I have having thE most Fantabulous hair day I've had since the summer humidity hit in May! It's smoothed straight, slightly curled under, oodles of volume. So i decided to have a fantabulous face to go with it - got out the sandblaster (jk) and Ta-Dum! Perfect makeup, perfect hair, and I'm at my lowest weight since July.

Sigh - life is good my friends.

Not ONLY is my hair perfection and my makeup flawless, BUT my apartment is clean! Organized, tidy, no dishes in the sink, no books and magazines strewn about the coffee table and couches - whether or not my life is in order, personal exterior and my apartment's interior are projecting that image.

So that's the good stuff.

On the flipside, its one day into the DNC Convention and, much like an Olympic Gymnast, I'm exercising amazing control over my upchuck reflex. Though I'm having nightmares of rabid donkeys chasing me and demanding more taxes from my paycheck - very disturbing.

I also cooked dinner on Saturday night using actual food that doesn’t come out of a freezer and kitchen appliances other than my microwave - equally disturbing.

Frankly,

It's been awhile since I've done one of these - but it was so good, I just couldn't resist! Enjoy!

 A New Flame: Revenge of the Carrot Tops

Last Updated: 12:01am BST 06/08/2008

After centuries in the cold, redheads are suddenly a hot commodity, says Hannah Betts

Notice anything curious about the cover of September's Vogue? Beautiful girl, check; Prada frock, tick; enthusiastic lipstick scrawl singing "Glorious!" So far, so Condé Nast. And then comes the realization: Mother of God, the beautiful girl in question has red hair and is thus - according to the savage logic of the playground - a "ginger nut" or a "Duracell". She's a "carrot top".

Flaming heck: Karen Elson is only the seventh redhead to grace the cover of Vogue 

Seeing red at redheads has been cited as Britain's last socially acceptable form of bigotry - and not without foundation. Even the ravishing Karen Elson, the beauty who graces the magazine's frontage, was known as "Le Freak" on entering the industry, and "fake model" at school where her peers were incredulous that she could earn money from her appearance.

Statistics from Vogue House confirm that this is only the seventh occasion a woman with russet hair has graced its cover since 1970. Despite the need for Italian Vogue's consciousness-raising all-black issue this July, there have still been more British Vogue covers featuring black women than Titian-haired ones. Yet red-headed people make up between four and 13 per cent of the population - depending upon where one looks in the United Kingdom - while the black population hovers at just under two per cent.

Alexandra Shulman's editor's letter smacks somewhat of justification. She notes that Elson's "pale beauty and flaming hair make her a vivid figurehead for this distinctive season"; surely the fashion equivalent of getting to play a tree in an autumnal school play.

Evolutionary psychology suggests that gingers are shunned because they are a minority - pack mentality dictating that those who are different should be ostracised. Despite red hair being a staple of children's fiction - Anne of Green Gables, Pippi Longstocking, Little Orphan Annie - historically it has been perceived as diabolical. Judas Iscariot, Mary Magdalene and Salome have all been depicted as carrot tops, while the pairing of red hair and green eyes was thought to denote a witch, werewolf, or vampire.

advertisementIt's unsurprising, then, that for every proud flame-thrower - a Tilda Swinton, Julianne Moore, or Gillian Anderson - there is a Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Kidman or Geri Halliwell itching to douse their locks with peroxide.

The Celtic Tudors may have fostered a century-long trend for strawberry blonde tresses. However, our own Prince Harry was picked on for his colouring at school, and has been over-looked in the swoon stakes - despite being considerably better looking than the heir to which he is spare.

That said, he has obviously fared better than the Chapmans, the Newcastle family who found fame in 2007 for being forced to relocate three times in three years because of their colouring - provoking the local council to suggest they take to the (L'Oréal) bottle. Despite a proud legacy that numbers Boudicca, Oliver Cromwell, and Winston Churchill as fellow members, comedian Catherine Tate's sketch in which ginger outcasts are forced to seek solace in a refuge would appear to be not far from the mark.

The red-headed reputation for being hot-tempered and hypersensitive to pain may be because they get such a raw deal. By comparison, blondes - Vogue's preferred colour for its cover girls - are thought to be attractive because they resemble children. Hair darkens as we hit puberty, thus fairness is associated with innocence, the tow-haired vulnerability of youth. And, where there is vulnerability, so there will be those that seek to exploit it, viz Alfred Hitchock's remark: "Blondes make the best victims. They're like virgin snow that shows up the bloody footprints." If this is the kind of fun that blondes get to have more of, then there are many of us who will be entirely happy chugging along under a cloud of murky, sludgy brown.

For where redheads get to be the victimised minority, and blondes life's attention seekers, so brunettes boast locks that qualify them as normal human beings.

Last week, it was reported that a survey of 3,000 women by colourists Schwarzkopf & Henkel found that, on average, brunettes earn £4,250 more per annum than golden girls. It also found that those with chestnut tresses are 10 per cent more sexually successful than blondes. And they have featured on more Vogue covers than one might expect: the blonde-brunette cover-girl ratio being a mere 60:40 over the last 40 years.

And so to the burning issue: will Elson's immortalisation prompt a rash of imitators? For the truly voguish mane, will red indeed be on fire this season? Certainly, Bottega Veneta, Chloé, Celine, Sisley, Tiffany and Miu Miu's new autumn campaigns all feature flaming heroines. But those tempted may wish to consider further Schwarzkopf & Henkel research. While red is the hue that the majority of colour chameleons initially opt to embrace, the brand also discovered that it is the shade they ditch the fastest, after an average of merely two years. Still, that's a few seasons longer than most fashion trends.

Information appearing on telegraph.co.uk is the copyright of Telegraph Media Group Limited and must not be reproduced in any medium without license. For the full copyright statement see Copyright

I’ve been confused lately.

Very confused.

From the whirlwind of work, schedules and happy hours to the swirling of thoughts in my head and emotions in my heart.

Maybe I’ll be able to think more clearly after he leaves and my life will take on some semblance of normalcy and of “me” again. But between surviving three relationships, two different jobs and one sexual assault in the past two years, how can I even remember what “normal” is anymore?

“Normally”, when a relationship was becoming rocky, or there was an end in sight,  I’d be out scheduling dates and parties with either the trusty standby’s in my little black book. These included generally attractive, fun guys that I have met during my tenure in the District out of which relationships never materialized for one reason or another. However, platonic friendship never Quite developed in their place. At any rate, these are all excellent candidates for lively dinner, happy hour or movie going companions easing moi back into a the single mentally and solo lifestyle.

But I haven’t so much as perused my phone contacts list in contemplation of an augmentation of my social life.

So perhaps the definition has changed – or have I?

Frankly,

P.S. The meeting of Mr. & Mrs. Army went well - as predicted, much wine was consumed. Thankfully, the meeting did not necessitate the need for hard liquor. I was, as predicted, underwhelmed by inclusion into the Army family dynamic. However, I did not spend the majority of the weekend dwelling on where I was not. Which, I think is a step forward?

Army’s parents are in town. And yes – I will be meeting them this weekend.

I’m very conflicted about this whole “let’s play happy family” scenario that will consume my Friday and Saturday evening.

Personally I don’t see the point. I don’t see the point of me meeting them if he’s leaving in two weeks. Why even attempt this family integration when the relationship is rocketing towards a cliff? Why did I even agree to this potentially and inevitably tortuous affair?

I suppose it’s because I’m trying to be the caring, giving, NICE person that I know I have hidden SOMEWHERE deep down inside and sigh…that’s what you do. When your friend’s parents come into town, you meet them, you have dinner, you entertain and try to keep your language and the stories of their child doing jell-o shots on top of a bar last weekend – under wraps.

Frankly, herein lies the problem: no surprise, it has to do with Fuckhead.

Fuckhead’s family LOVE-D S me. They L-O-V-E yours truly, and rightfully so. They astutely pointed out that moi was the absolute best thing that ever happened to their Neanderthal of a son and integrated me into their lives like built in hardware on a MAC.

And cynically speaking, I don’t want this to be one more thing in this on paper “perfect” relationship that isn’t as shiny, or bright, or sparkly or “special” or whatever as before. I don’t need another family. I don’t want another family. And I still HATE the idea that a she-beast who’s never ventured beyond the confines of the greater Albuquerque metropolitan area has no doubt been integrated into the family that I miss and that I loved. As bitter and resentful and unattractive as that sounds.

And don’t tell me that I’m not “giving them or him a chance” – because frankly today, I just don’t care.

Not to worry dear readers. I will smile. I will charm. And be the dutiful girlfriend. I just don't feel like being reminded all weekend of what I Don't have.

Somehow I'm predicting a lot of alcohol in my immediate future.