Pretty sure it makes you the best parent, actually. Better than my mum who couldn't even handle eye contact. She just recited a brief list of things as she shoved a box of Always at me: "take Advil for cramps, the second day is the worst, it'll probably last five days. Cold water gets the blood out. Okay?" Then she…

Oh, and don't freak when it goes on looking way dark. It will be fine when rinsed!

Burnt sienna rarely works on anyone!

Have you tried painting the roots with Manic Panic or some other semi-permanent? I would guess that Rubine (which might actually be Punky Colour; I can never remember) mixed with Pillarbox Red would do as an alright approximation of Brilliant Bordeaux (love that colour, btw).

Well, my mum strongly encouraged me to stay out of the sun, and when I didn't (she's the one who sent me to swimming lessons without sunscreen!), there were more than a few not-so-subtle hints about home remedies like lemon juice. To her, freckles were an imperfection to be conquered (and I had enough of this…

But also the best thing to happen. It's a paradox inside an enigma inside a tortilla, I tells ya. Damn, now I want a burrito.

Okay, my phone is being weird, but if I could post a picture of Shout At The Devil-era Mick Mars, you would see your twin*.

Eh, this (semi-retired, or maybe just lazy) whore laughed. YMMV, just like when I'm at work!

Oh, you best believe I took those drinks! Some* of the places we played were really cheap with the drink tickets/tab, so I would take whatever I could get.

Sorta related to that: how many times, while loading in, have you heard some idiot exclaim "gosh, they're making the girlfriend carry amps!"...ummm, no, all our girlfriends are back home, thanks.

Ugh, the revenant Jerry Brown. How does he keep coming back?

Will I get ungreyed even if I have nothing relevant to add*? I would love to find out how the other half live/lives**...

Looks like someone holding a light meter, like with their fingers curled around the corner? An assistant, or neighbouring photog, perhaps?

Wait, her birth name was Mayra Hills? Methinks you buried the lede, Mark.

Pillows are required, in my case. Along with lots of tucking and fussing, so damn it, once I'm in position, do not make me move! Oh yeah? Well I don't care if that is your pillow—tonight it's my magical boob-separator!

Ghost boobs weigh that much?

...and coming soon, ringer tees with the planes hitting the towers!

I'm not quite sure what this says about me, but that is the comment that finally made me follow you. Granted, I don't know what following is even for, but someone followed me the other day, and it gave my winter-withered heart a little thrill. So, I hope I can thrill you, too? *re-reads last sentence, is too tired to…

Oh hon, I feel for you. I won't wear short sleeves because of my own shit (mostly hangups about scars, and not wanting to answer questions about them all the damn time), but from what I understand, HS is an extra bit of hell. I know two people who are on disability because of the pain. One friend gets injections, like…

Oh! Did you not like it, or are you just offering fair warning? I've been wanting to go there for years (I'm dealing with immigration stuff now, but we're planning to take a road trip once it's sorted, and the Mutter is definitely on the list); I'd love to hear from someone who's been there...