Don’t forget to enter my Giveaway. You have until midnight Friday night to post your link. And that can be midnight Pacific time, because, really, I’m all fabulous like that.

I was going through my old pictures yesterday because Loralee posted pictures of her various haircuts. Not one of them was particularly embarrassing. And that was just so wrong. I not only had embarrassing hair, but look at the clothes and shoes!

Nowadays, I have so many different looks and body changes that people seem to only recognize me when I speak. Think Marge Simpson’s older sisters. Yes. Like that.

But I do have strange looking pictures of when I was younger. I was a bit surprised to recall that I wore a few wigs back in the day. Who knew?

Age 16, almost 17. Daisies in hair for wedding of my father and mildly amusing OCD stepmother. She was 23. I’m pretty sure we had our hair done professionally for this event. But I wore this do in a less poufy way for quite a while.

This is mildly amusing OCD stepmother’s (MA OCD SM) signature hairstyle for others. Ringlets. It was my prom. Even the ringlets didn’t stop me from getting naked that night. I shudder with embarrassment at the dress. Check out the shoes.

Evidence of the ringlet-making. This would be Dizzee’s first wife the night before their wedding. Nobody looks happy here. Foreshadowing.

And this would be the result. See? MA OCD SM was all about the ringlets. And Dizzee’s bride was all about the boobies, cuz she was knocked up.

This would be me, with hair in rollers night before Dizzee’s wedding. Note how hard I was trying to appear sober and no fun. That’s because I was posing with my father. Totally wasted.

Self-styled hair. Note the prom shoes. Many years later. Hey, I have Sasquatch feet.

I thought I had uploaded the bedhead photo, but instead, I give you the having a poop photo. Any mother with a kid that young never gets to poop alone. Not all husbands document this, however. Especially when his wife is wearing a Superman t-shirt and leather clogs. Notice how he cleverly distracted me with a cute baby before ambushing me with the camera.

I had a fondness for wigs at one time. And apparently, for over plucking my eyebrows.

The wigs got beat up a little. It was fun to wear them drunk, like here.

One more wig and I’ll stop. This was the mighty afro, which Dances With Shrapnel (also in picture) loved. He said:”Oh, Mommy, I love your hair. It’s aaaallllll MESSY.” So cute. He was coming down with chicken pox there.

Then there’s the matching hair. His was real. Mine was a perm.

My 50th birthday. You’d think I would have Photoshopped out the red neck, but you would be so wrong. The hot flash queen. And? It’s close to the cut I had with the daisy hair at 16. Only less poufy.

My green streaks. I really like green streaks. This was taken last summer or the summer before that. I’m old and don’t remember stuff so well anymore.

Thanks, Loralee! That was kind of fun.

After yesterday’s horrible, terrible, very bad day, I forced myself to slog through the process of making a meat-za, because, really, that pizza had a pound of meat on it. And it WAS forced. I had no energy to do anything at all, and if Warrior Woman hadn’t promised wine, I would have flaked on her like I flaked on yesterday’s hair appointment. The entire day was like walking through jello.

I changed yesterday’s hair appointment to this morning so they could block out enough time to give me streaks along with my cut. I rolled out of bed exactly 10 minutes before I was supposed to be there, so it reverted back to cut only, since I was late.

Oh the excitement! A former classmate of Ass Burger Boy’s is now in the Academy of Cosmetology, and she is a sweetie, one who was always very kind to him. She is also the most innovative and creative of the students. I can spot the talent every time, and when I get one to cut my hair, I tell them to have as much fun and be as creative as they wish.

She was so excited that I gave her free rein and she did not disappoint. Her supervisor suggested taking pictures for her portfolio, and brought the owner over to see the results.

I gave her my card, as it turns out she needs a reading, and went home and wasted my new do by promptly getting into my jammies. But I love it, really. I just love free-boobing more.

Got my hair cut and coloured today. Yes, they were excited too.

I go to a school of cosmetology for my hair care needs. It is considerably cheaper, and I am treated like a rock star there. Truly, I am baffled, too, but I kind of like it.

Part of it is my profession. People are all curious about what I do, plus they fear I may vaporize them with my death ray eyes if they are less than civil. It’s an interesting mix.

The second part of this treatment involves my adventuresome spirit, coupled with me having abandoned my vanity about the same time my waistline disappeared. I am old, people. Most of the geezer clients want the bluehead look, and I’m not talking streaks here, either. Those streaks would be reserved for me. That’s right. Geezer woman with the green streaks and totally innovative cut. I collaborate with the student and the instructor, tell them something I think might be fun, and we develop a vision together. Instructor tells the student how to execute it. Makes the students positively giddy. Giddy, I tell you. It becomes a reward for the best student in the class to do my cut and colour.

Today, well, today was a bit different. New class, new instructors, no continuity, and my recent records had disappeared. All that really means is a less than stellar colour result, and a long, long time with my backside planted in a chair. Four hours, to be exact. Also? No real strategy to achieve the desired colour for next time.

What does any blogger do with all. that. freaking. time. on their hands? Why, yes. You try out stories to see what might be interesting to a reader.

Naked guy. Student thinks I should blog about naked guy.

You know what? I might do that. Tomorrow. Too busy right now patting my hair.

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