Don't laugh. I'm sitting here waiting and watching the clock, getting ready to rinse the NO-LYE relaxer out of my bangs. They've taken on a more Cleopatra aspect as opposed to Betty Page at this point, as the rest of my hair just keeps getting longer and curlier.
At one point does this hairdo cease to be Betty-esque? Enquiring minds want to know. So I'm getting the final touches ready on my next 2 days, which are to be extremely appearance-oriented. Tomorrow I start waitressing at the topless club, and the next day is the fashion show. Ironically, I don't feel very attractive, and it has nothing to do with the way I look on the outside, it's just one of those blase feelings that hits you like a Mack truck, I think.
This week has been fraught with miscommunication, it seems like every point I'm trying to make somehow comes out the wrong way, don't you just hate when that happens? And then there's no way to try to clarify without sounding like a real ass? Other than that, the week has been rolling by, and it's raining outside, combine that with a lot of wind, and I feel as if I'm in some tropical place, and not Minnesota.
Is it time to rinse this shit out of my hair yet? The smell is a mixture of burning crystal meth and leaking anti-freeze, ick. Oh, how we suffer to be beautiful, right? In case anyone wants to come over, I'm serving spaghetti with meat sauce. No? Ok. I'm in this reclusive mood, and I better snap out of it in time for the flurry of upcoming activity.
Who knew that Avril Lavigne could invoke such feelings and emotions, btw? All she appears to be is eye candy for me, nothing else. Her "status" as a musician, star, whatever is irrelevant to my hormones, actually. She just looks like she'd have a pouty face if you made out with her.
Trixie
At one point does this hairdo cease to be Betty-esque? Enquiring minds want to know. So I'm getting the final touches ready on my next 2 days, which are to be extremely appearance-oriented. Tomorrow I start waitressing at the topless club, and the next day is the fashion show. Ironically, I don't feel very attractive, and it has nothing to do with the way I look on the outside, it's just one of those blase feelings that hits you like a Mack truck, I think.
This week has been fraught with miscommunication, it seems like every point I'm trying to make somehow comes out the wrong way, don't you just hate when that happens? And then there's no way to try to clarify without sounding like a real ass? Other than that, the week has been rolling by, and it's raining outside, combine that with a lot of wind, and I feel as if I'm in some tropical place, and not Minnesota.
Is it time to rinse this shit out of my hair yet? The smell is a mixture of burning crystal meth and leaking anti-freeze, ick. Oh, how we suffer to be beautiful, right? In case anyone wants to come over, I'm serving spaghetti with meat sauce. No? Ok. I'm in this reclusive mood, and I better snap out of it in time for the flurry of upcoming activity.
Who knew that Avril Lavigne could invoke such feelings and emotions, btw? All she appears to be is eye candy for me, nothing else. Her "status" as a musician, star, whatever is irrelevant to my hormones, actually. She just looks like she'd have a pouty face if you made out with her.
Trixie
jamy:
what is it with intellectuals, betty page, latex and cute fringes??