Open mouth, insert Mexi-fro

A few days ago I got brave and decided to blog about showing off the infamous Mexi-fro to the world if I actually made it to my personal March for Babies goal of $500. And by brave, I mean "I didn't think I had any chance in hell and wasn't really going to have to put up or shut up." I tweeted my blog link (because it is tweeted and not twittered, people. Really, do you say ate or eated? Case closed.) and then I went about my business of kicking my own ass at the gym, trying to keep up with the never-ending piles of laundry that make it imposible to keep up, and wondering when I was going to have time to you know, write. I really didn't give the Mexi-fro another thought, except for every morning when I try not to make eye contact with the circus freak in the mirror.

Then something happened. Juliette Terzieff, #teamharis captain, saw my blog post. And holy hell, did she go to town on twitter with retweets and blog posts and more retweets and even pledging to donate $5 for every donation received by me (if the donor sends her an @ so she knows, of course.) Then my mom donated $100. And my godmother popped in $25. And then, O.M.G. becky, the mega-delicious @blogdangerously picked up the battle cry and publicly pledged to chip in $2 for every ten I raise betwween now and goal. And then? Well, social media knocked me on my ass with a huge show of support from new and old twitter friends, alike.

Seriously, people. I know this is for a good cause, but I'm feeling very Monster at the End of this Book right now and am hoping that the overwhelming show of support from total strangers stops right now. I mean, really, are you aware of the magnitude of the Mexi-fro? Are you actually ready to see the 'do that can be rightfully blamed for 32 years of bad hair days and hellaciously scary nights?

Okay, maybe I'm just trying to protect my reputation (you know, the one that I just made up in which I am hawt) from the Mexi-fro blemish I am certain is coming my way. Maybe I'm a little scared you'll all point and laugh so long and so hard that I won't be taken seriously ever again. Or I could just be having halloween flashbacks from when I was 8 and my mom froed out the 'fro and sprayed it to look like a clown's wig and I spent the entire night telling people at the Girl Scout party as they tried pulling it off that it wasn't a damned wig.

Then I remind myself that this is for a really good cause and in memory of my friend's baby. And I take a deep breath.

So go ahead, world. Bring it.