The day I received the perfect haircut.

Ever since I cared about haircuts (which started very recently, mind you), all I ever wanted was a layered look a la Mischa Barton and Max Guevera in Season 2 of Dark Angel. I looked at the picture I brought into my one official salon appointment ever and thought it was pretty straight forward: a long-layered cut, so I hand the guy the picture and say, "You know, I'd like some long layers that frame my face."

This "frame my face" idea was a new one that I happened into around a year and a half ago. No, there was no divine computer program that I put a photo of myself into that spit out: Something to frame your face would greatly improve your looks! I was looking in the mirror and finally something clicked in my mind: that is what I wanted. After 21 years of (mostly) one length hair--long or short--and completely forswearing bangs since the 3rd grade when one of the sixth graders on the bus ride home asked me, "Why do you still have bangs?" I was going to get something that "framed my face" and it was going to be exactly what I wanted.

Well, I was still on the lookout for a better cut since the last (and only) salon one. I just never got around to it, because I never want to spend over 25 dollars for a cut again. And they make you pay more for long hair, so I decided that if I ever got something styled, I'd want to hack everything off first.

But anyway. I was looking in the mirror today, getting jiggy to the High School Musical soundtrack and staring at my hair with the brainchild to cut it myself. Just a trim, I thought. I wanted to get rid of all those split ends, right? Good idea. So I got out the scissors that have yet to be dulled by anything I cut with them, and--upon inspection--realized that I had no split ends. Like, seriously. I couldn't find one. Writing it off to the fact that I never brush my hair, I started to stare in the mirror at the long, wet strands, staring at that place where the hair that should be my bangs naturally curls under my chin. It's strange; my hair has so many fly-aways (from my cafe hat perhaps?) but no split ends. And I see that my hair is naturally doing it--with that curl. It's framing my face. So I pick up the first forward chunk on the left side and snip, snip *falls*. Then I pick up the right chunk and snip, snip *falls*. Then, snip to the left, another to the left. And I'm done.

Voila something that frames my face.

Voila, I have returned to the world of bangs.

And it's strange that the only thing I really wanted was those little hanging things that don't make it into your pony tail but are still long enough to part in the middle of my forehead. I feel invigorated. Why? Because I have discovered yet another thing in life that I can do on my own.

Current Harry Potter page count: 396 out of 759.

No. of times tears have come to my eyes: once.

No. of times I have squeed aloud to an empty apartment: too numerous to count.

P.S. THE THING (from another planet) = best allegory of communism ever.