Flashbacks...


You'd think after almost 34 years of living, I would know by now that any hair-related decision I make impulsively is going to turn out bad. Very bad. Hideously bad. And yet, I keep on doing it. Deciding on a whim to cut my hair, color my hair, perm my hair, and every time it ends up being a disaster.

Like today, when I decided during lunch to have my bangs cut. Never, ever make a serious hair decision while ingesting copious amounts of pasta. There is a chemical in the pasta that relaxes your brain to the point that you shouldn't even be allowed to drive, much less make important decisions.

Or was it the wine?

Either way, my grand idea to whack off my bangs has left me in a sullen mood. Why, you ask? Because the woman decided to give me bangs that are so thick and heavy (girls, you understand what I'm saying), that I look like a reject from a bad 80's movie. These aren't cute, choppy, stylish Sandra Bullock bangs. These are the bangs I had in the 5th grade, which I happily wore along side my hot pink corduroy jeans, jelly shoes, and matching twist-a-beads. I'm getting woozy just thinking about it.

To make matters worse, a rogue band of pimples has overtaken my face in the last 4 hours. I'm living a pre-teen nightmare. Let's face it--I'm the poster child for DORKS-R-US.

May as well have another glass of wine.