The Crazy Wig Lady

So I have this friend....I know what you're thinking and no, I'm not about to tell a story about me trying to disguise it by saying that it happened to my friend. Anyway, this friend and I seem to find ourselves in really odd situations sometimes. It's really quite comical.

So here is my story:

I'm in a sorority (don't judge) and we had a date party this past Friday, my last date party ever. The theme was "Come On Barbie, Let's Go Party," mainly so that you could dress up as whatever you wanted (i.e. Slumber Party Barbie, Malibu Barbie, 4th of July Barbie...etc). Well, I decided that I wanted to go as Lady Gaga Barbie. This, apparently, is much easier said than done. When I first started on my trek to find my costume I decided that I first should find a wig. Since my hair is extremely dark brown, I would never be able to pull off the Lady Gaga look without a blonde wig. So my trusty sidekick and I set off to the costume shop...I could go on for days about the strangeness of this place, but I'll spare you. Ultimately, they didn't have anything that would work. Next, my friend said she thought she had seen a sign for wigs just down the road. Sure enough, she was right. The sign was hanging outside a salon in our small college town so we decided to go in and check it soon as we walked in the door we realized it was bad idea.

We were greeted by a couple of friendly women wondering how they could help us. We decided to browse for a moment so that we wouldn't seem rude. It quickly became clear that these $150 wigs were clearly out of my $20 budget. We made small talk with the nice women, one more chatty than the others. This nice, older woman was Donna. I would soon find out that Donna was in the market for a new hobby (or new friends, I'm not sure which) and she thought that my friend and I were perfect candidates! She asked why I needed a wig, which then led to us having to explain to her who Lady Gaga is (which truly shocked me). She proceeded to ask me if I had ever been a blonde before and I nicely responded that no, I have always been a brunette. This opened an whole new window for poor Donna. I was quickly whisked away into a small back room to try on blonde wigs "just to see what I would look like as a blonde." The experience was getting weirder by the minute. Not only was I forced to try on wigs, infested with who knows what, I was then instructed to walk out front and show everyone else.

Now, let me explain this wig to you. Not only was it blonde, not very becoming on all, but it also had roots. A wig...with roots. Who would pay $150 to look like they needed to take a trip to the salon? This wig was also reminiscent of a younger Dolly know, in her Steel Magnolia days. It also made me look like I was twelve. So there I was, standing at the front of the salon looking like a 12 year old Dolly Parton with a bad dye job as my friend proceeded to take about 28 pictures of me on her iphone, all while using all of her strength to hold in her laughter.

After I felt as though I had been embarrassed enough for the day, Donna turns her attention to my Benedict Arnold of a friend, a nature blonde. Next thing she knew, it was her turn to find out what she would look like as a brunette. Serves you right. Her wig, like mine, was extremely ugly. It was awful. Definitely a typical "mom" hair cut placed on top of a 20-something year old's head. It was my turn to hold in my laughter and take pictures (mind you, I still have my wig on as well). Donna continued to "ew" and "aw" over us for at least 10 minutes and took pictures of us out in the lobby of the store. Meanwhile, her employees were just rolling their eyes. It was almost as if I could hear them thinking "Here she goes again...crazy old lady...."

Finally, we are told we can take the wigs off. What a relief. However, then a tour of the salon and introductions to all of the stylist is in order, of course. As we make our way up to the front and are trying to politely leave, Donna hands us business cards and coupons...all sorts of unnecessary things considering I will NEVER return to that salon...EVER. I don't know about you, but I don't have 7 hours to spare when I need to get my hair cut. And I assure you, that is how long anyone would be in there if Donna had her say.

Oh the things you run into in small college towns....

PS. I never did find a wig so I settled for going to Hobby Lobby, purchasing 10 yards of pink tulle and making myself a TuTu for Ballerina Barbie. Not quite a cool as Lady Gaga, but I can assure you know one remembers what I wore that night.

Beach Bound

Well, as I presumed, I am a terrible "blogger." I often think to myself "what funny thing happened to me today that would be worthy of a blog post?" Nothing ever comes to me. This leads me to believe one of two things: 1. My life is INCREDIBLY boring. or 2. I have an absolutely terrible memory. Let's just go with the latter...

Unfortunately, this post will not include a funny story. But I thought everyone should know where I'll be for the next week...So that you can be jealous. :)

That's right, folks. I'll be basking in the sun in beautiful Destin, Florida for seven whole days with 8 of my best friends. I could not be more excited.

Hope everyone has a marvelous Spring Break! And Happy St. Patty's Day!

Battle of the Sizes

Still trying to get used to this whole blogging concept. I often feel as though I have nothing interesting to write about...but something happened yesterday that I thought was worth sharing.

So, yesterday my friend, let's call her Bobbi, and I went shopping for some professional attire. I am frantically trying to find a job and felt like I needed more options for interviews and whatnot. Which, by the way, who knew professional attire was so expensive? Sheesh. But that's besides the point.

After going to 4 or 5 stores with no luck, we decided to check out The Limited. I found a lot of good options and headed to the dressing room to try everything on. There was only one other person in the dressing room area besides Bobbi and myself. Bobbi was not trying anything on so she sat outside and served as my personal Stacy and Clinton.

After every outfit, I would come out and get either the thumbs up or thumbs down or ask the sales associate to please get me a different size. You know, the usual. Now, when asking the sales associate to get you another size there comes the dreaded, but inevitable, question "what size?" I stood there for a second and awkwardly giggled before having to announce to the dressing room, the whole two other people, what size pants I wear. What woman wants to announce to anyone what size pants she wears? I know what you're thinking, NO ONE! That's what I thought too...wrong.

Out of the dressing room walks Miss I'm-a-size-four-and-I'm-a-doctor-and-I-want-everyone-to-know-it. How do I know she's a doctor? Because not only did she announce to everyone in the dressing room, which now included myself, Bobbi and two sales associates, that she was a doctor but she also announced that she wore a size four. Well high freaking five.

Skinny Doctor also decided to invade my personal space in order to get a better look at her size four butt in the three way mirror. Not okay.

I actually kind of feel bad for this girl. She clearly has self confidence issues if she seeks validation from complete strangers regarding her career and how skinny her legs are. I hope you know, Miss Skinny Doctor Lady, that happiness isn't always found by looking at the number on the tag of your can also be found in a bowl of ice cream.

Here I go...

Well, here I am. Starting a blog. I've been influenced by my peers to write my thoughts and stories of my life out on the internet for the world to see. I still have not decided if I think this is a good idea. But alas, here I am.

Starting my blog made me think back to high school when Xanga was really popular. Remember Xanga? That's a rhetorical question considering one, maybe two, people will read this. Anyway, I decided to take a look at my old Xanga. The things I chose to write about...I really have no words. Why in the world did I honestly think that people needed to know everything that I did each day? Is that really necessary? Absolutely not. So my pledge to you, my fearless reader(s), is to not post about the trivial things I do each day. I will try my best to keep it entertaining, but no promises.

Happy blogging.

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