I don't know why, but I've been on a hair kick lately. More specifically, I was thinking about a hair "fall" I used to have.
For those of you who don't know, a fall is basically a clip on ponytail.
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For those of you who don't know, a fall is basically a clip on ponytail.
You know, something really stupid like this.
One night- I must have been around 20 or 21- I was going to a frat party at UCLA. Since I had short hair, and short hair at a frat party pretty much means no one would spit on you if you were on fire, I decided to clip on my magic hair.
I remember I was wearing something equally embarrassing too. Capris and a t-shirt with the Playboy bunny across the front. That I bought from a Wet Seal knock-off store.
Barf.
So, I was at the frat party, dancing my generic capris off and some dude made his way over to me. I thought he was hot stuff so we started dancing together.
I could tell he was really into me by the way his drunken, crossed-eyes would focus in the same general vicinity as my face. Lucky for us both, the lights were low and the drinks were strong, and I'm pretty sure neither of us even knew what planet we were on, much less be able to identify each other in a police lineup.
At one point, he decided to run his fingers through my hair. At that same point, I started having a mental freak-the-fuck-out moment.
"Oh my GAWWWD! He's going to rip my fucking FALL OFF!! This is SO embarrassing! What am I going to do??!?"
I managed to stretch my neck out like a giraffe to follow the movement of his dumb, drunk hand so as to minimize the rip-off-ability.
And I made flirty eyes.
And then I playfully swatted that shit away.
No one messes with my fake hair.
We probably made out by the end of the night. I can't really remember. Maybe not though. I may have just bailed early to grab a burrito on the way home.
It was a special moment, I'm sure.
