Alias

My sister likes to wear wigs. I have no idea where this fascination comes from, but she has a couple in her closet. I remember when she was in the fourth grade she got a bright yellow punk wig for Christmas. It actually had sparkles in it. I think there's a photo of the dog wearing it kicking around somewhere. Point is, the girl likes her wigs. She bought one for her birthday this year and is wearing it in a previous post. In this particular pic she and I are out on the town in Dublin, partying up on Camden Street at a club I can't quite remember the name of. Some random guy starting chatting Sarah up, telling her she looked like Ashlee Simpson. That line didn't work in pulling her. Later that week we went out again, got incredibly drunk and that little wig got us a lot of attention. I remember wanting to rip it off of her head at one point to get her to listen to me. Her attention was focused elsewhere. He was fit. I don't remember his name. His pal kept chatting me up, drunkenly slurring his words telling me he wanted a relationship with me and that he wanted to fall in love. I think we'd been talking for about 10 minutes. OK, I'm exaggerating. It was more like 5. Wigs can be dangerous. The purple wig on my head was just for this photo. It was a friend of a friend's and we were all going out to the Marquee for an evening of dancing. I ran into my high school boyfriend in Hell's Kitchen, but without the wig. He said his girlfriend was pregnant, it wasn't his but they were getting married. How strange. I told him about my travels. He didn't seem that interested. I guess baby trumps world travel. Anyhow, the point of this post was to highlight the fact that although it previously never occurred to me, wigs have played a significant role in some of my most interesting evenings out. Sarah's going to need some seriously warm wigs for the winter though. It's -30 degrees in Banff today. Hee hee.