Bitchin' Camaro

Did you ever make a hasty decision about something only to regret it and wish you never did it in the first place? I don't mean the kind of regret like say, becoming a hitchhiking axe murderer ghost on Dead Man's Curve, nay, something on a much smaller scale. The kind of regret that's enough of a kick in the pants to get your ass working on fixing that damn flux capacitor so you can go back in time and make sure you don't screw up the Enchantment Under The Sea dance. And do I make too many Back to the Future references? Readers vote: "Yes! And please continue to do so!" Ok, no you didn't but let's pretend you aren't sick of my desperate clinging to my youth by using played-out movie references, shall we?

A year ago I made the worst decision of all time that forever changed the course of history as we know it (no it didn't). For over 10 years I had red, red, Lucy-red hair. But there came a point when I was sick of being known for my hair. Well that and of course my magnetic personality, large boobs and Maxim-esque body. So last spring I thought "Hey, I have a great idea. I should do something wacky and drastic and spontaneous and not well thought-out at all. What could POSSIBLY go wrong." And I dyed the red hair jet black so by the time winter came I couldn't stands no more. Chances are if you have black hair and you can rock the hell out of it, you have the right skin tone to pull it off. Me? Not so fortunate. Black hair aged me about 10 years, making me have the sparkling appearance like that of a a well-worn bar hag smoking Lucky Strikes and drinking whisky sours and thinking the 21 year old Joe College frat boys I'm hitting on are laughing WITH me. Granted, I'll turn into that broad ONE day, but it's not my time now. Down here, it's our time. It's our time down here. Goonies never say die!

So I've been growing out my hair since last November--NOVEMBER. And let me say that I haven't seen such amazingly awesome white trash 2-tone hair since 1987 when girls named Tiffani dotted their "i's" with hearts and dated guys named Rick and Brad who drove Iroc-Z's to Whitesnake concerts.

Moral of the story: If it ain't broke, don't fix it. And if you do decide to go ahead and screw with it, make sure it doesn't look like ass.

In honor of my 1/2 brown, 1/2 black 'do, enjoy some 2-tone vintage eye candy while I'm at Tiffani's House of Feathered Hair and Dorothy Hamill Wedges.

From yours truly and awesomely at Fast Eddie's Retro Rags this vintage 50's silk blouse and full circle dress set by Cadillac Sportswear:



From Damn Good Vintage, this tiny but wonderful vintage 40's brown and pink deliciousness. BROWN AND PINK, bitches! You heard.



A message to you, Rudy: get crazy on this kickass 2tone spectator handbag from Listit Vintage Cafe. Great price too, at 18 bucks. That's just crazy talk. Someone better JUMP on that, suckas.



And although I'm officially bored to tears of the keyword "Kramer" being used for these shirts (1996 is over dude. What...is UP...with THAT?), I still must give props to the random ebay seller who has this up for auction: