I wish I was grown. I wish I was grown. I wish I was grown.

I was gonna say "we were," but I didn't wanna make nobody gag.

Okay. I went to get my hair did this morning and Lord this one woman was bothering me. I just have one thing to say. Dress your age. If you are in your late 40s and you walk around with this imitational vibe, wearing ballet flats, leggings, a babydoll-ish shirt, and your hair on the side, you need to fix up your wardrobe or your vibe. Just stop trying to be something you are not! If people call you a name with a "Miss" in front, you cannot be dressing like or trying to be girls who wear Hannah Montana shirts, whom are in the 6^th grade. Just no.

Okay anyways, another thing in the salon. My hairdresser is madd cool. She's 22? I think; I don't remember, but we can talk about a lot of things. Today, this bitch was burning the hell out of me. Now I don't get no perm, never…I just get it washed & straightened, maybe curled. Today she curled it and everythang but damn! I thought she was gon' melt my damn scalp away. She said earlier that she hadn't gone to sleep the night before since she was in Atlantic City, but damn bitch neither did I! But I'm payin you! So shut up and grab a cup o' Joe or some shit! It pisses me off when they keep asking if you're okay. Let's learn a lesson. Miss hairdresser, why did you ask am I okay in the first place? Because I jumped right? Okay, so why did I jump? Because the iron burnt my scalp right? So obviously I am not okay! What the fried rice! Common fucking sense nigga.

I still have another post to write up. But I need some grub. It's musical.