Fall Into...Something

Hola!

I don't even have a good excuse for not writing, like I'm working on some super-secret project, it's just that I work. A lot, these days. Besides, if I were busy selling nuclear technology to the Chinese, I couldn't really tell you about that without seriously compromising my plans for world domination, now could I?

Neal's in town, which pretty much guarantees I'll be annihilated at least one night this week. Should be great! I'll try to bring you some good stories, if not the hangover. Now, onto the meaningless drivel I'm finally getting around to telling you about.

There is a special relationship between a girl and her stylist. That relationship, like any, relies heavily on trust and good communication skills, right? I thought Frank and I had that, I really did. In addition to the trust and open lines of communication, he thinks I'm the hottest thing to walk into his salon (and there are A LOT of attractive clients there), so I get what can only be described as superior service, despite the fact that I'm not the biggest spender. (Note: I tip quite well. I just don't require expensive treatments, so the base purchase isn't as spendy as it could be.)

So, this special relationship with Frank is what led me to -- oh, god, I can't believe I'm saying this out loud -- request bangs the last time I was in there. Bangs. Holy crap, I don't think I've had bangs since sometime in high school. But, you know, all the cool kids are doing it, so...

I told Frank I wanted long, sweepy bangs. Like Audrey Hepburn. I was thinking something like this:



Apparently Frank was thinking something like this:



because I ended up with this:


[Note to self: Next time you're feeling adventurous, maybe try that Vietnamese restaurant down the block, or pick up a bottle of white wine or something. Leave your poor, defenseless hair alone!]

Really, it's not a bad haircut (believe me when I tell you, I've had much, much worse), it's just, um, not what I had in mind. THOSE ARE BANGS! REAL BANGS! But, if bangs are good enough for Carmindy, they're good enough for me.

It's taken me a couple of weeks to get used to the bangs, instead of wondering who that twelve-year old girl in the mirror was. And, I don't mind them, exactly, I'm just concerned about the youth factor. As in, I really don't need any more youth right now, thanks. (Want to quintuple the youth factor? Pull the rest of my hair into a ponytail. Yeah. Think, Olympic gymnast. I won't be documenting that look for you here.)

Of course, such is the joy that is my crazy-fast-growing hair, I discovered today that the bangs might be long enough to do the sweepy thing I intended in the first place. And maybe I'll add a headband...