Hair Band Tuesday. . .

. . .oh, it's Wednesday? Well, who the hell put you in charge of the calender!!?

When I was a kid, seems like yesterday, I was always fashionably late when it came to fashion. In the 7th grade, when everyone was dressing in parachute pants and Vans, my sister had me dressing in my finest JC Penney Don Johnson/Miami Vice white linen jacket and topsiders with no socks. When everyone else moved on to concert t-shirts, back leather boots and ripped jeans, there I was in parachute pants and Vans. Royal blue parachute pants no less.

Don't even get me started about the time my older (and wiser?) sister convinced me to get a perm in my hair at age 13, a very androgynous age for a child I must say, and when we approached a food vendor at the Mississippi state fair he asked, "What can I get for you ladies?"

Defeating, to say the least.

So, as they say, you can't teach old dogs new tricks and some things never change and history repeats itself.

Nowadays, I'm trying to grow my hair out. Fashionably late, of course. And mostly just to piss people off and the chicks dig it. But secondly, because I intend on cutting it off for the Locks for Love program that provides human hair wigs to child cancer survivors. Ironically, I have a rather unsightly mole on my scalp that I intend on having looked at once I cut the hair down to the skin, so in effect, I might be buying my own hair back one day! How 'bout them nanners?

Anyway, I said all that to say this:

Fuck you Barracks Alabaster and those stupid tree-sitters in Berzerkeley!

Here's a hair band from the 1980's: