Creativity is wasted on mere blonde specimens

Zob invited me to see her showcase at Vega last night. Vega is an advertising college, where the seriously creative go... man alive, I was amazed at just how creative these people are! In fact there was this vibe of creative energy that tingled through the air and it had nothing to do with the DJ spinning tracks or the not-so-virgin slush puppies we were drinking. Now, I consider myself to be somewhat creative; but this was totally different. A lot of it went straight over my head! Still...I was uber impressed.

Oh and speaking of heads...I went to get the head highlighted and was quite excited to see those roots disappear. The turned me into an alien with foils on my head and put me in the corner with dog-earred magazines and said they'd check on me in 10 minutes. 10 minutes went by. Another 5 went. I eventually popped my head around the corner. "Remember me?"
I got whisked away to the basin immediately.
I mean, sure, just because Hugh Hefner is single now; doesn't mean I'm auditioning to be a Playboy Bunny. With my hair colour now, I could. Just saying.

I have my boxing Christmas Party tomorrow night and I'm looking forward to smashing a few jaegers and glasses of champers. Bring it on...

Frosted bits

I need a nap. I'm exhausted. No rest for the wicked though. I have a hectic weekend ahead. A hectic working weekend.

Anywho, I got a call from my hilariously funny mate, Daddy Long Legs, who asked me if I had ever highlighted hair.
Um...
Nope.
"How hard can it be, Blondie? Just slap on some peroxide and we're rocking and we're rolling!"
"Alrighty, but you're signing a disclaimer."
"Seriously?"
"Yup. Let me just draw one up quickly."
"Blondieeee!! Should I be nervous? This wee guinea pig doesn't need shite hair for the weekend."
"Like I said, sign the disclaimer."

So, I arrived last night, played a little bit of tennis (as you do) and once we had both put the task off for as long as we could, he eventually and very nervously showed me the Highlighting Kit he'd bought.
"Ok cool, give here! Let me read the instructions."
"Noooo. I reckon we read the instructions together!"
We empty the contents out onto his bed and I got super excited to see torture devices. A lovely sweaty cap and a sharp plastic hook for me to stick into his scalp through the small plastic holes and pluck the hair through.
He put the cap on and we (his room mate and I) asked where the swimming gala was. Because we think we're hilarious.
I then had to get every piece of hair through the cap, without missing one of the millions holes. I didn't wanna hurt him, but as a result he was worried that I was being too gentle and not getting all the hair (from the root) out.
"Puh-lease. I am a pro."
"Let's just see shall we?"
"Shoosh you. Who has the power right now?"
"Just frost them tips, will ya?"
I carry on pulling his clumps of hair through the cap and 2 hours later I get the last strand through. Dude. 2 hours? I wanted to make sure I did a good job and didn't hurt him.
Then it was the fun part, mixing the colour together and plastering it all over the tufty cap. Beautiful. We then turned him into a Roman Emperor and made a funky tinfoil hat for him.
30 minutes later, he went to rinse it off and Voila!!
Like I said. Pro.

So, I reckon if my current career doesn't work out I can always go into hair.
Any takers?

I'm exhausted. Need sleep. I can only sleep on Monday. Argh.