t-h.o

You guys. YOU GUYS. It’s almost August and I didn’t even pick a Ginger for July. What in the actual butt is wrong with me. There is no question mark at the end of that sentence because there is no legitimate answer. I just, ugh. It isn’t even fair to choose a Ginger now, is it? We’re supposed to celebrate them for one month, not two days! Rargh. Man. I don’t think I’m alive right now.

Ooh, I know! Upon arriving in Georgia (well, a few hours later), I had the chance to meet one of Janaí-Chanelle’s best friends. Her name is Lindsey and we were bedmates while the four of us (the two girls I just mentioned, me, and J-C’s boyfriend, Steven) tripped to Tennessee. I had the opportunity to get to know her and, because Twitter is my muse, I started a trending topic (that only ever trended on my own feed) about what I learned about being a redhead. It was called #TILARBSLOTWAR: Things I Learned About Redheads By Spending Lots Of Time With Another Redhead. So, uh, I guess I’ll just post those things?

We do not make decisions.

Even after we’ve been awake for lots of hours, our eyes remain half-closed and our faces look like pillows.

We roll up straw wrappers and put them into our purses in lieu of finding a trash can in which to throw them away.

The few times we say the word “confetti,” we say it at the same time.

Old men named Virgil who operate swing rides like to tell us how much they enjoy our hair color.

That was fairly anticlimactic. I’m gonna go.