Greetings from Baton Rouge, friends. I am down here for the week visiting Leigh-Erin and Scott, and having a fantastic time. It’s about 90 degrees here and I’m already sunburnt!! Oh how I love it. The old timey southern charm is quite palpable.

Before I came here though, I was long overdue for my tri-annual haircut (yes, I only cut my hair about three times a year. I am cheap.) so I decided to splurge and go to a nice salon. A woman who looked like the genetic splicing of Zsa Zsa Gabor and a velociraptor took a nanosecond look at the picture I brought and whipped out the shears…

I am now left with “a version” of the haircut I want that now has these little whisps of hair that will be super cute in about a month when they grow a teeeeeny bit more and don’t get all the fuck up in my face. I like the haircut, but the kicker is it’s a lot like the haircut I had when I was 18. Now that I am about to turn 25, I feel kind of idiotic having the same haircut I had at 18. To make matters even more head-shakingly ludicrous is the fact that this summer I have to renew my drivers license, and when they take my new picture, I will pretty much look EXACTLY like I did in the old one. EXACTLY.

Unless I somehow splice my genes with that of a velociraptor. But that seems unlikely.
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