Little boys can be super dirty or super cute.

Example of super cute: Apparently when Christopher was younger, he called pants "a hat for your butt."

Cuuuuuuuute.

I Love the Loud and Occassionaly Obscene

( I hope I spelled that right.)

Why do you ask? Well I'll tell you.

This past Sunday, I did a little bleaching myself, and tried to get a lot of my pink out. I must say, I did pretty darn well for only having a couple mirrors in my bathroom.

When I walked in and sat down in theory today, one student started commentating on my pink hair, as if it was a horse race.
She turned to a notoriously opinionated and loud friend (I could have sworn she was gonna make bets with her about my hair) to ask her opinion. I'm not sure whether or not this friend had seen or heard me cry last week, but her response was superb: "I'm not gonna sit here and criticize her hair! All I'm gonna say is 'Good morning, Chelsea!'"

The first student (and SEVERAL others with potential) shut right up.


Thank you, thank you very much.

EVERYONE and His Horse

... had to tell me their opinions on Friday at school.

Allow me to explain. I was red. SUPER RED. This all follwers know.

Well, being the barely-guided beauty student, when the proposition of being blonde came up, I went with it.

BOY HOWDY, what an experience we had with this adventure.

Surely, the only person who knows your hair best is!? ... No, NOT your hairdresser! It's yourself. Your hairdresser only sees it once every (hopefully) 6 weeks, and at that, they're changing it more than they're studying it. It's you who has to repair it on bad hair days, who has to watch the colour you spent an entire paycheck on drizzle right down the drain.

Knowing this wisdom (which I hope everyone will learn and live by), my day was FRUSTRATING. I wanted to out and out bleach the freaking colour out of my head. I knew it was the only way possible, and I wanted it BLONDE. Not a light brown. That's my natural colour, and if I wanted it my natural colour, I'd stop colouring it!

Every single person who heard me say "bleach" HAD to interrupt.
"Are you sure? A colour remover would be a lot less harmful to your hair.."
"Morgan had that same hair colour, and it's STILL pulling red."
"Noooo! Don't bleach it! Your hair will be DAMAGED."

For anyone who knows the Gifford kids, we are notorious for being oily. Oily scalp, oily skin, oily schemes. (Okay, kinda kidding on that last one. Kinda.) I wanted my hair dry and damaged from the bleach. I was blonde in high school and loved it. My hair obeyed! It was ... normal!
Allow me to demonstrate:


... I would demonstrate, but it seems my computer has misplaced my pictures. I'll look harder when I'm not so sleepy. Or angry.

Anywho. I mixed the lightener myself, and told my friends to "just put it on already".
Ohhhh... Look who was right, all along. My hair was neither damaged, nor falling off.

I will admit it: I cried at one point. It was overwhelming to hear absolutely everyone's opinion and advice, when it wasn't even helpful. At one point, my teacher took over and said at any available interval, "Everyone needs to mind their own damn business. Chelsea's hair is in such good condition, it could take another three or four heavy bleaches. She's fine; leave her alone."

Albeit that the opinions didn't stop, the amount of attention I gave them surely decreased.
Everyone told me I'd have pink hair until it grew out.

I'm proud to announce, my hair is getting considerably less and less pink as the days pass.


So HA.