The Definition of Inanity

It is said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different result. This maxim is not just said, actually, but emblazoned on several items of apparel and quite a few bumper stickers, often paired with an animal whose fur or feathers are standing on end to symbolize "crazy."

 "See, it's funny because he looks all crazy and the card says crazy and-"

But what of repeating an action expecting the result to be equally repeated, only to have dissimilar results? Literally, step by step, repeating a process that has served you well in times past, only this time, "well, screw you bucko, here's something completely different"?

What happened? If the players didn't change and the process remained the same, one might in hindsight espy that the environment in which said action was carried out hence might be your culprit. This is not, mind you, a question of nature verses nurture; this is simply being aware of your surroundings, and how you and your precious previous performances might have altered it, and as follows, your results.

I hate this. If there is a personage in this world that holds my envy, it is young children and their ability to honestly forget that anyone else exists, ever. Oh, don't play like you haven't seen it yourself- the kid walking to or from school, cheerfully oblivious that judgey old-people eyes are upon them as they suddenly STOP! And shoot out JAZZ HANDS!

 JAZZ HANDS! Oh to be young and allowed to re-enact West Side Story outside of the bathroom.

JAZZ HANDS! As the music playing in their heads commands them to frolic, stroll and be-bop along down the sidewalk, shaking various parts of their anatomy in a display less ballet and more 'muppet-handler on LSD.' Makes me hate them just a little more, which as we've already established, is already a plentiful pile of heartily disliking to be increasing. 

No more, my fellow adults (I hope; if there are any actual or mental minors reading, be aware that a snape kills a dumble door, Santa does not exist unless he's murdering your grandmother via vehicular manslaughters singing a happy little ditty all the while, and that when parents say you were a "surprise" they mean "well there goes the trip to Curacao. And the next eighteen years," and not like the other, happier surprises, like "it's not yours!" or "it's not chlamydia, just the herps!")

Now get off my internet lawn.  

Adult-impersonators remaining, unfortunately you and I need be aware of our surroundings; the blissful shroud of oblivion is now three-sizes-too-small. Like your favorite t-shirt from 7th grade that you can juuuuuuust still fit if you suck in and wear a sports bra (or bro, if you're of the penis-having persuasion); sure, you can still annoy physics by wearing the thing without imploding at the areolas, but it's no longer societally accepted to do so, and if you persist doing it in public, you might get arrested, on charges of public indecency for the ill-advised apparel, or on the aforementioned granny-meet-vehicle-murdering from above if you choose to be an oblivious idiot to the world around you.

 Which is how you find yourself doing something you've done dozens of times before, always garnering a satisfactory result, but somehow, somewhere along the way, the circumstances around you have now changed *juuuuuuust* enough to affect the aforementioned result, possibly in a deleterious way. Where are the clever t-shirts and beer cozies for this exception to the not-quite rule?

Damnit Zazzle that doesn't even make any sense

Or hats? For a hat would be useful, as on a related note, I dyed my hair again, back to black. I've had it thus for years, always using Feria for the subtle blue highlights and lack of propensity to wash out and leave a highlight color I can only describe as "mottled lasagna scab." I performed the action step by step, same as I've always done- got good coverage, rinsed well, conditioned for the specified time, etc.

However, if I had stopped to consider how the environment surrounding my grooming had changed- a different bathroom, a different city from the last time I'd dyed my hair... that I had, from January of this year up until this afternoon, been a bottle-blonde...

 So, how's it look?

My failure to account for the lack of naturally brunette backdrop for those 'subtle blue highlights' was a miscalculation of epic proportions. Which is a fancy way of saying that people at work tomorrow are going to think I'm a moron of 'blue is my favorite flavor SO I'M WEARING IT' proportions. As I'm slated to fly the following day, there's no way to weasel a day's reprieve to well and truly shampoo all the dye remnants out enough to allow different color to take hold in a re-dye, either.

So I take it all back. I'm going to go ahead and propose we all continue to wear the too-small shirt of obliviousness, tomorrow and forever.

A show of jazz hands, who's with me?

UPDATE: