The Conspiracy Against Me

Truly, the world has been waging war against me for the last thirty years (well, 29 years and 11 months).  Case in point no. 1:

I am now thoroughly convinced that between "Layers 101" and "Bangs 304," every stylist is required to take a course in "How to F Up A's Hair." 

How else can you explain the disaster that was made of my bangs last night?  I haven't been to a salon in ages because every time I go, I end up with someone taking unfounded liberties on my hair and more importantly I end up with an f'ed up hairdo.  

But in light of impending major life events, I finally sucked it up and went to a salon.  All I wanted was a simple Katie Holmes inspired bob with some bangs.  OK, admittedly the bob part is great.  But for the next 3 weeks I will be wearing the only headband (thankfully I have a Burberry number received years ago) and bobby pin I own in an effort to disguise the horror that would otherwise be dangling across my forehead.  And eating a lot of Jell-o.  I might even try to snag some prenatal vitamins from a co-worker.  Anything to make these bangs grow out as fast as possible.

And now I'm getting all worked up about case in point no. 2 to prove the world is against me: doctors.  Doctors who shove birth control pills and acne medicine down every 18 year old girl's throat and face.  Doctors who suggest eighteen other things they can help you with other than the reason you are actually there.  So I haven't been to the doctor in a long time.  Long enough to not even have a doctor.  That was one of my goals this year - to get back on track because it's probably a good idea to get checked out every decade or so.  Haven't gotten around to that one, either.