Blonde

Last night went pretty decently. Well, I mean, considering my age, it went pretty well.
It was basically a small salon filled with early thirty/late twenty year-olds. The majority of which wearing some form of haute couture.

I was the short, mature-faced, fourteen-year-old girl in the Star Wars shirt/pencil skirt combo who was only there to support her sister. How COOL am I?!
Anyways, I did manage to hold a few conversations, although I can barely relate to the most of the attendees. And you know what? I learned some things last night:
1. Prissy, self-absorbed men bother me. Especially when they're wearing breeches.
2. Coachella isn't insane and chaotic, and its' crowd doesn't soley consist of drunken, high, bumbling, urban idiots with weed woven through their dreadlocks. At ALL.
3. I look old enough to successfully order a Blonde. (& apparently my Star Wars shirt didn't hint at my juvenility, because these two guys in line behind me tried to use it to pick up on me >.O)

YES. But overall, I had a good time. 'Twas good times.