Poverty and the Retro-er Hairdo

I'll get to the shotgun wedding thing soon, I swear. I'm waiting for EVERYTHING concerning said encounter to be over, and it's not... Yet...
So, you totally know I've been having hair issues, right (see "Dude, Where's My Wife" and "The Cost of Customer Service")?
Today I get all fed up with having 75% of a freakin' hairstyle, and decide to give myself a little trim.
At this point, ALL eyebrows should be raised. And someone who loves me should tackle me and take the sharp object, for I am clearly delirious.
Anyone who knows me is totally aghast right now, because the task of COMBING hair is usually too much for me. I just cant do it. I feel that there are certain things that people should be paid to do, like grooming me. Hair, nails, painful crotch snatching (that's waxing for those who haven't had it done), everything. If I could afford bathers.......Here comes the glimmery visual:
"The Royal V-Jay Jay is clean, your Highness". Hilarious.
ANYHOW!!!!!
Seeing as though I can hardly afford the items needed to bathe (water included), the bather, the pedicurist, and the licensed professionals with scissors and wax seem a bit too extravagant right now. So, I take the scissors to my own coif. After all, how hard can it be?
The Answer: Really completely totally hard.
Geometry notwithstanding, if anyone in an actual establishment had done this to my bangs, I would beat. Their. Ass. Royally. But, since this hack job was done by a chef that does a little butchering on the side, I will refrain from kicking my own ass for now. At least its even.
Ish.
Sigh.
So, as I look in the mirror, Ive got serious deja vu. So, I run and grab my tenth grade yearbook, and guess who has mom clipped bangs and a dumb ass look on her face?
This time, throwback is NOT cool.