I got a Brazilian this weekend. No. Not that kind. A Brazilian Blowout. It's a new straightening technique. Not something I had planned on doing, but a friend of mine recently got certified and offered to help me de-puff my 'do. All I had to do in return was agree to a before and after shot, (which you will never, ever see...sorry, I do like my privacy, especially when it comes to my humiliation). I was also sort of serving as a guinea pig, testing out a new formula to see the effect it has on different hair types. My small contribution to all the fine-but-wavy-haired girls out there who are frying their locks with a flat iron. Something that kind of got me where I am today with the Katie bob. Besides, it only lasts eight weeks, washing away without unsightly regrowth. I'm living on the edge these days. What the hell, right?
Basically, the process goes something like this: She slaps some keratin concoction on like you would hair color, blows it dry, flat irons it, lets it cool, washes it out and blows it dry again. The kicker was that she used no product or brushes when she did the final style. Just the dryer and her fingers, and it looked like she spent an hour flat-ironing it to perfection. It's awesome. Even when I went out that night in the rain, nary a frizz in sight. No poof, either. Who can beat that?
Well, this is me we are talking about.
I woke up the next morning after a rough night of sleep (my allergies have kicked in, which feels like I'm fighting the flu), and my hair was perfect. But the true test was going to be doing it myself. I have zero talent when it comes to my hair. That's why long and one length is best for me. Idiot proof. Sadly, it's going to take some time to get that again.
I let it dry naturally, to see how it would land. Pretty good, but I needed to take the dryer to it to polish the ends (you really do need a precision cut for hair this straight). That took all of five minutes. Holla! This is so going to rock my world.
But, remember, this is me we are talking about. I can't leave a good thing alone. Ever.
After running around to a meeting and dinner with a friend, the length of my bangs was beginning to bug. Just at that annoying point where they were poking me in the eye. I don't have an appointment with my stylist for another two weeks and, with my jacked schedule, I wouldn't have a chance to pop in for a quick trim. So, I took matters into my own hands.
This isn't the first time I've cut bangs. So, you'd think I'd know better. Yeah. This is me we're talking about. Let's just put it this way: At least they are no longer in my eyes. Happily, they aren't hacked to my hairline either. My stylist is probably going to have a few words with me, though. She will likely start with, "Let me get this straight..."