Subject: I believe I can fly. And cut
extremely sexy hair. Oh baby.
Mama, I believe in unicorns.
And okay, my faith in Santa has been restored.
And I think I'm madly in love with karma.
Yeah, I want to elope with it. and possibly do ahem, other things.
Oh, God, I'm hyperventilating. Oh, and you know that creeper old chick who like, lives in the apartment
across from mine?
She's undressing me with her eyes. Ew, and she has a wart on her chin. Eww.
She's giving me creepy looks, man.
Ew, I mean, hello, I'm screaming. Oh yeah, and jumping my bed. Rawr.
You get that? Oh well, have fun translating.
(omg111! ino1!11 :D :D :D )
I really miss fifth grade.
So like, um, I'M IN BABY.
I'M GOING TO BE SEXY MCDOCTOR-
AND I'M GOING TO BE HOTTIE MCHAIRSTYLIST.
I GET TO MASSAGE BEAUTIFUL MEN'S HAIR AND ACTUALLY HAVE AN EXCUSE TO PHYSICALLY HARASS THEM.
INO. I THINK I'M HEAVEN.
I think you need to come and hold me.
Creepy lady is looking at me again.
You are coming over.
And you as sure as hell better wish me luck.
She's still looking at me.
MAKE IT STOP.
Be My Straightener
by Miss Aerith and ANGELforSHOW
Well, I suppose I didn't get this hair for nothing...
Now I ain't freakin'
I ain't fakin' this,
I ain't freakin'
I ain't faking this
I ain't freakin'
I ain't faking this
Now Shut up and
Let me go, HEY!
Some people may say hairstylists are incredibly pathetic people
who never graduated highschool and are probably of low IQ
and quite possibly extremely fat, have a bad accent, deal crack, etc..
So not true.
I mean, I'm not.
And as of right now, at this moment,
with my ipod blaring all the way across to the next apartment,
my hair-dryer hissing through my hair,
I don't think I could consider myself being anything else but that.
-Except an extremely hot doctor/nurse/thingy.
You know, with the pretty white coats and a red-lipped smile?
(I'm more of a pink person though, so I guess clear gloss..?)
With smoky eyeshadow. And yellow pumps. (FETISHFETISH.)
But anyway, I'm training to be a doctor, while working as a
hair-stylist in place is called New Edge.
So hardcore, dude.
So I mean, it all works.
(Well, I assume it's going to work!)
I mean, I'm really smart (people who will do homework while
charging a fee, is smart, I'm telling you. ), and I'm super-bubbly
and oh yeah, -
-..my best friend is a super-model.
I got connections.
So all I have to do now is take a deep breath.
And try to keep exhaling.
And oh yeah.
I have pink hair.
I swoop my bangs to the left side,
because who does middle parts anymore?
Makes me die a little inside.
I spray every straightened end and brush until it literally gleams pink light into the mirror.
I gently curl the ends a bit so the straight points will curl around my cheekbones, and grab a cute white heart clip and put it to the sides of my bangs. It has to be perfect for me, or else I'll have a completely awful day and I'll quite possibly combust.
Because to me, hair-styling isn't just an activity or a past-time.
It's a bloody freaking art.
Shut up and let me
Subject: I admit it, I AM a strut-face
So who's your first victim?
AHA, I kid, I kid!
You're a good hairstylist-doctor-lady. I mean, you did hair and makeup for everyone in theater in high school, and every single actor/actress looked absolutely gorgeous.
So. Does this mean you'll cut my hair for free? Because I have to keep my hair frizz free, split-end-less, and shiny to the nth degree. Because I'm a super model, duh.
Super model meaning that I got signed. With Victoria's Secret. As a runway girl. For the amazing lingerie.
(And don't call me a slut, you skank. Victoria's Secret has spawned some of the biggest supermodels ever.)
(And I know for a fact that YOU wear Vicky's underwear too!)
But really. This is so awesome. I'm a model, you're a hair-stylist-slash-doctor-babe.
We didn't go the freaking Beverly Hills High School for nothing –we're going to take over Hollywood.
I know this is short, and I know I suck because I'm sending you a short e-mail, but I have to go. The Vicky's shot is in a few hours. And I think I get to model a new type of bra. Oh my God. Wheeee! :
I don't care if you call me a slut, a whore, a skank, a bitch, or a hoe.
I don't care if you tell me that my hair is bleached, I wear colored contacts, or that my shoes are so last year.
Because I know for a fact that none of it is true. (Except for maybe the shoes comment. I think I might be too in love with last year's wedges to give them up.
You can tell me that I'm the bitchiest girl you've ever met, and that I'm the fakest of the fake. But in the end, I know that I'm probably going to get high places in life anyway.
Because I'm going to be a supermodel one day. No – a top model. Yeah, the blonde chick that's kicking Heidi Klum's ass at bra-modeling in a few years? That'll be me.
So…you probably think that I sound conceited, and you're most likely about to tell me, "Miss Ino, with an attitude like that, you're never going to get anywhere in life. Shove some humble pie down your throat and suck it." But…I don't really give two shits about that.
When you're in a skinny-girl-eat-skinny-girl world like me, you can't be a meek little girl about life. You have to assert yourself and slash at every girl in your way – with perfectly manicured nails.
I'm not kidding. I'm not exaggerating, and yeah, I'm probably a little too passionate. But for me, modeling isn't just a part-time thing to get some money. I'm not modeling so I can be famous, or so I can find out what this year's trends are before everyone else.
I'm modeling because I love it.
I love the clothes, the shoes, the designers.
I love the makeup, the hairstyling, the struts.
I love the catwalk, the flash photography, the model-glare.
-I love everything.
Sure, I'm in college. I know that studying to be a psychologist might seem to lead to a brighter future, rather then strutting down a runway half-naked in crazy makeup. But as much as I love psychology, I think I might just love the runway more.
The best thing about my life though, isn't the fact that my hair is naturally bleach blonde, or that my body is pretty much perfect (hello, catwalk). The best thing about my life is the fact that I have a best friend who supports me.
-And she's a wicked awesome hairstylist too.
We might only be 19 and college sophomores, but-
-Get ready. Because we're going to blow you – and all of Los Angeles away.
Come at me, bitches.
Subject: I Smell DOMINATION
& Butterflies in My Stomach
Honestly, Ino, I was squealing and hopping on my bed and doing the wiggle with my pillow. Oh you know the one. Yep, and I'll tell you that pillow LOVES ME. He wants me every night.
But okay, so I'm almost done getting ready and today is my big day. ALJDFKLDKFJDLAJDFLDJLBRAINCOMBUSTIONCOMING.
But rest assured, I am FINE.
I mean, you're right, I am a gorgeous, smart, large-foreheaded NATURALLY PINKHAIRED AMAZINGLY TALENTED and -BRAVE-OH HELL YES, BRAVE-hairstylist.
Um, okay, I wish I had your confidence. But I will prevail. Mwahahah. You'll see, we'll take over in like, a week, and I will have some male ahem, lovers who I secretly do hair for as long as they LURVE me.
And yes, I wear Vicky's. Ugh, you made me buy them. I'm perfectly fine buying some at WalMart. I mean, they LIKE me there. Even the creepy guy with the purple eyeshadow who looks me up and down and kinda sort gets too close and-
But I will prevail. I can be both jobs at once. And I will be alive by the end of this year, instead of dropping dead like last time, because, okay, I was a bit of a goody-goody doing everyone's homework.
Anyway, yeah, um,
Nervous QUITE unbearably,
(You know the one. -winkwink-)
I press the send/slash/whatever thing button on my blackberry.
Hahah, interesting story actually.
It was black originally, but well, I mean, it was so, SAD and it screamed, "SAKURA! INDIVIDUALITY! INDIVIDUALITY!', so I painted it pink. Yep.
And okay, I kind of added pretty black sparkles.
But anyway, it's really pretty. I call it 'McLover'.
But I'm just rambling.
The Ting Tings are NOT helping, regardless of how confident they make me feel on a regular day.
I can't help but feel something will happen. It always does.
It always will.
I suck on my bottom lip, fingering the wide forehead; the naturally spiky
hair that's brighter than bubblegum but not as sweet.
And I always get that feeling that I'm a little bit of a freak.
So I go back to Ino's email and I read it again.
And I take another deep breath.
Maybe because she said I'd do awesome.
Shut up and let me GO!
And a wide reckless grin somehow spread across my face.
I grab the car keys and skip out the door.
And I thanked my ipod.
"Gone is love it's me who ought to be moving on,
you're not adorable, I was something unignorable-"
She belted the lyrics out.
She belted them loudly.
And people stared at her.
Her only response?
Turn it on louder.
Tapping her fingers; letting the wind sweep her hair, Haruno Sakura decided to be confident.
'SHUT UP AND LET ME GO, HEY!" She hollered; throwing her fist into the air within her red convertible; which cost most of her clothes and income but it was SO WORTH IT.
Maybe it was her best friend's email.
Maybe it was the fact that her expectations drowned her failures.
Or maybe it was because she had fashion and she knew it.
Even if her next client didn't.
She drove into the place and stared for a moment, hands on her almost child-like hips; her bracelet covered hands tapping idly against her studded belt; her left index finger dangling over her lower lip as if she was trying to create something out of the building.
It's title was, 'New Edge' And it was in platinum silver, (she nodded approvingly, if it risked money for aesthetically pleasing signs, then she knew it was loaded with something good. )
Sighing, she walked in the glass-doors; shoving her car-key's into her pocket before stepping into Nirvana.
It was like a candy store.
A candy store with AESTHETICALLY PLEASING PEOPLE WITH CHI STRAIGHTENERS AND SOFT LEATHER WHIRLY-CHAIRS AND SILVERY FLOORS. AND THERE WERE STRING LIGHTS. STRINGY LIGHTS WITH TWISTY IRONY THINGS.
AND EVERYONE WAS BEAUTIFUL.
I BELIEVE IN DRAGONS.
Oh God, I'm in love.
"Um, excuse me."
Sakura blinked nervously at the man behind the platinum counter.
He was chalky-pale, and he wore a tight black turtle-neck and tight jeans.
"I assume you're Haruno Sakura?" He said politely, his squinty-eyes pulling into a smile.
She nodded rather shyly.
"Yes, I was told I'd be mentored under Sai-um-" His dark eyes seemed to glance scrutinizingly at her striped pink bolero, the tight jeans, the pink checkered Vans.
And Sakura winced as his eyes traveled to her short pink hair, side-bangs with heart clip included.
And the man smiled. (Sakura then checked her mental list of 'gay.')
"Haruno Sakura, I'm Sai. I believe you'll be following me
from now on."
And Sakura's heart combusted.
Subject: And the mascara wand falls. AND THEN WE LEAVE OUR MARK
Be sure you share your male lovers with me! (Psych. Because I'll have my own hot male lovers from the runway with meeeeee!) We can swap on Tuesdays, how about that? Uh, insert scandalous wink. Lmao!
I'm sending you this e-mail while I'm sitting in the makeup chair, 'cause the makeup guy/girl is late. Isn't it cool? They're assigning me my own makeup person, it's awe – OMFG IS THAT TYRA BANKS.
Okay, false alarm. I'm stupid. Tyra Banks stopped modeling for Vicky's a while ago. There really isn't a reason why she'd be here today. Sigh..
ANYWAY, I wish you could see my hair right now. It's so…nice. The hair dude really didn't do much – he just made it wavy ("beachy waves," he called 'em), and he pulled back some of it so it just looks so…natural. And flowy...
Alright, scratch that "wish". I'm taking a picture and sending it to you. ON MY NEW iPHONE, BABY! Heartheartheartheartheart. I love having a job that I love.
Aw, crap. The makeup guy is here – and he's kinda hot. I'll tell you more about him later, definitely. Alright, I need to cut this short. SO I CAN BE MADE BEAUTIFUL, HAHAHA...
I hit "send" on my iPhone's touch screen. The e-mail folds up and flies away directly to Sakura's Blackberry.
"I'm Gaara," hot makeup guy says to me, "and you're going to be beautiful." His voice is deep, low, monotonous, velvety – anything that you'd call the perfect guy's voice.
Gaara's eyes are greenish blue, and they're rimmed with so much kohl he could pass for a goth kid at a high school in downtown LA. But it makes him look oh-so hot. His hair is some crazy crimson too..
Gaara spins me around in the chair and pull my beachy waves up with a down-to-business silver clip. "Close your eyes," he mutters. I, being the most professional model EVAR, refrain from squealing and obey.
Expertly, he draws a line of black across the rim of my upper eyelid. When he moves onto the next eye, I open my other eye just a crack to look at the brand of eyeliner. Dior Style Liquid liner – expensive.
Gaara has just totally made me feel like gold. I think I might like him now. A lot.
The eyes go back open, and I'm met with a nice up-close view of Gaara's forehead (and his beautiful eyes, asjdkas). He has the kanji for 'love' tattooed on his forehead. Yeah, that's right. This guy is definitely my new hero.
Gaara switches to crayon liner and starts doing my bottom eyelids. After a few strokes, he switches to mascara. (DiorShow Blackout, continuing the expensive eye makeup trend…) The mascara lengthens, thickens, volumizes my eyelashes, turning them from pale, unnoticeable blond to thick and caked with black.
He changes equipment again. This time to eyeshadow. He puts on overly-vibrant circles of dark shadow around my eyes.
Then he moves on to lipstick, lip liner, lip gloss, blush, bronzer, powder.
When it's all done, I look freaking hot.
Ino walked out of the hair and makeup trailer practically on cloud nine
She floated towards the runway, not noticing how the breeze was on her practically naked body, or how hard it was to walk in the four-inch stilettos they had told her to wear.
Because her new makeup man was on fire.
Watching the models stalk one-by-one down the runway, Ino fought down the butterflies that were banging around in her stomach. She was a great model…why was she nervous now of all times? (Although it may have been due to the taco she had for lunch.)
Nope, it didn't have anything to do with the fact that it was her first time modeling for a big company like Victoria's Secret (which practically screamed "SUPERMODEL CENTRAL!"), or the fact that Heidi Klum was right after her. She was pretty sure it was because she had taken a taxi off of cloud nine and she just realized that she couldn't walk in her damn heels.
"Next." the photographer droned out boringly.
Ino took a deep breath and started to walk, making sure she put that extra sway in her hips, and her walk was extra confident and extra strong.
And she almost tripped.
Because the new Vicky's photographer-
-He was right up there with the makeup dude
Ino, needless to say, was very impressed at the massive amounts of self-control she managed to exert during her photo shoot.
Sai glanced curiously at the girl standing on her tip-toes, poking the green and pink painted lamp near the space in the corner where she assumed she would be working. (She liked to call it creating, but she digressed.)
"How did you know?" She whispered to him; suddenly against his face; her purple and gray smeared eyelids impossibly wide to almost manic proportions.
His ever placid smile, which would soon unnerve her quite terribly in the future, strained under a well-trained eye.
"Know what, Miss Haruno?"
Her face was mystified.
"Green and pink are like, my favorite color combinations. Y'see, I have a theory that pink is a flower and green is the stem, and viola, you have chemistry, and hot color reaction. Oh baby. And um, oh God, I'm babbling-" Sai arched an eyebrow as the girl started digging her green fingernails into her spiky pink scalp. "I told myself I wouldn't babble and I'm being an idiot and-"
-...Sai's eyes went bemusedly to the door.
Subject: Do you have a coffin by any chance?
Because I'd like to make love to it.
Um, yeah. I'm babbling. Oh God, Ino, I'm babbling and thank GOD for fast typing fingers because right now I
am sending it and I think my first client is coming and I'm scared I'm scared I'm scared and-Oh my God-
Oh My God-Tell me the magic words and Oh my God-
Subject: Chill out. Watcha yellin' for?
So. It just hit me that today is the day that begins forever. We're actually starting the rest of our lives today. And I know that I just sent you that e-mail, but this is important.
No, no one's died, but…look at us. I know this is totally not-Ino-ish to be talking like this, but it just hit me that
We're growing up.
You're going to be the best hairstylist ever, and I'm going to be a top model. We're getting places in life but –
I just realized that the two little girls who used to play at the beach together, one strutting like a superstar and the other cutting off her Barbie doll's hair, might have just died.
Because back then, that was just dreaming-
But now it's reality.
So Just promise me that we'll be friends forever, and we'll have each other's backs the whole time, okay?
I'm scared shitless.
So good luck
Good luck to me, good luck to you-
"Who is that?"
"That's Sasuke, your first client."
"Are you sure he's a client?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Well, um, I was kinda of thinking more like, Sex-God."
"...Sakura, I think our relationship is going to be very interesting."
Okay, um, well, I've dated a few guys.
Like, there was this one guy.
He had realllly bad eyebrows. Which overpowered my love for his insides, you know?
Then there was one of my childhood friend's cousins.
His hair. He liked it WAAAY too much.
Plus he stole all my shampoo.
So we had to break up.
-...This is nothing like this.
The thought vaguely registered in my mind, because I was more thinking, it's like an emo Edward Cullen. Or, an Abercrombie and Fitch Model, the kind that give you 'free candy' in front of the stores.
More or less, he was beautiful. Aesthetically beautiful.
He's wearing this really loose black sweater that somehow drapes around his body in this perfect glove. Like, I dunno, it was made to blend with him. (Dang, even the sweater wants to get it on with him.)
And he's wearing skinny jeans! It's like he woke up and thought, 'I'm going to meet this girl named Sakura who's going to obssessively massage my hair and she's wearing skinny jeans so maybe we should like match or something'.
Whew, definitely hyperventilating.
But um, he's a hunk of gorgeous. Black hair. Smoldering dark eyes hiding behind his soft silky hair and-perfect angel face and -(is he smirking?) and mmmm..mmm...
-He's heading right towards me.
(Ooh, not good. He's to sexy to do hair for. I'll end up harassing him by mistake.)
(Wow, that's a really sexy voice.)
She jerked out of her reverie; wide eyes staring unabashed at the raised black brows and the tight lips and the mass of gorgeousness.
"I'm ready, Sai. You'll be watching me, right?"
She could hear her blackberry buzzing.
"Of course, Miss Haruno."
She stared at her client, already forming a mental image of what wonders she could do to that hot sexy, mass of pure black goodness...-
"Can we get started already?"
His voice was low, irritated, and Sakura found herself blushing furiously.
Sasuke sat in the chair, her eyes watching his through the mirror, hers round and his slanted with a hint of boredom and an arrogance she found rather appealing. (I'd be arrogant too if I had his body mmm..)
With that she took out her scissors, which she had in her pocket. No ordinary scissors, but pink scissors, her eyes gleaming off it's reflection as she took out a comb and began to massage his hair with it; closing her eyes almost at the feeling of a silkiness she had never felt before.
(Sai muffled a laugh behind her.)
She thought the process through her head, with cool calculating calm that calm with years of making heads five times better.
"Okay, I'm going to give you bangs, okay? Okay." Not waiting for his reply; the pushy pinkette began to snip.
"What the hell did you do to my hair?"
Luck for me, luck for you
Good luck, because you'll need it
Okay, we're Aer and Iz. We expect reviews and we expect groveling. Just kidding. Or not.
So um, yeah. Hit us up baby. And give us the worrrddd.
Love you. No, we really do. ;)