My Style Is Mine, Not Your's (But If We Share A Common Taste, Cool.)

-Installment Number Two-
So I like to poof my hair up as high as possible.  I don't fucking care that Snooki made it popular.  I was doing it before she was born.  I like it.  I think my hair looks pretty damn good when I get it just right.  And as lame as it sounds, I get a little pissy when I hear criticism for it.  I do it for me, and no one else.  Did I point out to a girl at the bar the other night that her fishtail looked like hell because her hair was too short to have it all swept on one side?  No, because I bet she thought it looked fantastic.  As well she should have.
Trust me, there's plenty of style trends I think are utterly ridiculous - I mean, who told women that short shorts and boots looks good?  I don't care who you are - shorts with boots in 80 degree weather, or any weather, is not flattering.  And what is with the pajama pants & Uggs combination being acceptable in public?  I get embarrassed for the girls I seeing sporting those "trends."  And that is my opinion.  But you see, I would expect a friend or relative to tell me, "Oh girl, no."  Or "Pull up your pants, you've got a bit of muffin top going on."  I'm not going to be offended, I'm going to be thankful that someone cared enough to prevent me from going out in public a hot mess.
I love my red skinny Dickies, my black leather cowboy boots with the 38 special bullet harnesses, my ripped up leggings and my fitted band tee shirts.  I didn't spend 10 years playing with makeup to finally get it perfect just for shits and giggles.  I fucking love makeup.  I love experimenting with it, I love wearing it.  I remember one night I went over Tommy's in yoga pants, a tank top and no makeup except for a some mascara.  He commented, saying "Wow, you look really pretty."  "Really?  I'm not wearing any makeup."  "Maybe that's why."  Now was that a really nice compliment?  Yes.  But it still irked me a bit.  I don't know why.  Call me crazy, but before I die I'm going to have to teach someone to do my makeup the way I do it so I don't look like a train wreck laid out in the casket.  And I better be wearing leather pants.