"Some of the girls were making fun of her because of her hair. She does look kind of stupid. I don't know what we were thinking!"*

      Well, I cut my own bangs the other night. It’s a mistake I’ve made in the past but after a college career full of numerous haircuts from friends and roommates, I promised myself only professional haircuts from there on out. But Thursday night I thought, “Hey, I can do this! They’re so long I’ll just bunch them all together and cut off the bottoms! Easy!” (And eerily reminiscent of the time when I was 15 and I put my hair in a ponytail and then cut the ponytail off. It doesn’t work the way you want it to—unless you wanted Marcia Brady’s hair that came to a point in the back like an arrow showing the way to her butt.)

        There’s clearly a reason you have to have a license to cut hair. It’s not easy at all. And you need special scissors, not nail scissors. And even if you are a licensed, talented hair stylist, you probably don’t cut your own hair but instead have someone else do it (also a professional).

        But I cut my own bangs and I went to bed feeling pretty satisfied with myself.

        When I woke up in the morning, my hair was greasy and matted and looked confusingly wrong. I thought maybe I just needed to comb it, but that didn’t solve the problem. I looked like a little kid that got tired of having bangs and so decided to cut them off up to the hairline. I didn’t have much to work with, but I had to try to even them out at least, so it would look somewhat intentional.

        I got the kitchen scissors and attempted a straight line angling up from my right temple to my mid-forehead on the left. It still didn’t look right so I got my razor out of the shower. I stared at it for a minute and then put it away. No way that was going to work, and even I’m smart enough not to razor my own head.

        I quit for a while and later on last evening, I went out to Fatburger because I was craving some red meat. While I was waiting in the drive thru, I noticed a Sally Beauty Supply in the parking lot. It seemed like some sort of sign. So after I got my food, I went into Sally’s and looked for professional grade hair scissors. And you know what? Those things are frickin’ expensive! No way was I going to buy $65 scissors—I could have gotten a professional haircut for that much (which I may still have to do).

        So I went home and ate my hamburger and then stared at myself in the mirror for a while. It was clear that if I continued cutting my bangs I was going to wind up looking like one of the Barbie’s whose hair I cut in childhood. One of our Barbies (Stewardess Barbie) had a full, voluptuous 80’s perm to go with her smart navy blue work uniform and either my sister Elizabeth or I gave her a hairstyle much like that of model Amber Rose. Except for not at all attractive. 

Amber Rose. Much prettier than Stewardess Barbie post-haircut.

        And finally inspiration struck. I dug around until I found this weird razor I bought from an infomercial years ago that was supposed to be for easily giving your bikini line a dry shave (shudder). I don’t think I ever ended up using it, or if I did it must not have worked. I found it in my bedroom at my folks’ house over Christmas and thought it might be handy for use on my face or nose hairs (and it is!). It’s called Bikini Touch and it looks like this:

Bikini Touch. A multifunctional tool.

        I found a battery for the Bikini Touch and started cleverly shaving off the bottom part of my bangs so they had more of a blunt edge (a term I learned from my incredibly talented friend, Erin, who is an ACTUAL hair stylist). In the process, I started to shave off a little bit of my left eyebrow, which sucks, but otherwise it looks kind of good. The rest of my hair is another story. And I think my eyebrow will grow back. Of course, I already have an inexplicable bald spot in my right eyebrow, so nothing’s definite.

        But seriously, starting now until the end of time or until I get married and let myself go, I will never cut my own hair again. That’s a promise.

        And here's a bad picture of my bad haircut, which I'm oddly proud of (the bangs, not the picture--the picture is awful). 

I am damn sexy. And naturally blurry.

*Keanu Reeves as Todd in Parenthood. One of his and Ron Howard's finest films. (Ron Howard, 1989).

"If you are easily shocked, please look away!"*

    So, you know how when you're moving, you're really careful about hiding things you don't want anyone to ever know about? For some it might be whips and chains or nipple clamps. For others it might be a urine-stained mattress or really old, scary-looking underpants. And for yet others, it might be glamor shots taken at home by oneself after a night of heavy drinking. For me, it's all of the above. Ha ha. I'm kidding. My secret is much worse, and it was discovered a couple of days ago. If you are easily shocked, please look away:

Creepy creature in repose. And touching itself?

    It's a beyond-disturbing puppet-type creature with pink pen-caps for fingernails. Ewwwwwwww.   

    Okay, so to be fair, this ISN'T MINE. I'm pretty convinced it's a prop from my one-time roommate (and all-time awesome friend) Dara's production of a play called The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.**** But try explaining that to Ron and his new roommate, Chad, who now think I'm a sick, twisted weirdo. Which I am, but for TOTALLY DIFFERENT REASONS!

    It's kind of funny, in a way, because years ago my landlord's son, Raffi (who mostly manages my previous apartment building) told my neighbor and friend, Carl, that I was really kinky.

    When Carl told me this I was appalled.

    "Why?" I asked, properly horrified.

    "Because, he said he came to your door and you answered it wearing a blond wig and a black, leather outfit."

    Here's a visual, in case you can't picture it:

Creepy creature in leather.

    I said to Carl that it couldn't have been me: all of my wigs have been packed away since college theatre days and I can rarely afford real leather ANYTHING. But Raffi's always treated me funny, so I'm guessing it didn't matter what I said. In his head, I'll always be a bleach-blonde sadomasochist.**

    The truth is, this terrifying creature isn't mine, and it makes me desperately miss Dara. 

    That’s all I’ve got for now, as my brain is close to dead. 

*From Willow (Ron Howard, 1988). Like, before Ron Howard was a big time, splashy director. One of the best movies EVER MADE. And Warwick Davis is still going strong! Hooray!

**Coincidentally, in college I had to do a term project for one of my French classes. I made a children's book about the Marquis de Sade. I just thought it would be funny. I'm not into that shit. Ew. Not that I'm judging.

***As a final note, in no way related to the above: it's really sad news that Davy Jones died. He was pretty great. "Oh what could it mean to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen?" Sigh.

****Correction, the puppet is from Dara's production of A Vast Wreck. The puppet played a little boy and was hand-crafted by a master puppeteer, thus giving it clout and history. Awesome.