Don't even laugh, or a tale of the white-girl dreadlocks.

I was going through my office the other day, trying to clean it out and make it somewhere I actually want to spend time again...throwing away pretty much everything that reminded me of school, because fuck school!

Anyway I found a big stack of old photographs, bound together with an old rubber band. And let me tell you...they are awesome. Today I thought I would share some pictures of me with bleach blonde new fuzzy dreadlocks in 2004-2005. And guys? They are bad. So, so bad. So before we get going I have just one question for you:

Y'all ready for this? 

No, but are you ready? For real?Are you sure? Maybe you should watch that video again first. 

Okay, NOW you're ready. Promise you won't break up with my blog after you've seen these? Maybe you should replay that video so you have the awesome music accompanying the pictures. 

No? You're good?

Alright then. Here we go...

***

You've already seen me playing the banjo in the post about my friend's military graduation (or click here if you missed it), now here's me...chugging a gigantic beer with a twisted tank top strap.

This is me...sleeping on a couch. (Who took this picture?)

This is me...wearing shoes that look like cats and a shirt about mosquitos. And the other one...I think I was sick when this picture was taken.That shirt was my favorite at the time, before it got irreversible pit stains.

This is me...being a douchebag?

This is me...driving (and singing?) across the Alberta prairies in the winter.

And my favorite one, partly because I look crazy and partly because of the burned film look, it's me...taking out multiple piercings from  my tongue after my dentist made me, haha.

If any of you know a white girl out there who is thinking about getting dreadlocks, please, by all means, use this as a cautionary tale. They will look like total shit for like, a year. 

But it gets better. See? This was at the peak of their awesomeness.

And here's what it looks like when they're really nice, and you're finally bored of them after four and a half years, and your mom is like "I'm gonna drag you to that barber shop." And you're like "NO! LOL!" and then you both pose like bad-ass cowboys because you're in Big Valley, Alberta for your friend's wedding, except you don't really look like a cowboy and your mom is just wearing a straw hat she happened to have in the van. 

And then a bit later you cut them off, but you're pretty sure you can comb them out.

And then you try and it's actually really hard to do, and this happens and you leave it for a day half combed out because you get so frustrated.

So the best bosses in the world buy you a professional haircut by Ashley at Lab Salon instead, and it's awesome. And the rest is history.

The end.