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Confession: Tracy at Sole Salon on Bay Street, I love you. Thank you for making sure that my hair is absolutely perfect. You totally made my Summer / Spring 2009. Do y’all know what I did this morning? I showered, twisted a fistful of hair on each side of my part back and clipped it, and pinned the rest up into a messy chignon and set off for a meeting in SF. I put nothing into it except a dollop of shine serum. Several hours later, when I unpinned it, I had the loose, soft-as-hell, shiny waves of a fucking goddess. They were almost spiral waves, in some places. This is totally, totally, totally not even reality in my hair world, except now it IS, thanks to her. I have no idea what she did, but I’m never leaving. HEAR THAT, TRACY!? You’re stuck with me. You’re the one. Incredible. It’s effortless. Effortless! I would do the exact same thing with my hair pre-Tracy and not achieve anything near what I can now.

And that was before she really perfected it a few hours ago this evening. Now my hair is the ultimate force to be reckoned with. Well, it will be after I Lush it to death. That is neither here nor there.

Confession: Here is my outfit for the local fashion show. Guess what? NOT GOOD FOR KNEELING IN THE PHOTOG PIT TO TAKE PHOTOS OF THE MODDLES, GUYZ. Also? Why was I the only one in the photog pit not just in a dress, but FEMALE?!?! Plus, I held hands with a woman on stilts, clad in a flaming red costume with so many sequins. She insisted. There were also people roller skating in head-to-toe spandex with little flashing light tubes twisted around every inch. It was like someone threw up Burning Man into a giant convention center, right into the khaki laps of its attendees. Like, there was actual fire and I didn’t like it, y’all. ACTUAL FIRE FLAMING FIERY HOT AND I WAS YAAAAAWWWWWWWNNNNNNNN. So bored.

The fashion part was stellar, for the most part, like red carpet, hand-beaded Bollywood madness. I wanted to snatch every dreamy tunic off those skinny models and wear them scandalously, without pants, and sky high heels. Plus, I got to pop backstage and meet the designer.

Oh, and I was forced to drink a Jack and coke (I know) and now plan to NEVER go out to one of these things without at least two bottles of mini-booze in my bag. To be on the safe side. Like a grown-up version of a Girl Scout.

PS. M took these photos of me. Didn’t she do a really, really good job? Isn’t the one with two faces awesomely creepy?

PPS. I love love love my new haircut. It is exactly what I wanted and I got it all wavy like this just by scrunching. SCRUNCH.