Yo, it's Motherbumper here and I have no idea why I would start my guest post with a "yo" considering I'm about as in touch with my street-side as I am with my inner-nucleur physicist, but it felt like a good way to kick it to the K-side over here. K being katie as in motherbumper. Anyhow....
Before I left for San Francisco in July to attend the non-stop
Not just washed, cut, and blow-dried, I wanted something different. Something I could work with. My Wednesday Addams-style stringy locks just weren't cutting it.
Isn't it strange how thin, stringy, limp locks never look good except if you're a model who looks like an addict that weighs 70lbs soaking wet, is six feet tall, and has the help of some man who charges hundreds of dollars per hour and can purposefully made your hair look that way?
Blah hair women of the world who are of average height and like to wear their hair long need to unite - we need to have an uprising - or at least find a manageable up-do or make turbans acceptable even if you don't own a yacht and smoke cigarettes with a long-ass filter. *deep breath*
ANYHOW - I gots mah hair cut and decided to get bangs.
Anyhow, the new style totally had to include bangs because they hide a multitude of sins and crevices in my forehead. And now that I'm close to 40, I've succumbed to the media monster and want to hide the sins and crevices. And buy a Ford.
After making the bang-plunge, I was pleased. Sure, it meant whipping out my straightening iron every morning, but only for a two-minute job - even my super-lazy ass could deal with that kind of upkeep.
But then something happened in the past six weeks.
My hair had the nerve to grow.
And let me tell you, I now LOVE/HATE my hair.
Love because it still hides the sins of years past that might include sun, lack of sunscreen, perhaps some smoking, and maybe not wearing sunglasses when standing directly in aforementioned sun without aforementioned sunscreen. Did I mention smoking?
Hate because these bangs have suddenly taken on a life of their own. To wit: I woke up the other morning looking like Sonny Crockett... or maybe it was Ricardo Tubbs - never could keep those f**kers straight - but I was mad. No wait - it wasn't Crockett or Tubbs... more like a Leif Garrett feather-backed (or is that feathered-back?) quality that makes me weep.
Why do I weep? I weep because it does it on it's own. I fix it before leaving the house in the
afternoon morning but then I catch a glimpse in a reflective surface while out and about AND THERE IT IS. Crockett & Tubbs meets Leif Garrett on a small Irish chick in the year 2008.
So I did what any of you cheap bastards like me would do - I bought scissors. Yes, when other [a.k.a. normal] people would have gone for another trim, I choose to splash out $4 on sharp pointy scissors figuring how hard could it be to cut bangs?
SERIOUSLY - STOP LAUGHING - I thought the blogosphere was all about support for your fellow sistah-friend - why are you all still laughing? Bang cutting seems relatively simple, no?
OK - it's only fair that you laugh because I'd be laughing at a fool like me.
So yes, I tried cutting it myself and now it feathers even worse.
Send help because Jose Eber keeps ignoring my calls.
I'd like to thank Jen for contributing to why I need bangs and for giving me this space to rant on such a superficial topic - you know, because she's so damn superficial, just like me.