16 November 2006
13 bang! bang! rock 'n roll!
bombsy and i don't half-ass things. we go all the way. so when it came time to get our hairs cut after months and months of abstinence, we made it an EVENT.
we dined. we refilled our drinks. we got on the wrong bus to go a block and a half up the wrong street. we set off the alarm when i tried to prematurely disembark from the wrong bus. we walked a block and a half on the right street, cursing the freezing cold. swearing that we could not go any further, conveniently just as we reached the bombshell salon's stoop.
my hair hasn't been cut since last january. so obviously my first thought was bangs! on monday, i saw a photograph of nicole richie. nicole richie had the bangs of my dreams.
now, no self-respecting person can go into a salon and ask to look like nicole richie. i know this. alas, i was mistaken for ashlee simpson not seven days ago, so asking to look like nicole richie doesn't seem such a distance to fall. it would obviously be far worse had the same request been made at a gym or colonic spa.
i proudly handed my photograph of nicole richie's bangs to lance. to prove my unashamedness, i even chimed in to say that's nicole richie, as though there were any other woman who could be carrying a siamese cat that looked ten pounds heavier than her.
the bombshell and i had a post-cut date to watch camilla & charles: whatever love means. we shouted this fact from the sinks of the bombshell salon, over the roar of the water and the snips of the scissors. there was no one present who did not know we were on our way to a rendezvous with camilla & charles: whatever love means. the woman who ran our credit cards and who was in our presence for a mere minute and a half couldn't help but exclaim, you girls are CAHRAZY!
because we were. we giggled all the way up halsted. we made a display of ourselves getting treats in that damn CVS that never has anything you need and everything you'd never want. we created a spectacle all the way down fullerton and over to orchard and up bombsoline street in the rosy glow of anticipation.
and still, there are no words for camilla & charles: whatever love means. it's bloody groundbreaking, riveting, entirely frivilous entertainment. dana knows. bombsy knows. croftie very soon will. it just can't be conveyed. you have to experience it. and then you know.
i've tried to tell my mum. repeatedly, i've tried. tonight, in the post-glow, i said, you don't understand. you don't get it. they had to wait twenty years. they were only right for each other and they couldn't be together. they were so in love.
my mum paused half a beat and said, whatever that means. i blew nicole richie's bangs from my eyes (because that's still a small thrill) and sighed, you just don't know, mummy. you just don't know.