I've been dealing with my chronically fucked-up neck for the past few days, and the neck/back thing usually leads to insomnia, which means I've been cranky AND walking around like a Data/Ed Grimley hybrid. I know, I know. Don't get too turned on, internet.
Anyways, I've been scanning in some relatively ancient photos, since I've been up til 1 AM and all. My methods for scanning are this: stick hand in giant basket of unorganized/undated photos, pull out fistful, and scan whatever appears in my ravaged clutches. I'd say in a good 75% of photos I've found, I've been wasted. Yay '90s!
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D: Today's beauty tip: Don't take a Tylenol PM and then polish your toenails. Trust me.
Me: Do we not recall the drunken hair bleaching of '97? Or maybe it was '98? Whatever. I feel yr pain.
Let's not discuss my photoshopping a truly awesome smiley dinosaur head onto my face. Let us all focus on something else entirely: HINT- I'm wearing some sort of dog collar/choker. Okay, and the fact that my noggin makes Tara Reid's colorist look like a Mensa leader. Are you dying inside along with me? Are you wondering where my true friends were, friends that should have staged some sort of alcohol/hair product intervention? Me too. Bitches.