Like when you decide you can make your own pogo stick with a two branches and a mattress coil? Or when you're sixteen (thirty) and still afraid of the dark? (God made street lamps for a reason people) Or when you see a cute haircut on a famous person and your imagination fires off like a gernade in a swimming pool, drenching you and everyone around you with your horrible, blow-up-y idea to get the same haircut because you have somehow convinced yourself that yes, you do look just like Halle Berry, you certainly are looking blacker these days, and by God yes you have her boobs, your imagination just told you so!
Well. . . luckily I'm well-versed enough with my terrible imagination to know that I don't actually look like Halle Berry, but that I would probably look really great with bangs like Jennifer Garner/Aniston! No, I don't look like them either but clearly they look good in bangs so I must too! Because we all have longish, brownish hair and so I SHOULD HAVE BANGS TOO! Yay lots and lots of bangs! And then I'll look like Halle Berry! (my logic takes a dip into crazy-town when I get on a haircut-roll)
Do you know anyone with curly hair who has bangs? No. Because curly haired people don't have bangs. They have short hair in the front, but they're not bangs. Bangs are straight and lovely. People with curly hair don't do straight and lovely, so they get sticky up-y short forehead hair.
But do I remember this when I march into the salon on Saturday? No sir. I tell her to bang me and then I sit back and wait for the magic to happen.
It turned out ok until she chopped off about five inches more of my hair than I wanted, and then when I said "Oh thanks that's perfect", she feathered my bangs.
Like I'm a guy in a hair band from the 80's that never made it.
It wasn't that bad when she styled it:
But then of course when I tried to style it myself I made it four hundred times worse than she did because it's totally impossible to ever, in the history of man, style your hair the same way the hairdresser does it because before you leave they curse you with black magic and the plague.
Here it is the next day:
You'll note I drew a face over mine (complete with an eye patch so people won't know it's me) because for some reason I'm smiling with joy in the picture.
I look like my cousins from the 80's.
(they're still my cousins, it's not like I got rid of them in the 80's, I just mean - these are what they looked like back then. Now they look. . . well, pretty much the same just with less hairspray.)
How AWESOME are they????
I wanted to be them soooooooooooo bad when I was 8 and they looked like this. And now I'm starting to look like them. Which is totally going to be awesome because the 80's are back right? This is what they meant? Skinny jeans and bangs?
Right?
Please.
(If not I can always straighten my hair and play the Hi-My-Name-Is-Becky game, because apparently the hair was the only thing setting us apart, because at the wedding I got called Becky so many times I just started going along with it. Becky - if someone named Jeff calls and says he's willing to donate his stuff so you can have children, just go with it.)
2 comments:
I'm not sure why you thought it was okay to trust a hairdresser in your new state with your hair. You don't see me getting my hair cut in Ohio, do you?
That's the worst part. . . it's the same hairdresser I've been going to since I started getting my haircut. I cry every single time. Gige recently said, "Why don't you see someone else?"
That's why they pay her the big bucks.
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