decision 2011: to bang or not to bang?

I need a haircut.




I really need a haircut. I haven't even had so much as a trim since I quickly slid into Great Clips at the very beginning of February as the ICE STORM 2011 was looming in. It was a rush job. And also terrible.  


And Great Clips doesn't count because despite times being tough everything,  that shit was disastrous.


I've been contemplating this necessary cutting of hairs the way that I always do, which means fantasizing about hair colors and cuts that are obviously ALL wrong for me.


For instance, once time I brought to the salon with me a photo similar to this one:

What was I thinking? I'm clearly on Team Angelina.

And then I proceeded to tell the *student* stylist to make my hair that color.  Do they have stylists that create genuine art out of hair like this in the 'burbs of Indianapolis? No. They don't. They have two basic color options- one color hair and striped hair. And highlights are only ever "caramel." What the fuck color of hair is that?

No, my hair didn't resemble Jen's at the conclusion of my four-hour long appointment in which the young lady coloring my hair took not one, but THREE cigarette breaks during the course of the ordeal. Aye- yaye- yaye. I was undeniably BLONDE when I left. Platinum. It was New Years Eve. I looked like a fool. A pasty, washed-out fool in stilettos and a slutty dress in ten degree weather. My friends and I had a room at the Marriott downtown. Downtown INDIANAPOLIS. Lots of shit to get into here, trust me.

Psh.


Or, a couple of winters ago while living getting drunk for five months in Chicago, I actually box dyed my tresses in a fit of "I need a change GODDAMNIT and I NEED ONE NOW." The poor things.


Black.


I mean, it was technically dark brown, but my hair appeared strangely black to myself and anyone that knew me. Needless to say, it did not turn out true to the hue on the box.  I was going for this look:

WE LOOK NOTHING ALIKE.

Fail.




In high school I had hair that would have covered my boobs, had I actually had any at the time, and one day I went to the salon and convinced the woman cutting my hair that I'd totally love a shaggy bob that grazed my chin. It took some convincing, but I promised her that my mother wouldn't be mad and that I'd totally love it.


Um, I didn't. I really, really, didn't.  Plus my mom was pissed.

Not a good look for even this woman, let alone my 14 year-old self.

And let's not even get started on 'wispy' bangs, circa 1999. Middle school, Devin Sawa pics in the locker and curling iron-burned forehead.


UGH.


So now, I'm doing this thing where I fantasize about getting bangs. Because, you know, things are going pretty well with my hair right now. It's grown out. I haven't dyed it in a year and a half. I'm pretty happy with it.


SO LET'S SHAKE EVERYTHING UP?!?!?!??!!!!11111111111111zoomg.

Woah, easy.

Not like, shake it up toooooooo too much, but shit, if the hipsters can pull off bangs, why can't I?

I really really want to go for it. Forget about the fact that I compulsively shove my hair behind my ears so it won't fall into my face and also the fact that I can't run in a head band because those suckers always slide right out.

I'm actually considering this.

Because as soon as things start getting on the right track, I just have to go and screw it up. It's basically true of every aspect of my life. But before you judge, take a gander at this:

Bangs, GLORIOUS BANGS.

AND THIS:

Okay. I get it. I don't really look like this girl that much. BUT THIS IS ABOUT HER HAIR AND NOT HER CLEAV AND PERFECT COMPLEXION AND IMMACULATE FEATURES. The hair, that's doable, I'm AT LEAST 60 percent sure.

I've come to the conclusion that:


BANGS ARE GOOD AND ALSO I NEED THEM TO CONTINUE FUNCTIONING.


Pics to follow.


Maybe.

XO Sara