Har de Har, Har, Hair





Is your hair naturally curly, wavy, or straight? Long or short?

People pay for hair like mine. It’s everything your stylist promises you that your hair can be. He or she is a lying sack of shite, but it sounds good. Wavy hair is so cool in pictures. It looks so active and busy; it’s hair that you can leave alone in the living room while you make dinner. In real life, wavy hair has ADD. It is an unhappy, restless hair with attachment issues. Sometimes it wants to be spiky, but it can’t make up its mind so on one side it goes spiky and on the other side it goes flat or fuzzy. Fuzzy is a popular choice for wavy hair. It gets to be all tall and see things; it gets to make you very unhappy. It gets massaged with any number of wonder brushes designed to make it lie down and act right. It doesn’t want to lie down and act right, it wants to be wavy like the ocean, frothy like the sea. It is its destiny. It has way too much to do just to lie on your head and be pretty. It wants to go places and do things. It wants to go to costume parties as Frankenstein or Shrubbery. Wavy hair is not your friend. I have learned that long hair helps to keep the wavy hair in its place. It weighs it down, bums it out to a degree that it can be closer to what you may actually want on your head. Unless, it’s humid.

Wavy hair loves humidity. It is the only time it can really bring out the big guns. It can be Big and not get teased into it. You want wavy hair? Buy a wig.


2. How has your hair changed over your lifetime?

I was born bald. I grew hair. Good Hair. I have the pictures to prove it. Long, straight, pretty hair. It was even reddish. I miss that hair. It looked so nice in the pictures; I looked like a brunette Brady. Somewhere along the way I betrayed that hair. I cut it. In my first grade mug shot I am toothless and Mullited. My hair was angry. It became thick and brushy. It laughed at mere hairbrushes and combs. It laughed at simple conditioners. It stopped being my friend and became my adversary. I was young then and didn’t grasp that I had pissed off the hair. I was too young to know how bad I looked. The class pictures were scheduled on days I was sick so I wouldn't mess them up with my hair. The hair was a total attention hog and could be counted on to do something really outrages in pictures. Usually the follicular equivalent to flipping off the camera. In many pictures I appear to be deeply pained, it was my hair pinching my ear or getting caught in the space between my teeth or catching itself in my collar and strangling me .We stayed together for the sake of the eyebrows.



3. How do your normally wear your hair?

In a pony tale. It allows me have long hair and not use it as tooth floss. I like the way ponytails look. I do however draw the line at Pig Tails. Grown women who wear Pig Tails have a Three’s Company fetish and they need to get out more. They also need to examine their need to look like a four year old. I also have an issue with the Ponytail on the side of the head look. It doesn’t work. It is so 1980s, if you wear your hair that way you probably also wear a lot of neon and favor big shirts and reams of fake pearls. It s a whole Alisa Malono Whose the Boss vibe that is disturbing.



4. If you could change your hair this minute, what would it look like?

Longer and straighter. It would hang where I wanted it to and possibly be lighter in color. It certainly would not have split ends.


5. Ever had a hair disaster? What happened?

I call it High school. In my freshman picture it appears my hair was auditioning for the part of Frankenstein in some touring show. It certainly could have gotten the part. The hair along with braces, the largest eyeglass frames made in 1983 and the ugliest blouse ever, just made a horrific picture that unfortunately live on in a yearbook. My sophomore year I had lost the braces, the contacts and the ugly blouse. I had found the worst hair in history. Hair like mine loves being short. Short gives it the opportunity to explore horticulture. It can get in touch with its inner shrub and let it all hang out. In the brushy, shrubby, unmanageable way. The only thing that can kill Shrub Hair is a controlled burn. This was not an option, so I hung on and let it grow. Right into a mullet. As soon as I had a rockin’ mullet I went with the Sun In and just lost my mind. An Orange Mullet. Even worse, brown hair in a mullet with red split ends. Ug.


I got this Bloggers’ Little helper from Friday Five