Ok, so seriously everyone? Can we talk about how hot Britney has looked since she split with Jason? ‘Cause dang B
We are awe.sm
Moped arts & crafts! Its rust colored, to match the bike!
My girlfriend made me a new seat for my moped for Christmas. Like everything else on this bike, there are issues getting it all fitted. I need a whole dry day to get it sorted.
Five years ago, I watched KABC cover the breaking news of you shaving your head in Sherman Oaks. I remember thinking: “She is so lucky, but why does she cry? If there is nothing missing in her life, why do tears come at night?”
But here I am — not a girl, not quite a woman — and it’s all coming into focus for me. One’s 20′s um, suck. They’re filled with heartache, self-doubt, and for some, a burning desire to shave off every last lock.
My 17-year-old heart sank that night, Brit. The sexy, cool, southern charmer that led me through my adolescence lost her way. I couldn’t imagine what you were dealing with to take such drastic measures. While some say that incident may have been related to alleged bipolar disorder, you also undoubtedly were experiencing a quarter-life crisis.
A basic Google search led me to this description of QLC:
“People experiencing a quarter life crisis often feel “lost, scared, lonely or confused” about what steps to take in order to transition properly into adulthood.” – Wikipedia, duh
This anxiety can be caused by the end of relationships, family pressure, and career goal concerns. Most note-worthy, it can lead to “acting out,” (see: shaving your head, vandalizing cars with umbrellas, binge eating, etc).
Listen, B — 2012 has done to me what 2007 did to you. While I haven’t shaved my head (yet), I can understand why that seemed like your only option. After a certain point, it feels like your hair might be the last thing within your control. Okay, fine, that’s dramatic, but whatever.
I just wish I didn’t judge you, Britney of 2007.
I wish I could have called you up for drinks (maybe just tea for you) to hug it out. Because it turns out, you were once again blazing the way for girls like me. You showed us that, hey, life might get a little shitty in your third decade, and that’s okay.
You ended up surviving that rough patch, B. You found true love — fingers crossed for this one — you lost your meltdown weight, and you make 15 million dollars to sit in a chair.
While I can only hope for, at most, two of those things at the end of my third decade, I can hope for something — and that’s thanks to you, B.
Saturday night in rainy North Beach