Why is my hair blue? WHY IS MY HAIR BLUE? That’s a good question.

A few days ago… I dyed my hair.

See? I told you it was blue. 

I dyed it blue.

Why? Well, I will get to that in a moment.

I was doing laundry…

What does laundry have to do with my hair being blue? Nothing. Nothing at all, but it IS the foundation for this story.

You see, when I was cleaning out my pockets to do laundry. Yeah, I do my own laundry. I may not have a real life. I may sit around in my apartment in my underwear a lot (I DON’T LIKE PANTS). I may spend way too much time talking to my cats as if they are really people and can understand me. I mean… Yes, Meep knows her name and Lilly judges me. A LOT.

This is Lilly. She IS judging me. She judges us all. 

You may not believe that Zoe can eat her own weight in … well anything and you may not believe that Trance is a little ball of feline hatred.

Wow… As I sit here reading what I have just written, I believe that I may have several problems. Not the least of which is Lilly Judgement.

Okay…I’m back. Oh, wait… you’re reading this and have no idea that I was gone… Well, guess what…I started writing this blog post 8 hours ago…

In that time I have been judged by Lilly. Begged by Zoe. Locked out of my house. Gone out to take some urban exploration photos and failed miserably at that, because all of my locations are either occupied (WEIRD, I know) or been demolished since I scouted them out. Then I went out and spent a couple of the dollars I found in my pants on some fireworks (IT’S RESEARCH DAMMIT!) Watched some music videos from “The Key of Awesome” (Their website). Got coffee – OMG Large vanilla latte with extra vanilla and whipped cream! Had a short discussion with the Coffee Nazi…

What’s a Coffee Nazi? WHAT’S A COFFEE NAZI??? They call themselves baristas (according to my spell check, this is not a word… I KNEW IT!). They try to force us to speak a completely foreign language to order our coffee. JUST LIKE NAZIS. No, seriously… it’s just like Nazi Germany. Don’t believe me, here’s a transcript of the conversation. Sorry for the formatting. I’m a screen writer, so that’s the only way I know to transcribe a conversation.

Hi. I’d like a large vanilla latte with 
extra vanilla and whipped cream. 
What was that sir?
Sorry, I tend to mumble. That was a
vanilla latte.
No, sir.
I have to diverge here for a moment because there was a pause in the conversation. I was looking around for who she was talking to. I mean… I am not a sir. I mean… I am a 6’9″ man in old, ripped up, bdu bottoms.(that’s military talk for pants… did I mention I hate pants? It shows in my treatment of them.), an AWESOME super man t-shirt, with a bald spot and blue hair. I am not a sir.
THIS is my awesome super man shirt. And my NON-Blue
hair, which doesn’t exist anymore.
Where was I, again? OH! Right… I saw a rock. NO! WAIT! COFFEE NAZIS!
Yes, Sir. 
I know… her words sound respectful, but i have to assure you that “Sir” in this case was the most insulting thing I have ever heard. She might have well as said “Yes, ass-face.” Trust me… it was all in the tone. 
What was the question, again?
What SIZE of coffee did you want, Sir?
Oh, I left that out? I would like a large.
We don’t have LARGE, Sir.
Oh, you only have one size? Confusing, 
but makes it a lot easier to order without
feeling like I am a huge pig. 
Sir, please consult the sizes on the menu.
I did… or rather… I tried to. I looked at the menu and did not see anything remotely related to small, medium, large or extra large… Well, hell. She was right… there was no large coffee on the menu. I was confused. I told her so.
I’m confused. 
By what, Sir?
There is nothing on the menu that even remotely
sounds like sizes to me.
The Coffee Nazi makes a sound like a petulant child and stomps… I am prone to hyperbole an exaggeration but I promise you that she stomped… Maybe she goose stepped… (Nazi’s do that, right?) over to the menu and pointed. Tall, Grande, Venti and Trenta. What the hell are those supposed to be? I came home (after my other research) and found the explanation of the sizes HERE
I still don’t understand. Which one means
(holding up two cups)
I still don’t know which one I ordered. The I went for the big one… The BIGGER one seemed like a bit much. I had to point. I have a college degree (Well – 3 credits shy of one) and I am forced to resort to pointing and grunting like a cave man to get my coffee. 
I pointed out the irony of primitive behavior being required to order a modern luxury like a Latte… Evidently, Coffee Nazi’s don’t appreciate life’s like ironies like I do. 
After coffee, I went to Save-A-Lot. Another of life’s little ironies – I buy $90 cups of coffee, so I buy budget groceries. As I am in line to buy my eight two liters of diet fake mountain dew, and an older couple walks up to me. 
She smiles and keeps walking. He looks at me and asks, “Why’s your hair blue?”
SEE! I told you this would ALL come back to why I dyed my hair blue… (Honestly, I’m as shocked as you are!)
I looked at him and said, “Because pink is a summer color.” 
He… Like Coffee Nazi’s… didn’t think I was funny. His wife did, though… I am sure she’s still laughing. Where at him, or me… I’ll never know. 
But I got home and did my research… And since this has drug on for a couple pages, I will save that for AFTER the fire works down in the French Quarter tonight.
Next time: What happened to value and quality control?
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