If you Don't Like Big Red, then Fuck You!

I went through a drastic change this weekend and love every second of that decision.  I walked into a hair salon (seven hours too late because of my choice to part-ay the prior night) with a picture of "pre-coke/poor life choices Lindsay Lohan."  Recently single?  Bring. It. On.

Me: "I want this."
Amazing stylist whom I now love/BFF: "This is going to be fun...ya, I love this.  We are going to make this happen."

A little over an hour later, I began life as a happy-go-lucky redhead.  My best friends from home and I were shopping in Chicago this weekend when a homeless, wheelchair bound man with no legs (as most solid Chicago stories start) even declared, "a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead?!  Well I be lookin' at Charlie's Angels!"

Yes, sir.

After a truly epic weekend it is fair to say that is a good start.  Keep the "Ginger," "Ariel," and "Fire Crotch" nicknames going everyone.