1999

I want to party like it’s 1999. It was only four years ago, but stuff was ok then. President Clinton was being a naughty boy. I had a cool job. Space Shuttles weren’t blowing up. I had a few more cool friends. The World Trade Center was an ageing office building/tourist attraction. I lived in a cool inner city flat. Things seemed better. I want to party like it’s 1999.

(I’m going to read back on that, probably in less than 24 hours and smack myself for being melodramatic).

Hey, this is cool. Half my hair smells like raspberries, the other half smells like coconut. I went to a shop that sells hair cair products looking for some stuff that make the curly bits of my hair behave. Sometimes I straighten it, but Auckland is so humid in summer that it never stays straight for long.

So the lady in the shop showed me a few products and put some in my hair, the raspberry-scented balm on one side, the coconut-scented spray on the other. I looked in the mirror. It looked terrible, like those cheap wigs they sell at Geoff’s Emporium. I got home and my hair looked even worse. The coconut side was limp and greasy, the raspberry side was dry and crispy. It brushed right out, leaving my hair oddly straighter than it normally is. So it looks ok now, and it smells nice, but I didn’t buy either of those products.

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