i have a major girl crush on my hair dresser. it's entirely conceited. i see her once every six months and every time she never fails to comment, i wish you'd get your hair cut more often. you're SOOOOOOOOOOO funny. it's easy to have a comedy routine when you only see someone every six months. it's sustaining one that's tough and i'm quite sure if i took her up on her offer to just come hang out at the salon, our BFFship would fizzle fast. she'd realize i'm a fraud. that i'm really not that funny. that i just spend six months saving up an hour's worth of totally kickass stories to share with the woman who cuts my hair. which is kinda pathetic.
but still... i have a major girl crush on my hair dresser. she has random piercings, a lone blue braid and quite possibly the loudest laugh ever. last night we talked about her history as a raver and how that influenced her decision to skip prom. and i realized this is someone who would have scared the shit out of me in high school. someone i would've run from. or let cheat off my math homework.
and yet here we are. the geek and the raver. and i trust her completely. so you say i should stick with the black? done. you think we should chop my 3 feet of hair into 15 different layers with one that's only 4 inches long? do it. you wanna give me some thick-ass bangs that'll make it look like i have no eyebrows and the hugest eyes God's ever made? hell yeah.