclusion: If a glance in the mirror so easily becomes a field trip into 1993, it's time for a makeover. It's time to get vacuously, unforgiveably, hilariously vain. Who wants to help me out?

Everybody Blogs About the Weather...

...but nobody ever does anything about it.

I am, in the phraseology of Charles Dickens, an "eminently practical" woman. But today, a day in which I practically had to swim through the rain to get to work, your favorite Pocket Blogger:

1. Wore my hair down, thereby causing some sort of psychotic break in which my hair believes it belongs to Gidget-era Sally Field (there are schwoopy flippy ski-jump bits),

2. Wore jeans, patent leather shoes, and a leather jacket, all of which take on unholy amounts of water, and;

3. Left the fabulous houndstooth Wellies at home.

But, enough about me. Let's talk about people who annoy me. People with no sense of umbrella-quette. Please note that the standard umbrella is effectively an oversize, nylon ninja throwing star with pointy bits on all sides. That means you need to allow extra sidewalk space so you do not impale others in the eyeball.

Also, Lady at Au Bon Pain This Morning, this is not your personal rainstorm. It's not some little cartoon cloud, following you around like Pigpen's dirt cloud. Ergo, you are not the only person getting rained on. So do not walk into a cafe, stop just inside the door, and shake out and fiddle with your umbrella for several minutes. See that waterlogged short chick behind you? She's already closed her umbrella, and is standing there in the rain while you get everything just so. Move inside already like a civilized person.

Wow, I'm cranky today. Anybody else got a rainy-day gripe to share?

PS: The photo above is of the Nubrella, specially designed so people can use their Blackberries in the rain. I love the woman, who looks all sexy despite the fact she's wearing a bubble on her head...plus, that amount of makeup would just slide off on a day like today.

Your Essential Haircut Update

Today, The Haircut From Hell has decided to arrange itself in a tribute to a beloved fictional character:



Awesome.