Damn you, Paris Hilton, damn you!

Paris Hilton and her hair were on Good Morning America this morning. It was the only time she didn't look like a two dollar wo-hora. I thought to myself, hmf, she doesn't look like a hooker. Whatdya know? And her hair is so cute! She had these cute bangs and a cute ponytail. As luck would have it, I had a hair appointment today. Normally when I see cute hair, I think, meh. Take it or leave it.

But this morning, tsk, tsk, tsk... this morning we had a minor emergency at Casa de Luny, which threw me off guard. Because it's April 2-frickin-9th, temps dipped below freezing and a snow storm rolled in. Our newly turned on sprinkler system did not like this much. Our just replaced $40 backflow plastic thingy froze. Again. This time the water was on. This time gallons of water came gushing out, ran down the street, puddled in the yard by the house, seeped into the ground, and poured into my crawl space.

Being the handy woman that I am, a ran around the house screaming and fretting. Oh, crap! Oh, crap! Oh, crap! Shoes. Must get shoes. I grabbed a pair of shoes, rushed outside in the blowing snow, got drenched in the Fountain o' Stress, and turned off the water. At this point I ran around again, soaking wet, in the 26-degree weather, screaming again. Oh, crap! Oh, crap! Oh, crap! I ran back inside, tracking dirt and snow and drops of water into the house to call hubby... voice mail!? WTF.

Hubby called back... several oh, craps! later. What do I do? We have a small lake in the crawl space. Oh, crap! Turn of the water in the crawl space. No, no, no, no, no, no. Crawl space is your domain. Yours. I go on the roof (he is afraid of heights) and you go in the crawl space (I am afraid of things that bite.)

Seeing as desperate times call for desperate measures and all that junk... I flew down the stairs, opened the door to the crawl space, cleared away the crap in the way of the crawl space, barricaded the dogs from being able to follow me into the crawl space, and entered.

Ewww. There are dead things in there. And a lot of water. And dead things. Alive things as well, but they stayed out of sight until I left. Being a crawl space, I crawled along the floor to get to the water shut-off thingy.

Once that was shut off, I crawled back out, shut the door, took off my wet, and now muddy, shoes and clothes. I had a hair appointment to get to at 11:30. It was now 11:08. Oh, crap! I ran upstairs, got some somewhat decent clothes on, and the phone rings. Hubby. Dear, sweet, darling hubby. Do I need him to come home? At this point, no. Gotta go. Hair calls. I threw on some makeup (the ladies will understand this), locked the devil dogs in the house and hightailed it to my hair appointment.

Usually I have the same haircut. Evvvvvery time. Cut a half inch off. No layers. Nuthin' fancy. This morning, after my near death experience in the crawl space, I thought, hmf, I'll try some bangs. Like Paris Hilton. Paris never has to crawl in a bug and spider infested crawl space. Paris never gets drenched with freezing water wearing a mismatched outfit of sweatpants and a pajama top. Paris never has to turn the water off on a backflow. She doesn't even know what that is. I want bangs.

Dear six readers, it has been 7.6 years since I had bangs. This is not a decision I should have made without the council of my best friend, a therapist and three strange women in a beauty parlor. Nonetheless, I did. It's done. I'm banged. All fringed out. Wispy.

Having bangs for a little over three hours now, they are driving me crazy! Why are they in my eyes? And why do they insist on touching my forehead? Arrrrgh. Tomorrow will be worse. Tomorrow, I won't have Charmane to blow out my hair. Tomorrow I will be faced with a cowlick. But for Paris, tomorrow someone will do her hair. Why? Because she has "People," people. There is a reason why she has care-free bangs. And backflows. And never has to go into a yucky crawl space. People. Her people. I have no people. None.

All I'm left with are bangs. Damn you, Paris, damn you.