When their life turns out badly, some people blame their parents, some blame their environment, as for me, I blame my hair. If only I’d been born with professional looking hair I could be the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company right now instead of a starving writer. My hair isn’t curly, it isn’t straight, it’s wavy. Which means it looks like I never comb it.
I’ve spent years trying to “fix” my hair. I’ve tried every kind of hair product. I tried getting a perm which only succeeded in turning my hair into a big afro which was made exponentially worse by the fact that I used henna before the perm so I had a big bright red afro. I looked like Ronald McDonald’s twin sister.
When I couldn’t succeed at turning my hair into a beautiful mane, I usually got mad and chopped it off. You know when one of your friends gets a really cute haircut and everyone gushes over it. Well that’s never happened to me. Whenever I get a haircut people stare at me in disgust and say something like, “I see you cut your hair again. Why don’t you try growing it out.”
Believe me I would love to have long hair. When I was a teenager long hair parted in the middle was the style (Peggy Lipton in Mod Squad, Cher, among others). I’ve tried over the years to grow out my hair but it will only grow as far as my shoulders and then it quits.
My hair is like the African natives in the old jungle movies. The natives are carrying all the heavy equipment for the white hunter as they walk through the jungle. Suddenly they stop and start talking excitedly in their native tongue:
White Hunter: “What is it? Why did you stop? We have to reach Devil Mountain before it gets dark.”
Native: “He say mountain is evil. He say whoever go to mountain will never come back!”
White Hunter: “That’s just a silly superstition and why are you talking like that. You went to Harvard? Besides, I’m paying you, so pick up your provisions and let’s go!”
At this point the natives drop all their cargo and run into the jungle. That’s what my hair is like. It reaches my shoulders and then it quits and runs away.
Hair: “We just wanted you to know that we’re not going past the shoulders it’s not in our contract.”
Me: “Listen you’re on my head and I’ll be the one who decides how long you’re going to grow!”
Hair: “ You’re expecting too much from us. I’m telling you we can’t do it! Who do you think you are, Crystal Gayle?”
I have one thing to be grateful for. The day before it decides to give up, my hair looks fabulous. It must want one final hurrah before calling it quits. It looks shiny, thick, and luxurious. I actually get compliments and I feel great. Then the next morning I wake up and it’s limp, stringy, and lifeless. That’s when I have to rush to the Emergency Room at the Hair Hospital.
“People we have a Code Red! I need a blow dryer, curling iron, mousse, gel, hair spray, and a can of shellac stat!” An hour later, “I have some bad news, your hair has flat lined. We tried everything but we couldn’t save it. We’re going to have to cut – dramatically.”
“Nooooo! Why God why?”
When my sister announced her wedding, she told me she wanted all the bridesmaids to have the same hairdo, a French twist. All the other women had long hair except for me so she told me I had to grow out my hair.
“But you don’t understand. My hair won’t grow!”
“That’s ridiculous everyone’s hair grows.”
“Not mine I have a medical condition called Follicle Interruptus.”
Well she didn’t believe me so I tried to grow out my hair. It got as long as my shoulders and as usual gave up. The morning of the wedding all the female members of the bridal party had to go to a high-end chi chi hair salon where Mr. Pierre himself labored on my hair for two hours. Finally exhausted he announced, “Look everyone I have created the world’s tiniest updo!” This was followed by a round of applause.
I know I’m not alone in my hair issues. Every woman I know has hair envy. If they have straight hair, they want curly hair, If they have curly hair, they want straight hair. It seems like no one is happy with the hair they were born with.
Since I can’t afford a high quality wig or hair extensions, I’m just going to have to accept my hair the way it is.
Remember that old saying, “I complained about not having any shoes until I met a man with no feet?” Well to help me accept my situation I’ve changed it to, “I complained about my hair until I met a woman with no head!”
What are your hair issues?
Fifteen years after its original release, James Cameron’s Titanic is back again only this time it’s in 3D. The movie now has a life time gross of over 2 billion dollars.
Planning to cash in on some of Titanic’s financial success, other studios are planning their own disaster at sea movies. I’ve come up with some ideas of my own:
Love Boat – Disaster At Sea
The movie reunites all the old characters played by new actors. Everyone is having a great time aboard the cruise ship until an engine fire threatens to sink the boat. When they find out there aren’t enough lifeboats for everyone, the passengers panic. It’s up to Julie, the Cruise Director, to restore order. In the process she’s forced to shoot two passengers played by Florence Henderson and Jaleel White. The most touching scene of the movie occurs when Captain Stubbing pushes Gopher onto a floating piece of wood in order to save his life.
“Gggopher pppromise me you’ll sssurvive. Pppromise me you’ll nnnever let go!”
“Okay, I promise. But why are you shivering so much we’re in the Caribbean?”
The Presidents Yacht
Harrison Ford recreates his role as the President of the United States only this time terrorists take over his yacht. The terrorists think the President escaped on a Jet Ski, but he’s really hiding in the anchor well, waiting for his chance to take them down one by one. The action leads up to this memorable line, “I’m the President of the United States, get off my boat!”
The Suite Life On Deck Turns Sour
Any adult who has had the misfortune of having to sit through this Disney sitcom will enjoy seeing the obnoxious overacting cast sink to the bottom of the sea! The movie brings back Zach, Cody, London, Bailey, and Mr. Moseby as they sail around the world on the S.S. Tipton until they hit a rock after Zach takes over as captain and steers the boat too close to shore in order to ogle girls in bikinis. The most memorable scene of the movie involves London who shouts, “I’m rich and beautiful, I can’t sink! My Manolo Blahniks will get ruined.”
Gilligan’s Island 3D – They thought they were going out for a three-hour cruise (so why did they bring so much stuff?) The passengers aboard the S.S. Minnow have to survive a storm at sea. I’m casting Jim Parsons, of the The Big Bang Theory, as Gilligan, Billy Gardell, of Mike and Molly, as the Skipper, Emma Stone as Mary Ann, and Megan Fox as Ginger. I haven’t cast the other parts yet. Any suggestions on who should play the Professor, Mr. and Mrs. Howell?
Yesterday I was home alone when I thought I saw my grandmother’s ghost.
“Nana is that you? What are you doing here? Do you have a message for me from the other side?”
It was at that point that I realized I was looking at my refection in the window glass! How did I get so old?
I used to be vain about the fact that I looked younger than my actual age. When I was in my 40’s people thought I was in my 30’s. When I was in my 30’s people thought I was in my 20’s. Now when I tell people I’m in my 50’s they stare at me in disbelief.
“Are you a heavy smoker?”
“No I’ve never smoked.”
“Did you accidentally fall into a vat of toxic chemicals?”
“Were you exposed to massive amounts of radiation?”
The reason I look so old is that I got sick. There’s nothing like a life threatening, incurable illness to take the bloom off the rose. Plus I had to take prednisone, a terrible drug with bad side affects one of which is that you go to bed looking like a normal person and you wake up in the morning looking like a giant balloon float in the Macys Thanksgiving Day Parade. I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboys twin sister!
Even though I may look old on the outside, I still feel like a 25 year-old on the inside. I’ve always loved to dance. When I was young I used to go discos and dance the night away. Recently I was at a wedding reception when the DJ played “Funkytown.” I grabbed my friends and rushed out on the dance floor and started boogying. The people around me started talking.
“What’s that noise? Is someone making popcorn? It’s so loud I can hardly hear the music.” I listened and realized it was my knee joints creaking. I slunk back to the table and sat down.
I can see why plastic surgery and botox have become so popular. Baby boomers still feel young on the inside and they want to look young on the outside, too. So do I, but I can’t afford all the botox and plastic surgery it would take to transform me. It’s not cost effective. It would be cheaper to transplant my brain into a giant robotic Barbie doll, which isn’t scientifically possible yet.
Since everyone thinks I’m old, I’m beginning to feel old; I’ve started hanging out with 70 and 80 year-olds. Just yesterday I was with my peeps at the Senior Citizen Center when we got into a rousing discussion on the best denture cream and why FDR was the greatest President that ever lived. Good times!
Aggressive parents have been blamed for turning annual community Easter Egg Hunts into a scene from Wal-Mart on Black Friday. Unruly parents have started stampedes encouraging their children to push others and steal eggs. An Easter Egg Hunt in Macon, Georgia was canceled after a woman was hurt and children were trampled in the past.
I never liked community Easter Egg Hunts. Back then parents weren’t as pushy and obnoxious as they are today, but their kids were. There were always big kids who could out run everyone else and snatch up all the eggs. I was lucky if I got my hands on one egg.
That’s why when I had kids of my own I decided it would be safer and more fun to have our own Easter Egg Hunt. Every year, my ex-husband and two kids would go to his parent’s farm in rural Minnesota. I would go in a separate car to my own parent’s house. They lived in the city about an hour away from my in-laws. On Easter, my ex-husband, kids, and in-laws would all go to church and I would drive to the farm, and hide eggs all over the yard while they were gone. When I was finished, I got in my car, drove away, parked behind bushes or trees, and waited until they came home. Then I showed up and pretended to be surprised by the Easter Bunny’s visit.
That first year I wasn’t prepared for the fact that the church always held an Easter Brunch which meant elderly people sitting around drinking coffee and talking for hours. I sat in my car and waited, and waited, and waited until I almost went stir crazy. After that I came prepared with bottled water, granola bars, magazines and books.
I also learned an interesting fact, people in rural areas and small towns know everyone and they don’t like strangers lurking around behind their neighbor’s bushes and trees. This was especially true after 9/11 when people were on the look out for terrorists. The fact that I was wearing sunglasses and had a white scarf wrapped around my head probably didn’t help matters.
After that I devised ways to look innocent and non-threatening while waiting for everyone to come home from church:
I had an unfolded map on the seat next to me, when I heard a car approaching I pretended that I was lost and looking for directions.
I pretended to be talking on my cell phone.
Whenever I heard a passing car I jumped out and squatted in the bushes so people would think I was a passing motorist who couldn’t hold it any longer.
It didn’t take long before my kids figured out that I was really the Easter Bunny but since they loved the egg hunt, we kept the tradition.
My granddaughter is 11 years old and knows there’s no Easter Bunny but she still likes it when I hide eggs for her. I just hope a pushy, aggressive adult doesn’t ruin our Easter Egg Hunt. What can I say, I love chocolate!