Category Archives: Hair

Nap Schmap


It’s a vicious cycle, this sleep business. But there’s nothing like a good mid-afternoon drool-fest. Waking up slightly disoriented – is it evening? Tomorrow?  Or just fifteen minutes since you last looked at the clock? – makes the whole nap experience even better. It really caps off a pointless afternoon, one where you accomplished nothing because you were so grumpy and unreasonable that even your cat had to leave his usual squatting spot to get away from the thick, downer vibe permeating the air.

When you’ve finally pushed through the fog and repositioned every oddly-placed hair, (day-sleep makes hills and vales on your head that rock stars have tried to emulate for decades) you begin to run like a well-oiled machine. That box of “unknowns” sitting under your bed for two years? Gone. A four-course dinner of “whatever’s not moldy in the fridge” gourmet?  Fait accompli.  Course number five boxed brownies with an extra- sugary slathering of frosting and fruit (for health) on top? Sitting like a food photo on your freshly-cleaned counter.

Life is good. Until ten o’clock. You put on your pajamas, do your usual evening routine of brushing, flossing, smearing and pinning and hop into bed with that trashy novel you tell people you aren’t reading. Everything is going according to plan, until you turn out the light, roll over and realize, YOU’RE NOT THE LEAST BIT TIRED.

Surely that can’t be right. You were so sleepy you couldn’t keep your eyes open at 2pm. It was a good nap, not one of those time wasters you used when you couldn’t handle one more minute of real life. You didn’t drink caffeine, eat sugar (no one saw exactly what happened to the brownies) or bring your stresses to bed.

You go through all of the usual commercial sleep-inducers: Counting sheep? They are pretty boring until the cast of Twilight comes out of the woods and creates such a scene of carnage it will take four hours for you to stage the whole thing. Herbal tea? You drank six cups. Now when your eyelids are finally heavy, you’ll be too busy sitting on the toilet to actually get to sleep. Milk? A walk through the neighborhood in your pajamas?

It turns out that little favor you did your body has come back to bite. Hard. It will be past midnight before you find your sweet spot. Tomorrow will come, as it always does, at the same time. You’ll be a grumpy mess. Until 2 pm.

Hair Schmair


The greatest statement of any woman’s hair over a lifetime is its rise and fall, somewhat like a housing market graph. Reaching its peak in the 80s, it’s safe to say my hair soared to at least 8 inches above my skull at one point. With the help of perming, paste-like substances and a can-a-day hairspray habit, I was able to maintain this gruesome lifestyle for many years.

To this day, I have a recurring scenario that plays in my brain anytime I drive: It is a warm day and all of the alcohol-based products on my head have fermented to an essence of an empty beer can under the back seat. (Just guessing.) The 70s music blaring on my AM radio has distracted me from the change in speed. The police officer who pulls me over  politely asks for my license and registration. (While this isn’t Southern California and I’m not on a television set, I’m pretty sure it’s Erick Estrada or that  blond guy.) As he dips his head inside my window, his nostrils flare slightly.

“Have you been drinking today, ma’am?”

I gulp. “No, officer. It’s my hairspray.”

He scoffs. “How much ma’am?”

“Half a can. But I’m trying to cut down. I’m only re-styling mid-day now. If it looks bad after five, I have to live with it.”

“Can you step out of the car, ma’am?” At that point, a field sobriety test is performed. Natural clumsiness aside, it is the alcohol smell permeating from my scalp that is my most noticeable flaw.

I begin crying. Confessing my life’s history in hair. “Do you know what was like to have a bowl cut for an entire year? AN ENTIRE YEAR?”

“Can you take it down a notch, ma’am?”
“I’ve been trying for ten years, officer. I just can’t bear the thought of flathead.”

Officer Erick Estrada issues me a ticket and I’m ordered to appear in court, at which time the entire cast of Law and Order may be in attendance waiting for my case.

This story ends in hilarity during a courtroom appearance and a public admonishing about driving while flammable.

With the help of good people, I’ve kicked the perm, hairspray, and some hair product habit. But color? That’s another story.