My Face is as Red as Half of My Hair

“You look a lot younger on your profile picture than in real life.”

Thank you?

What kind of statement is that? I mean unless it’s retro week or something, I do keep my profile pics up-to-date. I tell people I have a 21-year-old and a 18-year-old. Unless I gave birth pre-puberty, I would think my age is self apparent. Apparently not to some. I do consider the source. The person in question was a 20 something comic who’d not yet met me in person and chose to believe I was younger because I was just starting out in comedy at the time.

Fast forward two years and add a lot more grey hair to the equation and I start believing in better living through chemistry. Clairol chemistry to be exact. Looking in the mirror while at the lake on April 1, I see more grey hair than I do red and the first thing that pops into my mind is, “Oh my gosh, I cannot meet John Branyan looking like this! I have to fix this, now.”

I packed my bags and left my family in the proverbial dust as I raced home to color my hair.

I didn’t have a lot of time. It was already 2 pm and the doors opened at 6 for the comedy concert.

I hit the drug store, bought a new shade of red that promised to cover the grey in 25 minutes and headed home.

I parted, combed, colored, covered and waited for Clairol to work her magic. The end result was splendid in my opinion. By the time the boys got home from the lake, I was sporting my new do. I even curled my hair and put on make up – just to meet John. It was almost 4:30 by time the guys made it home. We rushed out the door to go stand in line for good seats.

The show was wonderful.

Meeting John Branyan and Tim Hawkins (both fellow CCA Comics) afterwards was a huge treat.

John was gracious and kind and said he’s looking forward to seeing me again in Nashville in June at our conference.

Watching Tim lay his head on the table when my son asked him to autograph his butt was truly priceless.

None of that however compares to 24 hours later, at my son’s soccer game when I turn to my husband and ask, “Is it me or are people looking at me funny?”

“They aren’t looking at you funny, they are just smiling.”

“Why are they smiling?”

He is in the danger zone and he knows it. Pausing for wisdom – or an earthquake to eat him whole – whichever comes first, he finally fesses up.

“Well, I’m curious. Did you mean to only color the front of your hair?”

“WHAT?”

“I mean it looks great, it’s just that you missed the entire back of your head, that’s all.”

NICE.

I called my girlfriend Michele, who was also at the concert to ask her if she noticed. She did. She thought I did it on purpose and didn’t say anything.

I let her live because in all fairness, we were already there – what was anyone going to do? Still – I went out in public looking like a middle-aged punk rock, 80’s flash back wanna be with big hair and NO ONE TOLD ME!

Alright ladies and gents. Your turn. While I’m shampooing with Prell to strip this back out and try again, I’d love to hear about your fashion catastrophes. 

The Worst Valentine’s Day Ever

We’ve all done crazy things for love. Some turn out great, some notsomuch. With Valentines Day right around the corner, I thought it would be fun to take a look at some crazy things we do for love. Are you in?

Have you ever met a man so beautiful that he takes your breath away?

I have.

He was single.

And straight.

And dreamy.

And straight.

And oblivious.

And did I say straight?

Steven sat next to me for three classes that semester in college. We were in the same accounting clubs and we also did runway modeling for the local mall. Unfortunately we’d fallen into the “buds” category, which today translates to “he’s just not into you.” I know that today, but I didn’t know that when I was 19. To say that I made a complete and total blithering idiot out of myself, bringing him coffee every morning, staring at the back of his head during class, sighing every time he spoke, would be an understatement. Yeh, I had it bad.

The thing about Steven is he was shy and he had no idea how dreamy he really was.

At least he didn’t seem to.

Valentines Day was just around the corner and I decided it was time to be bold.

You know what I did?

I took out an ad in the local paper.

Oh no she didn’t.

Oh yes, I did. I took out an ad with the only four French phrases I knew:

Steven D***** (oh wouldn’t you love to know his full name. Ain’t happening.)

Mon Cher

Mon Ami

Je T’aime e vous

Moi.

Give a girl props for courage.

Take away props for forgetting to sign the stupid thing.

He comes rushing into Econ 201 on cloud 9, waving this paper around, runs up to me – his female BFF and asks if I can read French. He wants to know what is says. Score! – except that, I get so flustered that I spill coffee over both of us. The teacher calls class to order and that is the end of that conversation. That’s okay, I’ll tell him at rehearsal.

Did I tell him at rehearsal?

Nope.

You know why not.

Because I heard the A-line (the diamond and fur girls) talk about how “some loser is all ga ga over Steve.”

Now, I’ve seen photos of me at 19 — uhm, I was cute. I just didn’t know it. You know? I was a size 6, which is death to a model. Diamond and Fur girls had to be a 4 or smaller. Even as a bulimic, I couldn’t get smaller than a six and I felt like a failure.

So.. I didn’t fess up that night either.

And you know what happened.

Mr Wonderful, encouraged by the anonymous note in the paper asked out Miss Blonde Size Two with the fake boobs.

She was a size 2 with at least a 36 C cup, of course they were fake.

And they live happily ever after.

So fearless readers, what is the stupidest thing you ever did in the name of love?