My hair ought to have its own act in Vegas.

My hair appears to be having an identity crisis.

This morning as I entered the bathroom I looked at my hair. I looked like the scary girl from the Ring. Spoo-kay.

As I stepped out of the shower I again looked at my hair. Hmm, it resembles that of a non-descript bikini model. And, uh, that's where the similarities end.

This afternoon as I entered the washroom at work I looked at my hair. This time around it looked like Aaliyah in the old school days.

"If your girl only knew that you were wanting to kick it with me, what would she do? If your girl could only see that you be calling me, getting fresh with me.

She'd probably leave you alone. She'd probably curse you out and unplug the phone. And I bet she'd be glad that you was gone, 'cuz then she wouldn't have to worry."