bridesmaid dresses

After a variety of threats from Nezsa and her mother, I agreed to have my hair done by the chick who does hers. Which was fine. I felt vaguely like I was at work, since no one spoke English, but I also see this is a really *good* reason to be self-absorbed, conceited, and unsociable--I really don't care what people are saying.

Okay, that's a lie, I still do listen. But I care in a vague, did-you-just-call-me-a-puta-way. Which I'm sure she didn't.

Or you know, could be paranoid here. This would not surprise me.

Anyway, my hair is redder, and they started highlight work in a very interesting shade of blonde. I'm getting the rest done sometime before sister's wedding next month.

Also, I tried on my bridesmaid's dress.

This really deserves its own entry, but what the hell, I'm here and the dress is here and that thing was designed by a sadist who loved pastels.

( sadistic dresses )

Places to Go

Cavelorn talks the psychology of horror. I'd like to thank whoever originally led me to that for the wonderful Ring memories this prompted, because I cannot imagine anything more fun than not sleeping tonight, waiting to be killed by a fingernailless little girl climbing out of my television all wet from the well.

I did like, however, the emphasis she put on the way they *look* at you. And on indirectness in horror. It's pretty easy to gross me out, but it's a special place that scares me badly without blood, guts, or anything really extraordinary in sight. I'm trying to think of examples that she doesn't use and can't think of a one.

But you know, happy Ring memories. Whoo hoo. Let me just unplug the tv now. And throw it out the window.