I’m just waiting for the historical moment when frizzy bangs that stick out at odd angles and that my-hair-is-a-pain-in-the-ass-to-brush style is in. Then I will be so hip you will beg me for my secret to Perfect Hair, and when In Style interviews me, I will coyly respond: “Gosh, it’s just that way naturally!” And smile in that ecstatic, I-was-just-proposed-to-by-a-freakishly-exuberant-A-lister-who’s-twice-my-age! way. You know who I’m talking about.

And you will be jealous. Oh, will you be jealous.

You’ll spend countless hours standing in the bathroom running the hot water in the hopes of steaming your way to that perfect frizz. Those of you who are lucky enough to live in humid regions will thank your lucky stars and cut your bangs, in the vain hope that they will one day hit the exactly angles of noon, ten o’clock and two o’clock, just like those of your idol do -- naturally!

What can I say? Some say it’s a talent. I say it’s a gift, and I would not presume to take credit for what evolution has chosen to bestow upon me. Even though it will confer upon me an extreme reproductive advantage once the fashion world moves into the avante-garde realm I inhabit.

You know. Not that I care about hair and clothes and designer bangles and being trendy-thin, now that I live in the OC again, in the benevolent shadow of Hollywood. Because there’s a difference, I’ve noticed, between normal-thin (good genetics), trendy-thin (way too much time looking at the mirror in the gym), and thin-thin (yo Lindsay).

Which basically means, by SoCal standards, that I’m fat.

Not that I judge myself by OC standards, because as we all know they are completely unrealistic, unhealthy standards that only exist because you look 10 pounds heavier onscreen. Which is completely ridiculous. I’m like so beyond that bullsh*t!

But my self esteem is taking a serious hit here, guys. I think it started when my clothes were rejected by a second-hand clothing store. Let me say that again: they were rejected, spurned, deemed highly unworthy! by a second-hand clothing store.

F*ck you too, Buffalo Exchange. YOU THINK YOU’RE TOO COOL FOR THE GAP?

I guess I should have taken the hint when the first item I saw was a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo pumps. Or the second-hand jeans on sale for $75 bucks. There’s a bargain if I ever saw one.

Whatever. L.A. is sooooooo jeans anyway. I’m sooooooo over it. (I can say this. Because I live upstairs from a real fashion designer. And he said it.)

So I wrote a letter to my congressman to make myself feel better. How intelligent and politically aware am I! Can you believe I even know who represents me in the House of Representatives? The thrill ranks right up there with scoring a used pair of jeans for only seventy-five bucks!!!!! You have no idea.