Hair Wars

I just got my hair cut yesterday, I had to make an emergency appointment 3 weeks before my scheduled time, because I honestly couldn't take my hair the way it was one more day. This was especially true once I realized it was MY HAIR that was responsible for everything going wrong in my life. A big part of which, was an offense so vial, forgiveness may not be an option. 

Somehow, my hair had unwittingly morphed me into some kind of serious, no-nonsense, corporate, Fat-Cat overnight! Okay, I actually have no idea what a no-nonsense, cooperate, Fat-Cat really is, but I know I don't want to be one, and I know I was looking at one in the mirror the other day, no one was standing behind me ( I looked).

You may be thinking - Isn't this too much pressure for one head of hair alone? I must feel some responsibility for my current condition of no-nonsense, corporate head. Well, I will agree to the fact that my hair didn't drive itself to the job interview, but that's it, because I'm not a serious grown up. I'm a card carrying member of the Peter Pan club, so by simple deduction this had to be the work of some other body part, and my hips, butt and thighs were on a mission to bust me out of every piece of clothing I owned, so they've been way too busy.

What is this thing with hair anyway? When did it get all of this power? Back in the fifty's you basically had 2 ways to go with your hair - back combed and down or back combed and up. Oh yeah, and you could add a little bow if you wanted. 

I think we've given our hair way too much freedom now and it's getting cocky.

This morning my husband and I were getting ready for work in the bathroom, and he was in the midst of a full on battle with his Hair Devil, which I was finding equal parts hilarious and distressing, primarily due to my temporary bout of hair amnesia (inability to recall my own bad hair days). Then I looked in the mirror at what was supposed to be a head of glorious silky "Victoria Secret Bed Hair" - at least that was what I asked for at the salon the day before. I told my hairdresser my new hairstyle plan was to wash my hair before bed, then during the night, wistful tossing and turn as I slept would build a beautiful head full of bouncing waves and endless body into the strategically sliced layers  in my golden strands. It was the perfect plan. My whole life had flashed before me in that moment I realized the answer to my hair woes. It would be so easy now, I would save so much time in the morning. I'd have time for other things, more important things, like morning exercise, or dog walks. I felt young again just thinking about it. My hairdresser assured me this was a great idea and would work like a charm. He was so supportive, so nurturing, he believed in my dreams for my utopian hair life, at least that was the $150 B.S. he dealt me that day (the hair crack peddler). 

Unfortunately, this morning, what I saw looking back at me in the mirror was no utopian hair dream, it was more like a "mama wake me up" nightmare. I never saw this look between the pages of a Victoria Secret catalog. I never even saw this look in the Big Lots Mailer. My head looked like a hair sandwich wrap, slicked tight to my head with saran wrap - WTF!  All I could think was, "Oh, it's on now you ungrateful strands of dead protein!". I heard my husband Kurt laughing from the living room, having already waved the white flag of surrender in his own war 15 minutes earlier - like that was really a war anyway, how can you have a war with something 1/2 inch long - please. Men are so lucky, not only do they have short hair (a.k.a. small enemy) they are able to pull a fatal TKO hair blow that ends their battle indefinitely when they've had enough - the cue ball look. That's why men who shave their heads always look so confident and tough. They stand victorious knowing they've beaten the hair bastard once and for all. That's what all those tattoos on their body are really about. That devil on their arm is symbolic for the hair devil, trust me.

If only there was a way for women to see this victory, head shaving is pretty radical, and my headbands would keep falling off. I needed another way and I was determined to find it and as we all know, when you put your mind to it, you can solve any problem, which I have done. Now I'll have perfect hair every day (See picture at top of article). It is a sketch of the wig I'm having made. Welcome back 1950's!

The Happy Camper

The other day I went to my local health food store and asked the clerk for a pill that would make me not want to" lash out irrationally".

She just looked at me blankly then proceeded to walk across the store weaving in and out of the aisles until she stopped in front a shelf containing various holistic mood elevators/suppressors.

She picked up a bottle from the shelf and held it up to me. "It's Happy Camper." she said matter of factly, "We make the Store Manager take this during her "monthly" inventory audits! Then she put the bottle back down and walked away - I guess she felt her job was done.

I stood there staring at the bottle when it hit me, man she punched the word MONTHLY kind of hard, and I think she winked when she said it. What was she trying to say? Am I that obvious? It's not like I had a heating pad ducked tapped to my waist or something.

Then suddenly I remembered the other thing she said the name of the product was - Happy Camper?? The fix to all of my problems was to become a "Happy Camper"...I allowed the thought to sink in for a minute to determine whether I thought this was a good thing or semi insulting thing, but I couldn't deny the reality that ever since I was a little kid, at summer camp, I have always wanted to be a "Happy Camper". It seemed to be such an illusive beast.  Memories of my childhood were peppered with pointed comments from the adults in my life, "Looks like someone isn't a happy camper!".  Well, it looked like someone, problem dealing with my same childhood demons, had finally stopped harping on the problem and came up with a solution. Why hadn't I heard of this before? Shouldn't it be a headline on MSN's home page? Breaking News....Happy Camper pills now available for the masses...limit one container per family to prevent shortages. I mean this is what's been missing in our society, Happy Campers! They should be putting this stuff in our drinking water.

After the initial excitement wore off I picked up the bottle of Happy Camper to get a closer look. The jar was bright yellow (my favorite color another good sign) with a little cartoon camper guy on the front. He had a big smile on his face and was wearing shorts with big brown marching boots. I want to march. I don't think I've marched since I was in first grade and I think it was for a fire drill. It was obvious this was the product for me right color, marching boots, shorts. Who doesn't like to wear shorts.

The camper guy also had a little derby hat on his head, kind of like a robin hood hat. To think a pill that would make me so happy that I would want to put on a hat. This just keeps getting better and better. It took everything in me not to wrench the jar open right there in the aisle and start popping pills, then open more jars and throw pills around the store at the rest of the customers, "Happy Camper pills for everyone!", but I'm an adult so I restrained myself and waited til I got in the car.

Once in the car I cracked the lid on the little jar of freedom and popped two pills in my mouth washing them down with my bottled water. Then I sat perfectly still and waited. I'm not sure what I was waiting for. Did I think I was going to jump out of my car and start marching around the parking lot? Eventually I decided to drive home. I figured it was safe afterall they weren't called crazy camper.

The rest of my day was spent patiently waiting for the pills to take affect but nothing happened. I continued to take the pills everyday for a week in the hope that any minute the urge to put on shorts might strike. I even kept a hat in my car, just in case. But nothing happened. I guess my mutant hormones were just too powerful for the Happy Camper ingredients to overcome.

Eventually I stopped taking the pills all together. What was the point. Marching was overrated anyway. It makes your legs hurt after a while. I tried it just to see. I also put the yellow bottle away in the place where all good ideas go to die the back of my cabinet next to the bottle of fish oil capsules (nothing like burbing fish all day). There was only one thing left to do. The next day I drove by my grandpa's house and gave him back his hat. He'd been asking for it anyway.

Lisa Alex Gray