A Quote by Javier Zanetti
If I had a lock of hair out of place then I would not feel OK.
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I feel like hair is the number one thing that makes me feel beautiful or not. If I have really bad hair, but my makeup's beautiful and I have a wonderful dress on, I'm still not happy. So if I wake up, and I've got 2 big zits on my face and my hair looks fierce, I feel ok. I have a weird hair obsession.
In Manchester a girl pulled a lock of my hair out once. She hugged me and then tugged my head and just walked away hugging it.
Growing up, I had a hair condition where my hair would fall out easily, and I had bad asthma.
When I was a teenager I would lock myself in the bathroom for hours, bouffanting my hair like Patty Duke and trying to recreate Barbra Streisand's flawless eyeliner, only to comb it all out and wash it all off before stepping out into the world a butchish bisexual teen.
I went through a real punk stage-I had braids, red hair, pink hair, green hair, I cut it into a Mohawk, the lot. Then about five years ago, I dyed it dark and stayed out of the sun to get pale, because I hated looking like everyone else, all blonde hair and tanned skin.
My mom didn't believe in putting chemicals in hair. But when I got to college, we didn't have A/C in our dorms freshman year. So after several days of waking up looking like a Chia Pet, I was like 'OK, I'm gonna get a perm.' And then my hair revolted and fell out. I was over that quick, fast and in a hurry.
I had my hair down for a long time. I shaved my head, you know, a couple of years ago. And, then, I started to wear my hair short, and I thought that was cool. But, at the same time, I never want to put rules down on me and say, 'OK, I do this for this and this for that.' I just don't like rules. I don't.
And there you see the distinction between our feelings: had he been in my place, and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against him. You may look incredulous, if you please! I never would have banished him from her society as long as she desired his. The moment her regard ceased, I would have torn his heart out and drank his blood! But, till then - if you don't believe me, you don't know me - til then, I would have died by inches before I touched a single hair on his head!
There was a place in the Hills, on the first ridge in the Game Reserve, that I myself at the time when I thought that I was to live and die in Africa, had pointed out to Denys as my future burial-place. In the evening, while we sat and looked at the hills from my house, he remarked that then he would like to be buried there himself as well. Since then, sometimes when we drove out in the hills, Denys had said: "Let us drive as far as our graves.
I don't dye my hair. It's so fabulous. I had brown hair for so long. I was always getting my roots done. Sometimes I did it myself because I couldn't afford to go to a hair salon. When I turned 60, I decided to see what color I am underneath. I started dyeing my hair a very light blond and then I let it grow out. I cut it very short.
More details coming out about Michael Jackson. It seems his 13-year-old accuser testified before a grand jury that Michael had seven locks on his bedroom door. See, what happened was whenever Michael would install one lock, the kid would grow an inch taller, and he'd have to put in another one, and then another one, and then another one.
If I had my way...We would lock ourselves away from that madness out there.
When I was younger, I had pink underneath my hair, and I got detention. I went to an all-girls school where you wore a uniform, and pink hair was not OK.
In my college days, I went wild with my hair. I dyed it every color in the book and, quite naturally, my hair would break off from all the damage. When our hair breaks off, of course, there's only one thing to do - braid it up. I wore braids for a while and would always feel like I just never knew what to do with my hair.
When I was 16, I used to drive huge loads of laundry in a three ton truck. I would turn round at night to drive back and see the band in a place north of Toronto called Dunn's Pavilion. I would drive that truck all day and they drive back and all the way until one day I wrecked the truck. I fell asleep and wrecked it. I was OK and so was my helper. I called my dad and the first words out of his mouth were, "are you OK?" I was really lucky I had a kind father.
I see a 16-year-old now, and to ask her to take her clothes off would feel really weird. But they were like, 'If you don't do it, then we're not going to book you again.' So I'd lock myself in the toilet and cry and then come out and do it. I never felt very comfortable about it. There's a lot of boobs. I hated my boobs! Because I was flat-chested.
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