Good Morning, Internet

I have the best hair this morning. I wish I had a picture of myself the night before so we could compare. It was perfectly normal apart from the fact that it needs cut and I hadn't straightened it. Still, I wouldn't have been ashamed to take that hair out to a bar. Sadly another night of no sleep until about 7 this morning and the 2 hours of sleep being full of the most vivid and crazy dreams that encroach upon my consciousness meant that when I staggered to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I glanced up and saw this:



Now I don't know if you can make it out terribly clear but it was the best I can do. I look like some mad professor's assistant. The one that knows a fair deal more science than his patient wife and helps with late night experiments in the hope he will see his wife sucks compared to her. Romance ensues after chemicals blow up in their face. All I need is my glasses, a labcoat and to be attractive enough to lure a man from his wife and hey, new life goal.

Not pictured are my hella cute shorts. They're this gorgeous shade of pink with teeny tiny bunny shapes on them but they're not as kiddie as that sounds. They are also hella comfy. But I'm not sharing my ass with the internet just yet, Not for free anyhow.

Rapunzel

I've been thinking about growing my hair long again. I'm not one of those girls who always go on about wanting their hair cut short once it's long and regret it instantly but every so often I feel like change. Mostly I think it's because my hair needs sorted again and I don't the time or mind to do something about it. Bleh to hairdressers and their crazy ways.

I used to have hair down past my breasts only this was pre-boobage since I cut it all off at age 11. I've kept it at shoulder-length and above since then with one exception. Generally my hair is a big, wavy mass that causes me no end of grief. My grief usually pushes me to run a brush through it, turn my head upside down, give it a good shake and with a little luck it becomes socially acceptable. Waking up has always been a joy when it comes to facing the unruly mop in the mirror and working out whether I even have the time to pull it down before I miss the bus. I don't tend to sleep anywhere other than the comfort of my own bed and fortunately the few times I've crashed somewhere my hair has behaved itself. The man who can face waking up next to the girl with a cockatoo on her head is the man I'll love forever.

So sometimes I stand next to the mirror and wish for long hair that would tumble over my shoulders and bounce it's way down my back. It's really along the lines of my wishing I had red curly hair and long legs and the ability to speak at a level human beings can hear without my tongue tripping over itself. Once my hair reaches a certain length, bam: instant straightification. My long hair laughs at your puny ceramic straighteners, it has the power to straighten itself out completely after hours of twisting and retwisting heated rollers. And while this may sound impressive it leads to a very bland looking girl.

Thus I am stuck with the scruffier, shorter look if I want to look like anything worth looking at. Of course the sheer weight of my hair means untamable kinks and a lot of the time I look like the male population of Glasgow University which either says a lot about me or the guys that study there. Plus there's the fact that guys like long haired girls. Every guy I've been with (bar the crazy David who was really a stop-over between the first and last David) has told me not to cut my hair so with every break up comes a new haircut. The last one was the only guy I grew it for. Then he tells me maybe I should cut it short again because that's the kinda bastard he was.

All of what I've written is what goes through my head everyday I wake up with mad hair and it always ends in the same old brush and shake and dash for the bus. Really I should go get it cut soon, stop the mane from taking over while there's still time but you know that would be sensible.

My Speakers broke and I'm too mad to blog about them so they're in the title instead

I got a new phone today! Same number though because it's not really a new phone it's just time for another shift in technology in the Kittycat household. Usually this wouldn't happen for another year or so but then the iphone came out and my dad ran out and got one. My new phone does things like not take half a hour to open a new text message and fancy things like take good photos and play music! Although I had to download several things for music playing. Sometimes it sucks having only Macs in the house. Owait no it doesn't, my laptop is too pretty to be annoying! Anyway I worked it out thanks to the internet and now I can have music although it only uploads a selection of what I tell it to and in a seemingly random order. Do I really care? No. Because now I can have Golden Years everytime somebody texts me. What a world we live in!

In less !full news I just looked at myself in the mirror and my hair has gone mad again. By now you'd think it would be fine. I've got the hairdresser dealio sorted with a girl who talks at me instead of asking me questions and cuts my hair pretty much how I want it. The problem arises when we take a gander into my purse. I spent my last pennies on tshirts from the internet. So I will have crazy man hair BUT I will be wearing this top:



Sexy, non?

I have discovered the secret to Final Fantasy hair.

Dream about having to research ridiculous things for History.

I woke up this morning angry. Angry at having to look at a book for ages and wondering why I couldn't find out whether Bismarck liked pancakes despite the title being "German rulers and their pastry preferences' and then having an argument about what a proper pancake was with some girl who appeared in a caravan and was somehow my girlfriend only I wanted to leave her because she kept asking me stupid questions about Bismarck which I then had to go look up and couldn't find.

When I walked past the mirror I checked to see nothing was wrong. Face seemed fine, nothing new. Tshirt on the right way, good, good. Pause for yawn. Then a cough. Still got the cold I see. Darn. Eyes slowly roll their way upwards and...wow.

I had Cloud hair.

Actual proper, big spike sticking straight up and defying reason, Cloud hair.

I wish I could have taken a picture but then everyone would have to see my morning face.

I'm debating whether I have the energy for lectures. I wouldn't mind if the lecture theatres were at least a little comfy but I can barely keep myself upright, let alone balance myself on a pew and write on a teeny piece of table. Worst part of it is I have to go to the library at least sometime before Monday at 11am. Man can I not be bothered with that.

Whoever gave me this cold, I dun like you.

:(

I still have man hair




More to come later when I make cookies and see what happens when you add daft things to the mix.