Pink tangent

I want pink hair.
I have a feeling, though, that pink just wouldn't work for me.
The type of people that have pink hair who say they're "asserting their individuality" are really just asserting how brave they are. Which is just as admirable, in my opinion.

The more I learn about my own heritage, about the Svedes and Germans... the more I wish I were Greek... or something like that. Like My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Tula was always so embarrassed. But how cool would it be to say "Opa!" and not sound like an idiot (or in my case, to have your roommate laugh at you... which isn't always a bad thing, it just means you aren't taken seriously.) I mean, my family is JUST as crazy, embarrassing and totally oblivious as Tula's and I don't get to run around yelling "Opa" and roast lamb on a spit. Obviously, you don't have to be Greek to have 27 cousins. Or to have to explain the pronounciation, spelling and origin (for people who are either totally blind or iliterate-- I used to get phone calls from soliciters asking for the "Eckersons"-- what the hell?) of the name you were given after your Swedish great aunt who apparently died at a young age. At some point I'm going to have to start spelling my name with an 'o': Honnah. (Maybe with two 'h's' at the end: Honnahh. Inevitably, though, that will just confuse people even more thoroughly.) My sister used to complain to me about her name. She'd tell me that the name Emily was such a common name, and not unique at all. Oh, right. Then maybe she'd like to go through life with people calling her 'Yohanna.' Bloody hell.

Well, that was quite a tangent. Geoff would be proud.

And now, quite to my surprise, I have just wasted thirty minutes of valuable study time.

Oh, woe is me, my life is so traumatic.
I shall swoon.