Anyway so we're out wandering about the other day during Adventures in Catsitting and it hits me: I look like a cowboy. Well a cowboy that's thinking about defecting to the other side (not that side. the indians side...is it pc to say indians anymore?) to partake in the fringe boot action. So I mention to the Chef who proceeds to collapse in half laughing. 'It's the look on your face,' he says 'you're dead serious.' I'm all 'I do look like a cowboy, don't I?!?' Of course he reassures me I don't, but secretly I kind of don't even care if I do. That's what lazy days are for: tossed up hair, disheveled outfits, fringe boots and cowboy attire. Whatevs. You only live once. Go fringe-y cowboy or go home.
I was scanning through the pictures the other day busting up at the goodies he captured. I can't wait for the weekend: home of the no comb zone. Bring it.
I have no idea. All I want to know is where was the jean jacket.
Look out for that kid: he wants his two dollars!
(please tell me you've seen better off dead)
I might need two pairs. These are going to go down in the Fringe Files Hall of Fame.
Beam me up
I miss my long bangs. Grow hair grow.
