I lost seven pounds! It's official - from Saturday last to Saturday past, I lost an official, gold-star earning, seven pounds. Wee!
I've more or less decided that if I manage to lose three pounds this week, I will reward myself with a new hair colour. I was at Mandy's on Friday night, and I saw some pictures of me from when I had, aside from a far smaller bottom, fabulous fire-engine red highlights in my hair. I've been happy with the rich espresso I'm currently tossing flirtatiously over my shoulders, as I can almost honestly claim it as my own, but I do think it's time for a change. Granted, my own natural rich espresso doesn't have as much of a high gloss as my brown-by-choice does, and I have, perhaps, a rogue white hair or sixteen that have to be dealt with on a regular basis. But other than that, my hair and my eyebrows totally match. And as you all know, I've got virgin brows.
So, here's my conundrum. If I actually lose the three pounds, should I go for a whole new colour, or should I just get startling and dramatic highlights? Let me know, poppets. This is My Official Request For Your Opinion. (Guest book at left. Parking in the back. Please tip your waiters.)
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So, as you all know, I now officially love five stylish, hip, and wonderful men. I want to marry Thom. I want Kian and Jai to be my best friends. I want Ted to be my neighbour who has a key to my house and will come over with something delicious and exotic to eat when he senses that I'm down. I want Carson... well, no. Carson can be my personal shopper. Because if I make my relationship with Carson in any way personal, he will outshine me, and he will love it, and there will be resentment, because I know there is nothing I can do about it. Also, he will steal my boyfriend. You know, the one I have aside from my marriage to Thom.
Oh, Queer Eye. How happy you make me! How wonderful it is to know that if I'm having a loserly kind of Saturday night, it's really not so bad because at 11:45, I'll have the Fab Five to make me happier than any girl deserves to be. And? And? If by chance I have a good Saturday night, well, my boys, they will reward me with an encore viewing on Sunday at eight! Isn't that wonderful? Isn't it? Isn't it?
Yeah... no. See, Bravo, I love you. I really do. You made me happy for the first four or five episodes of QEftSG, but then? Then? You cheaped out on my sorry, broken ears, thus depriving me the pleasure of enjoying every witty syllable The Five utter. What happened to the closed captioning, Bravo? Why would you take them away from me? Why now, when Queer Eye is one of the last things on TV I make time to watch? Hmm? Now, last week, I didn't mind so much, because that guy who sang that horrible song to his wife... well, that was just not very pleasant. And The Boys? They knew it. I mean, he wore tighty whities, and showed us his naked bottom, and didn't shave at all in the manner that Kian The Wise One taught him. And of course, despite the lack of subtitles, the words of that song are now forever seared into my brain in a most painful and ear-wormy manner. So, yeah, I was willing to let the no-closed-caption thing go last week.
But then! But then! This week! With the GORGEOUS beautiful guy who barely needed any Queer Eye-ing done to him at all! I mean, it was won-der-ful! The make-over and the chocolate and the proposal and the romantic Moroccan setting in his backyard... WHY, BRAVO, WHY? And he cried! He cried and I'm not entirely sure why, because I couldn't hear WHAT WAS SAID! Why would you not caption that, Bravo? Do hearing-impaired people not deserve joy, too? Are we not human? Do we not bleed?
I am so totally going to complain about this. You watch.
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Have a lovely Monday, my beauties. Dance, even if someone is looking.
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