By which I mean: I got that Changeling* instinct going and I've been daydreaming about growing out my hair and/or a new face jewel. I dreamed I had Zooey Deschanel's hair, prompting a morning of musing on Facebook and then some Photoshop play:
But seriously, I have bang envy. I've never rocked a thick, chunky bang since the horrific poofs of my teens.
How fucking hot would this be?
And here is my question, "Would a labret or Monroe piercing be all busy and crazy with my nosering?" answered with stick-on jewels:
My reaction? No: in fact, it's pretty damn sweet. My husband and coworkers are WRONG. I may start pricing a labret piercing. Yum.
Heh- scrolling through this post I think I really dig my regular ol' BuzzPixie hair. Also, I wish my eyebrows looked this fabulous without shadow. Alas, they are puny. And half of them fell out with a little bit of my head of hair because of the anesthesia. I am never having surgery again.
I have writings of actual substance in me, I really do. But today is not a substantive day. Today is a day for coveting pop star hair and blog-play. For leftover sugar cookies and sodapop. For very possibly wearing my yoga pants (read: pajamas) to work. For staging a pretend concert at my kitchen sink and waking a groggy girl to a coveted snow day. It's a day for which the word lollygag was invented.
*My mom called me a Changeling, coining a new meaning for someone who drastically changes her appearance because she is an impulsive and easily bored person who lives in a Universe where Manic Panic exists.