THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS

Today, in "things I did instead of my readings for tomorrow," we have Home Haircut. Now, normally I cut my own bangs and it's no big D. A cooler-than-me friend initially gave me a straight across fringe one summer at Cambridge and since then I've felt pretty okay about giving them a trim, or letting them grow super long to cover it up when I can't afford to dye my eyebrows (it's fun to be albino). But when I cut them it's usually, just, like, straight across. Following a line.

And then today, for no reason, I did this:

 

You brought this on yourself, self.

All together now: "...what?" And not like, "What a kicky, retro-inspired good idea!" or "What? I don't see a difference! You look as normal as usual!" More just like... "what did... why...?". Or "what... was the purpose of this?" Or "what... is wrong with you?"

Basically, I just was not up to the task of trying to do anything more than cutting across the dotted line made by my brow bone, and then I got TOO EXCITED about some pictures of Bettie Page. I probably (completely) would have benefited from the help of someone with hand/eye co-ordination and whose eyes weren't being covered in ginger scraps throughout the process. Also, you get what you pay for and I was using scissors I had stolen from my former workplace, so.

Some people tried to be nice. Some people told me I look like a Vulcan. They are not wrong.

Oh well. Bangs will grow out. In the grand scheme of Problems You Could Have in Your Life, stupid-looking bangs rank as Not Actually A Real Problem ("Thanks for admitting that, you privileged brat." - Orphans, People Who Just Got Fired, Teen Moms, Pretty Much Everyone from Egypt, Libya, etc.) so at least there is that.

It is also a good lesson re: body modification in general. Three to six weeks from now, these bangs will be gone. This, on the other hand, is forever:

Precious.