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So, um, I got bangs. 

I’d been considering the Big Chop for the past two weeks, ever since I was flipping through Glamour and landed upon the story “Why You Should Try Bangs.” And I was like, who me? And it was like, yes, everyone looks good in bangs, even plain-Jane supermodels Heidi Klum and Kate Moss. And I totally fell for it and started holding the ends of my hair at my forehead and asking everyone around me: Should I get bangs? Some people were like “Do it!” and others were like “NOOOOO!” and in the end, I decided against them. 

But then. 

There at the salon, my stylist was finishing my trim and for some unknown reason, I blurted, “Should I get bangs?” Advice for all: If you’re unsure about bangs, feel free to ask the advice of friends and family but don’t ask the advice of the woman holding the pair of shears. Before we could analyze the pros and cons and delve deep into how this would affect me psychologically, SNIP! SNIP! SNIP!

I had bangs.

The stylist seemed to love the cut and even made me step outside to take a picture. (She says it’s for her portfolio, but maybe it was to tell all her friends later that night, “Look what I did to this poor girl!”)   

I myself didn’t love them, but didn’t hate them. My initial thought was that I looked punk rock. We’re so playing Rock Band tonight, I decided.           

Then I headed home to face my family and Matt.

I walked in and everyone bursted into laughter.

Everyone: You look so……… CHINESE!   

Me: (I respect my peoples very much, but I knew this wasn’t a compliment.) Aww, really?

Matt: Hello dragon lady. Say “Me love you long time.” 

Me: Heck no.

I bolted to the nearest mirror. 

Sister: Bye Ling Ling! 

So now I have bangs. They’re OK. I’m sure maintenance will suck, but I needed a change. And maybe now people will treat me like her and bring juicy steaks to my desk. Riiight.

Perhaps I need a Master Cleanse, but not the kind where I can’t eat. Because I love food too much and I know me too well. When I see delicious, I will eat it. Instead, I need to cleanse myself of other toxins in my life, the clutter that makes my days heavy.

Sometimes I feel barricaded by a wall that’s so light and easy to move, but I won’t kick it out of my way because it shields me from the gusty storm of life. But I’m drowning in myself.

And I just want to lay here.

I now understand why grownups I know use their vacation days to stay home and do nothing. Not nothing, of course. They’re gardening and running errands and shifting their worlds back into place. It’s a time to replenish.

I yearn for that.

I scheduled Nothing into my GCalendar. Like I actually typed the word Nothing. And I’m so committed to Nothing that if someone asks me what I’m doing, say, next Saturday, I can look at my schedule and say Nothing. If that person says great, let’s do/go/eat/watch _______, I can say, no, didn’t you hear? I’m doing Nothing. Get it?

Nothing is important to me.

I need inspiration.

I need clarity.

I need change.

Matt and I are taking a photography class. I know. Another extracurricular. It’s good, though. We’ve been wanting to take on something together for a while, so I signed us up for this before he could suggest becoming members of something like Fish Freaks or Star Wars Society. For our first week’s homework assignment, our mission was to “stop action,” so we took Kyung’s SLR to the ice skating rink at the PV mall. That plan didn’t work out (boo to the ugly plastic barrier), but luckily, we spotted some little kids frolicking in the jumping water fountain.

I wanted to squat down and get up closer but Matt felt really creepy. I told him only he looks creepy as he’s a guy and I’m just an innocent-looking girl, but a security guard was roaming around and those PV parents probably have good lawyers.

On Saturday morning, I was telling Matt about GIRLS’ NIGHT! which totally deserves capital letters and an exclamation point because, sadly, such occasions have become quite rare. I was telling him how fun GIRLS’ NIGHT! was. We went clubbing! And wore dresses! I even shaved my legs.

“Ohmygawd, it was so fun,” I exclaimed. “The line was really long but I told the people with the clipboards who I was and then they took us down this red carpet and through this special door and we didn’t have to pay and we felt so cool.”

His reply: “Are you sure it wasn’t the senior citizens’ line?”

Grrrrrrrr.

And then I started thinking, man, who am I kidding? The truth is, we were so exhausted after dinner that all we really wanted to do was go back to the apartment, put on our PJs and maybe whip out a friendly board game. Yes, Boggle would have been fun. But in a noble attempt to reclaim our youth (“Come onnnn. It’s not like we’re 30,” I whined), we went.

It’s not like it wasn’t fun. It was. It’s always fun being with the girls. But there were also a number of why-the-heck-did-we-come-here moments. My ears are still ringing from all that rap music (kids today, I tell you). Someone spilled a drink on my foot (maybe me?). Jess swore she had arthritis while we were out on the dance floor. And Des was counting down the minutes until midnight because leaving at 11:48 would be so lame (12:01 is OK).

Plus it was kind of like, what’s the point? I realized that the purpose of clubbing is to hook up. I know this. The summer after college graduation, when we were young and free and jobless, Jess and I would hit the clubs almost every weekend. At first I would get annoyed when she would find a guy she liked right away and leave me alone and stranded, but I learned to deal with it. I would just put on my ‘lost’ face (it’s pretty natural for me) and roam around. I’d wait for a cute guy to say, “Hey, you look lost.” And I’d say, “I lost my friend!” And he’d say, “Aww, that’s sad. Let me buy you a drink.” It worked every time. Later on, Jess and I would reconnect, ditch the club and head to Monterey Park to eat beef chow fun and recap the events of the night. That was our routine. And it was good.

But that was then and this is now. Clubbing just isn’t the same. We’re in a different phase and — you know what? — it’s OK. It’s great, even. It feels good to finally understand that.

Of course, I’m still down to party, as long as there is plush seating available and preferably some snacks. Oh, and if there’s wireless, you better get ready for one craaaaazzy night.