that my cat can open doors.

oh peaches. what? right on.

Haha, speaking of hair, I perform my first service on a real live human being tomorrow. If perm rods and roller sets aren't the death of me I am on my way to being a fabulous stylist.


(or you know... whatever.)

Pizza with Brother Justin again.

I've been doing a lot of looking inside myself, worrying about what other people see and how I come off. I'd like to think I have a better self-image because of it, I am more aware of what I project on first impression.
There are things I cannot control putting out there, I don't know if it my stunning good looks or the sheer volume of my hair that makes women of the cosmotology industry assume I need Texas-sized hair. It doesn't matter her age or race or even what type of salon she works in the minute I walk in the volumizing comb and hair dryer come out (all razors and sleeking gel carefully hidden away) and I spend the rest of the day wondering if the swelling spackled mess will ever come out.
So an open letter to all of you ever considering the hair industry, I don't need three feet of hair, I spend considerable amounts of time after I wake up unvolumizing my hair, I don't want to be in the bikini run, and really I don't think world peace is the answer we are looking for. I appreciate your gentle nudges toward stardom but it is really unnecessary.

Remember, before the guitar when I was like. Hmm guitar is going to take a lot of practice. Lots and lots, every night I suspect. And that was cool? Yes?

Please stop hurting.

-e

It's always a secret to somebody. But don't you just love to be in on it?

I fried the hard-drive with my masculine rage. No more computer.

Truly the best foodstuff to ever come in a cardboard box.

Oh (The) Hush Sound,
Please consider moving to Colorado:
It's kind of close to California (which I hear is great)
It isn't California (We have fall!)
I love you music and would come to your shows (this is selfish)


Please think about it.
Liz

(P.S. I would totally settle for your tour coming here.)

It's Saturday!

(photo by the awesome natashca, she is smarter than you and everyone you know. Beware.)

The Spice Girls are reuniting according to the running headlines on Broadway I get my new from.

My inner twelve year old just passed out.

My inner twenty year old wants to know how they are going to afford Posh's costumes this time around.

Dear Reed Richards,
Seriously baby we can make it work. I get you babe. I know I am not a movie star, or invisible, or smart, or um Jessica Alba. But it could work.

(Obsessive) kisses,
Liz

Reed Richards you're just so dreamy.

Everyone around me is talking about Alice. Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass. I suppose the world could have more subtle ways to tell me to pick up a book. My brain is running to mush.

AHEKJtg;t h;eriaghlsdkjbg.


More after I:
Move.
Get a new phone.
Avoid needing a restraining order. (HAHAHAHA)
Pass work on level:hard.
Eat this salad.
Don't die.



Love,
Liz

Well I meant to get out tonight, but that just wasn't in the cards. Sorry for promising something I couldn't make good on.

Instead of mood icons I need Today my hair is:
with a color and a picture beside it. Really this needs to happen. When I am not dead from work. It just might.

Heehee charmedseed made it for me.


In return I will not shave her eyebrows off next weekend.


(Yay!)