wwwiamasheep: (It's happy hour in New York.)
I've been been to see my new and very lovely hairdresser, who is lovely, did I mention that already?

Anyroad, the outcome of said appointment is that my hair is now about three inches shorter (still covers my collar bones, so result) than an hour ago, but on the plus side, it no longer feels like someone mixed candyfloss into the ends when I brush (read:battle) it.

The moral of this story? Sweetheart really needs to have her hair cut with something approaching regularity.

And keep her mother away from the peroxide.




wwwiamasheep: (Default)
Never use No. 7 eyeliner as body paint.

I will be blue in places for weeks.
wwwiamasheep: (Default)
This is the type of day I've had so far:
I missed my alarm.
I walked into the doorframe. TWICE.
I stabbed myself in the eye with a friggin' mascara brush.
I nearly forgot the maths lesson.
I actaully did forget how to use a calculator.
I then SLEPT THROUGH MY ENGLISH LESSON LIKE A PRE-SCHOOLER.
I forgot to take all forms of medication, resulting in a really spaced-out day.
 
 
I am calling it a day already, before I accidentally manage to blow up Switzerland or something.
 

wwwiamasheep: (Default)
Swetheart has finally learnt her lesson on cutting with knives and finger placement, and a rather painful lesson at that.

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wwwiamasheep: (Default)
Sweetheart

December 2011

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