Pillarbox Red Rage, Part One

I've found that having pink hair has given me a bit of an attitude problem.  Well, I guess it's more that having pink hair has given me permission to have an attitude problem. 
To elaborate, I am fully aware of the changed perceptions of me.  When I'm blonde, black, ginger - I am a sweet girl at first glance, and immediate responses follow along.  Those who know me though, even a little, know that even though I can be a sweet girl, I'm not.  I tell the most off-color jokes, I swear enough to make a sailor blush, etc.  But, being that in a crowd, it was convinient.
Now however, I have pink hair.  Which I guess makes my piercings more noticable at first, since me being weird is more instantly obvious.  Which makes people's first impressions of me similar to me being a law-breaking punk bitch.  Which again, people that know me ... okay it's half true.  I am a law breaker, but not in the way they think.  It's the under age drinking, weed smoking sort of law breaking.  And it's not that I'm a bitch ... it's that I'm a strong woman.  It's okay though, because I'm beginning to find the convinience in this too.

There's a part of me that is growing.  Her life motto is, "I am not your welcome mat.  I am not the person you are going to walk all over.  Find somebody else.  Actually, just not suck so you don't need to walk on people.  Or do not be surprised when you become the target for my wrath.  Also look at Elmo on the mother fucking boat."  She was already becoming a larger aspect of my personality, as I've been getting older and learning more and more how to set my limits with people, but it's interesting how much public perception can influence actions.
I had two incidents highlighting this perfectly, hence the part one.  On Saturday, I started receiving strange texts out of the blue.  I received about ten, from all different parts of the US, even Canada.  They all related back to a video game Portal (which if you don't know of you need to crawl away from the rock you live under).  It turned out somebody had gone to Mystery Google, and decided it was a good idea to put up my number and leaving portal texts on it as a mission.

To some, getting mad over this might seem ridiculous.  After all, I did not receive death threats, creepy phone calls, or have any violations on my safety.  All I got, aside from one girl who thought she had found a new friend in me, was texts relating to the mission.  However, that was a gamble on the part of whoever did it, because it can never be guaranteed what sort of people are looking around in sites like that.  Did they take that gamble with their safety?  No, they took it with mine.
Warning, I am about to do the un-American thing.  I am to decide, that a person is guilty on this one until proven innocent.  It's about the process of elimination.  Who has my phone number?  Who knows that I [usually] love Portal references?  This leaves about three people.  Three of whom deny it.  Two of whom I actually trust.  One of whom is really desperate to talk to me.  Now, I'm not saying this logic is correct, but I am saying that, at the time, and even now (albeit not quite so passionately), my thoughts were IT'S HER.
You want my attention?  Alright, you got it.  I picked up the phone, went outside, and left the angriest voicemail of my life.  I'm pretty sure my neighbors freaked out, convinced that banshees were, in fact, real, and wanted to eat their face.  I hung it up, turned around, and essentially bitchslapped my back door.  And shoved my hand through the window.

Now, I'm not going as far as to say I've never been angry until I had pink hair.  This is far from true: I am my parents' kid if in no way other than my temper.  However, it's usually not anger badass enough for me to shove my hand through a motherfucking window relatively unscatched.
Mostly though this was just an expensive lesson.  Not monetarily, because my dad is refusing to let me pay for it.  I'd like to, it was my stupid mistake.  It was expensive in the sense that I feel my family's perception of me has changed.  It was expensive in the sense that it could have been another unaffordable visit to the emergency room, the second in a couple months.
The lesson is, having a [justified] attitude malfunction should be about damaging the other person's face, not your own possessions.  This is actually a lesson I have to keep relearning in different ways.  It boils down to: when people fuck with you, you hurt them back.  You don't hurt yourself more.