Jan 1, 2009
I was getting ready for the New Year's Eve party last night when the last 2008 disaster happened: I was flat-ironing my hair--this is a process in which you burn the shit out of your head, all for the sake of looking more... Asian, I guess--and decided I needed bangs. This usually occurs to people when they're six years old and just learning how to use dull scissors in grade school. Me, I'm 32.
The problem with bangs is they only look good in my wildest fantasies, and never in real life; the bigger problem is that I never actually remember this. In sixth grade, I didn't remember; in ninth grade, I forgot; and it failed to register again at ages 19, 23, 25, 27, 30, and 32. I'm just going to tell people I had a stroke this time. It's the only explanation.
Bangs look good on me when they're blow-dried, flat-ironed, styled, and shaped by someone else. Here's the punchline: I am not that someone else. I'm the lunatic who thinks cutting her own hair with the kitchen scissors in the bathroom mirror with very little light is a good idea. A GOOD IDEA. Oh wait, that's the punchline.
Problem #1,647: I don't have straight hair. In fact, I might describe my natural hair as 'unruly', 'horse-like', and 'completely lacking in remorse.' So to flat-iron the curls out and then cut it is stupid, especially when you're having a stroke. Those straight bangs end up being a curlicue monstrosity in the wrong kind of weather. I'm now referring to them as 'a clusterfuck of bangs.'
Thanks to Murphy's Law, God decided to bring the exact wrong kind of weather, and pooped freezing rain upon my head last night, causing my super-straight hair to become THE SUPER FANTASTIC MUSHROOM EXTRAVAGANZA. I now resemble a woman who lives in a home with wood-paneled walls, shag carpeting, and the wicked smell of seasoned cat pee. I look like I should be eating a generic Hot Pocket and wearing a bejeweled sweatshirt that says I HEART MR. WHISKERS.
Live and learn in 2009: no bangs. Well, no bangs after I get these ones taken care of. At this point, I just want to shave them right off; maybe a huge forehead will be slimming somehow. It worked for that kid in the movie, Mask.
2009 certainly started off with a bang (or bangs)--at least I laughed about it. And will be laughing and avoiding mirrors and laughing TRA LA LA for the next six weeks, I guess.