I'm running out of new fantastic configurations to put my hair into. And to let you know how my mind works: that makes me want to cut it all off, even though I *know* that would actually result in me having less options. Word.
Just once more. Five minutes. A fortnight. With a kicky little bob.
If you want to hear me squeal and laugh, and we're at some sort of sports event and everyone is drinking beer. Bring me a burgundy can of sparkling wine that comes with a matching straw. Yeah. Sofia Coppola, you're savvy.
$6 a can. What a smart fucking idea.
Selling it, not buying it. Ha.
My friend did an impression of the look on my face when Hatton got knocked out. I was distressed. I wanted that fight to end like, 2 minutes into round 1. I just kept drinking champagne through a little straw and occasionally covering my eyes, though.
It didn't end much later than that, in any case.
I've been reading Cheri before bed, it's giving me wild dreams.
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