The degree of my own hotness today is such that it deserves it's own entry.
Shall I elucidate? Of course. Let's hope you can concentrate with all this horn tootin' I'm doing.
I'm sporting a new coif. After spending three and a half hours in the salon on Saturday, my head feels and looks fresh and new and springy. It's trendy-short and ultra-texturized, cut so that I can do that alterna-cute, just-rolled-out-of-bed-after-a-night-spent-discovering-tattoos-and-erogenous-zones look. I had the whole thing darkened, so as to really bring out the shots of fire-pepper, chilli red that I had done for shock value. It's a bit like Courtney Cox's hair in Scream 2, but brighter, and a bit like Kelly Rowland's hair when she's got those fire engine chunks running through, but less performancey. I gotta tell you. It's damn sexy. I've got sexy hair.
I've rockin' a new outfit. It matches the hair. No, I'm serious. I wore it specifically to go with the public debut of the hair. Is that wrong?
Ginger and Mary-Anne are behaving accordingly. All systems north.
I sauntered into the office with Hendrix's Foxy Lady going through my head. Niiiice, huh? Work it baby, work it...
And what have we learned today, boys and girls? Sometimes, spending half an hour totally boasting about yourself is a wonderfully empowering thing to do. I don't know about you, but I feel freakin' fabulous right now. It's about damn time.
Love you all. Kissy kissy.
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