Saturday, March 26, 2011

There are some things you only do when you are young and stupid. Touching a curling iron when you are small because you don't know what it is. Getting a perm. Getting another perm. Running away. Making God-knows-how-many Burger King logos to win a contest and meet the Backstreet Boys. Following the Backstreet Boys in their tour bus. Setting your hair on fire for a Backstreet Boy. Believing you will marry a Backstreet Boy. Doing doughnuts on the lawn of the school in a pick up truck, with the boy who helped you get over the Backstreet Boy. Falling in love with a rebel. Falling out of love with a rebel. Throwing up after one too many Jello-shots. Doing keg stands. Falling for the artist. Getting burned by the artist. Going to Europe with out a plan. Falling in love in Europe. Moving to Europe with out a plan....Cutting your own bangs.

I found out today that I am still both young and stupid. No, I did not, unfortunately for me, chase the Backstreet Boy's Reunion Tour bus down the Autobahn (the consequences of which would not be so difficult to handle and could prove rather interesting). I did the one thing I thought I was behind me for good, the one thing I vowed I would never do again, the one thing that always turns out a disaster and I cut my own god-damned bangs.

I knew better. I definitely did. I stood in the mirror trying to convince myself not to. I said don't, it will look ugly and you will regret it. I had the hair angel on one side pleading with me to listen, but like an alcoholic who doesn't want to take a sip but does anyway because he can't help himself, I sided with the little devil egging me on. With the first snip I felt waves of guilt. With the second, waves of panic. I had been seduced by the devil (ahem, the hair devil) himself and I would (and will) pay for it, probably for about the next 6 months.

After my initial fall and the panic that ensued, I did my best to hide what I had done and made my way to the nearest Supercuts (or the German equivalent of). When I first arrived they told me they could take no more customers today and that I would have to come back on Monday. Then, I undid my bobby pin and let my hacked up remnants of hair fall across my forehead. The stylist looked at me with wide eyes and a frightened expression (as though I had just revealed to her a second head growing out of my neck) and quickly and quietly told me to take a seat and wait a few moments; that they would help me as soon as possible.

What I have been left with is a horrible set definitely not retro and cute bangs. I wanted Zooey Deschanel and what I got was more Cleopatra meets Elvira. Not exactly becoming. I thought that I was past this stage. I really thought I would never be possessed by that strange "got to do it now, no matter the cost" feeling again. But, as I believe they teach you in AA (although, I have never been there, so I am not sure) it is exactly when you think you are cured that you are most vulnerable. Speaking of, do you think they have BCA (Bang Cutters Anonymous)? I have got to get myself to one of those horribly unstylish meetings!

Do not, I repeat DO NOT ever attempt to cut your own bangs. It will not turn out well. And even if you know it will not turn out well, do not let that little devil on your shoulder seduce you. He is crazy. And he likes to see people fail and cry and look like they recently had a lovers spat with Edward Scissor hands.

This whole situation is making chasing Nick Carter down highway 80 look pretty mature, isn't it?

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