Monday, January 25, 2010
The other day I had some places to go, people to see in my big life.
So, what this entailed was changing into something besides my jammies and actually doing something with my usual bedhead hair. Well . . . technically I really didn't even style it because one of my important errands was a trip to the hairdresser since my blonde hair is as genuine as John Edwards' flip-floppin' declarations.
Mr. Slimo's wife and mistress need to take a lesson from these gals here. Super Glue on his gentleman parts might just help him remember that his wife is DYING and he already has a houseful of kids. Ass-bag.
Back to the important stuff, my hair.
Now, I love my hairdresser. She rocks when it comes to pixie do's. Not every stylist is brave enough to go short-short on a woman. She does, though. She's got mad skills when it comes to scissors and a razor. But . . .
There's this one thing.
Over the years of having a shorty short do, I have yet to find a single hairdresser who knows how to style my hair after they've cut it. I think it's because most hairdressers have, you know— hair, unlike me with my 30 strands and that's on a good hair day.
Every durn time, they pull out their round brushes and their big mousses. And I'm kind of not assertive at all when it comes to hairdressers and I just sit there, letting them round my inch of hair with their enormous brush into a big bubble. I don't know why I'm so meek. Probably because I'm just so grateful they're making me look less balding.
And so when they finish and I have this short bouffant Grandma do, I just smile and thank them and then I go home, wet it down and use my hands, my blow dryer and a few products to gunk it up and make it look bigger than it really is. The same concept as my Victoria's Secret Miraculous bra, actually. I then use a little molding paste and Taa-Daa— I'm sporting the 14-year-old boy look— except for the Miracle Bra part of things.
It works for me.
But on this day, I didn't have enough time to go home and unfluff my fluffy hair, so I ran my errands, hoping that my black cashmere dress (that I only get to wear for like our 3 weeks of winter, so I wear the snot out of it), my cool boots and my funky accessories would help counteract my bouffant.
As soon as I got home, I pulled out my usual, "I like to look homeless while at home" look.
Two faces have I.
I threw on a bright gold sweatshirt and my fluffy socks.
I went about my day here, the usual soul-killing chores, not giving my outfit a second thought. I talked to a neighbor, answered the door to the UPS man with his daily packages for Shopping Boy. I hosted my usual bevy of a million teenage girls coming and going from my house.
At one point, Julia's other sister/next door neighbor/best friend, Haley came over. She wandered into the kitchen where I was slaving away and stopped dead in her tracks, giving me the once-over. Now, this is a child who doesn't blink when I'm in my pajamas at 3:00 in the afternoon and my hair is an electrified mess, I've got brownie crumbs in the corners of my mouth and unidentified stains on my wrinkled t-shirt.
She knows the real me.
But, she took one look at me and said in this high voice, "Aunt Joann, did you go somewhere todayyyy"
And I was all, "Why yes. I was very busy, very busy with super-important things."
And she said in that same high tone, "Well, you sure look pretty."
She's a nice girl like that, acknowledging the cool funkiness that I always try to attain with my look.
It wasn't until later that I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It stopped me dead in my tracks and almost gave me a stroke.
I saw the reflection of a 70-year-old woman staring back at me. Kind of this look, except without the cigar:
I'd forgotten to take off my funky, fat-beaded necklace and dangly earrings, which were the perfect accents to my sleek black dress. So, there I stood, with my puffy hair, my blindingly gold sweatshirt and my chunky necklace perched exactly on that sweatshirt like I'd checked out my ensemble that morning and said, "Now, that's a fine-ass look, there."
Dear Lord, all I was missing was some orthopedic shoes and elastic waist pants in a bold pattern and I would have been all set for Mahjong and boiled beets.
I ran up to my daughter's room and flung open the door. Haley and Julia stared up at me like, "What now, Crazy?"
I blurted out, "You know I didn't do this on purpose, right? You don't have to patronize me. I haven't given in, yet. I'm too young, too young."
Haley eyed me warily and said, "Okayyy."
Julia, who is used to my drama, just said without blinking, "What's patronizing?"
I'm still a little shaky from it all. Just the fact alone, that someone thought I could pull the senior citizen look off has completely shredded the cool, hip perception I had of myself.
Oh Man, I'm feeling Christmas sweaters looming on the horizon. Somebody save me.
Today's Definite Download: Go to Itunes today. itunes.com It will take you directly to the Hope for Haiti sight. Some splendid performances by some of the greats of the music world. 100% of the profits will go to aid for Haiti. Enjoy their music, knowing your money isn't going into Steve Jobs pancreatic transplant fund, but to Haiti.
What the world needs now is love, sweet love. Perhaps if we spread our love a little more, the world would be a softer place. Haiti is calling. If you can, please answer them.
I'd forgotten to take off my funky, fat-beaded necklace and dangly earrings, which were the perfect accents to my sleek black dress. So, there I stood, with my puffy hair, my blindingly gold sweatshirt and my chunky necklace perched exactly on that sweatshirt like I'd checked out my ensemble that morning and said, "Now, that's a fine-ass look, there."
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4 comments:
Hilariou! An actual picture would have been awesome!
I don't know why hairdressers enjoy the helmet head?
Suggested gifts for Joann's birthday:
Gift card to Coldwater Creek
Fanny Pack
Those big black sunglasses that go over your regular bifocals.
These should help complete your outfit.
Very funny!
I always wonder if my neighbors are horrified if they happen to see me standing on my front porch, waving my kid off to school. Me in my sweatpants, long sleeved tshirt, and boots. We won't even talk about the hair.
Ha! I just did a "laugh so loud you would think I was reading June over at BBP". Mah Jongg and boiled beets! Heee-freaking-larious! I was picturing Fran Drescher's grandma on The Nanny.
p.s. I play Mah Jongg every 2nd and 4th Tuesday of the month. I like to pretend that instead of a 50 year old Episcopalian Texan, I can be an 80 year old Jewish lady from the Bronx. Do you know where I can buy those stretchy polyester pants with the seam sewn down the front?
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