bang it!

I think I'm bitter. You've probably considered this as well, as most of my blog entries consist of constant (yet totally delightful) bitching about everything from drunkenness to Baconnaise. And being white. Ugh.

To know me in real life--- which I'm sure all of you do, or else why would you be reading this?--- is to hopefully know that I'm not the belittling shrew my words make me out to be. Well, I am... a little bit, I guess. In order to write these things, one would assume I must also think them, at least on some level...

But in real real life, I'm optimistic to a practically delusional state. I'm just a glass half full kind of gal. I assume the best in people, regardless of past precedent, even if they've disappointed me time and time again. I'm pretty sure that somewhere along the line, I'm going to win the lottery. I believe in karma and fate, and I like to think that there's a reason for our existence.

I am sarcastic, I'll admit that, and maybe I seem like a cynic... but I always hold out hope. I don't know why. Things go wrong, bad things happen- but there's a lot of good out there, too. There's beauty, and greatness, and plastic bags dancing in the wind.

Case in point- I love Disney movies... See? Happy. Sure, they usually kill off some lady character in the beginning, but hey- such is life. You roll with the punches. You might lose your wife after she's hatched all your kids, and your one remaining kid might be a bit of a cripple, but then you meet Dori, and visit 42 Wallaby Way, and life is swell again- as it should be.

I like happy. That being said, I seem to, especially in print, venture to the dark side more often than not. I've thought long and hard about why this is, and keeping in mind the whiteness I mentioned last time, I can think of only one other disappointment in life that my disdainful attitude stems from.

It's because I could never have proper bangs.

You read it right. This dark side of me, the angry, bitter one... she was fueled by lifeless, insipid hair.

You see, I have two cowlicks, these little swirly bits at the front of my hairline, that keep me from having a trendy coif.

Bangs that lie flat against the forehead? Never gonna happen. My cowlicks spin my hair so that a nice layer of fringe above my eyes will never be achieved. Ridiculously awesome puffy bangs circa Brittany Jones in the nineties? Nope. I would've killed for those bangs in sixth grade, but it just wasn't in the stars. I've tried blow dryers, curling irons, and so much hairspray that I was a fire hazard- to no avail.

Bangs and I will never live in harmony. It's something that I've come to accept, I think. I still make an attempt every once in a while, and sometimes they border on decent, but mostly, I look like a bang-loving, cowlick-having fool.

I've found myself discouraging my able haired friends from wearing bangs. I tell them, "They're just not in style." or, "I just like it so much better when you do the side-swept thing, it's way cuter. I've heard people say it about you. No bangs. Don't do the bangs. They're icky." I couldn't actually care less about my friend's hairstyles, I like them for their money, not their looks. But the jealousy bubbles every time I see someone shake the hair out of their eye-line.

Bitches.

Banglessness is just one more thing I have to come to terms with in order to be all the way happy... and haven't. The list is actually getting quite long...

-I can't have bangs.
-I'm too white.
-I can't ride a bike with no-hands.
-Tomatoes make me gag, regardless of how good they look, or how much I think I could like them.
-I'm pretty sure I'm going to die at age 27.
-I'm a bit clumsy, what with the falling out of beds and tripping over air.
-In addition to lacking bangs, I keep finding gray hairs. I just turned 23 last month. I hit puberty like, yesterday, and I'm already on the decline.
-I'm easily distracted, like today, when I saw said gray hair in the mirror and almost ran off the road (nearly taking a Toyota Tundra with me).
-Oh, also, I am not a competent driver.
-When I write, I make a lot of gestures and movements, and facial expressions. As in, I look like I'm fighting with the air- and it's winning.
-Anderson Cooper is gay, and will never love me. More on that later.
-I blush easily. When I'm embarrassed, or hot, or angry, or sad, or laughing, or... anything. It's probably some super sketchy disorder. It's probably what I'm going to die from, at age 27.
-I like my shows more than most of my friends... So anti-social...
-I think I have a bit of a lisp.

I'm sure there are more, but I'm growing weary.

I guess I'll part with one final thing I must come to terms with. I'm hopelessly in love with a craft that might never pay off. But I guess I duped you into reading this- so that's a start :)