When Lisa met Harry

This blog entry is lovingly dedicated to my “Project-Runway-addicted-Tom-Cruise-is-dead-to-me-hair-styling-goddess” (whose pregnancy is very distressing to me because I don’t think I can take the thought of her being on maternity leave). For blog purposes, I will refer to her as “Harry.” (Get it? Hairy? Harry? Well, I thought it was funny.) And, since this entire blog truly is dedicated to her, I also dedicate this picture of myself (as a blushing bride) to Harry:

(Hey, it all ties in with our salon conversation today. Love that killer zit on my chin.)

I was talking to MJagger this morning (at work, not working) about how I had a hair appointment today with Harry. MJagger got all excited and told me I HAD to tell Harry I wanted to grow my hair out like Lisa Rinna (photo for all of you not in the know):

(Stop staring at Lisa’s freakishly large LIPS—look at the HAIR, for god’s sake!)

MJagger was correct in assuming the wife would love if I had Lisa Rinna hair, as the wife ADORES Lisa Rinna. (She even voted for Lisa on “Dancing with the Stars.” I’m not kidding. We had dueling voting in her house--it was me for Stacy Kiebler and the wife for Lisa. It was cut throat. Thankfully, no one was maimed during the voting.) My point is that no matter what miracle Harry can do with my hair, I am NOT EVER going to look like Lisa Rinna. Nonetheless, MJagger insisted I follow through with this mission; she even printed a photo of Lisa off of the internet for me to take to the appointment. I ran quickly out of the office in an effort to escape (and so not be late to my appointment), but that damned MJagger literally stood in front of my car, holding the photo of Lisa toward my windshield. I took the photo and stuffed it in my “I-hate-having-a-purse-but-it’s-better-than-carrying-a-baggie” purse and drove off to Hair Heaven.

Here's another photo of Lisa, of whom I do not look one bit like:

Okay, I admit, I was WAY embarrassed to tell Harry about this whole Lisa Hair thing. I mean, I need to stay out of my own hair decisions—when I get involved, it ends up looking like there’s a dead squirrel perched on my skull. Whenever I say the words, “I think I’d like to grow my hair out,” I think someone should hit me as hard as possible with a baseball bat to the head. So, offering a photo of some Hollywood Hottie with longer hair than I currently have is NOT on the top of my things to do list. You need proof that I shouldn’t sport longer hair? Think early ‘80s:

(A MULLET! A MULLET for god's sake! I'm not sure what part of this picture is the most disturbing: the mullet, the pooka shells or the chocolate shake oozing out of my mouth. See? This is why I should NEVER be involved in hair decisions for my own being.....)

Anyway, I got my balls up and muttered to Harry about MJagger’s Hair photo and when asked, handed Harry the picture. At this point, I wanted to throw up—I’m not kidding, this is the stuff traumas are made of--Harry looks at the photo, looks at my head, looks at the photo and then pronounces, “yeah, your hair can do this.” I’m not sure if that meant “yea, you can do this but you are so gonna look like a moron” or if it meant, “wow, that’s nice you want a change and this will work” comment.) Within minutes, I was on my way on the way to Lisa-dom. (I give Harry a lot of credit for not laughing or sneering. Thankfully, I cannot see a lot when at the salon, as I am blind without my glasses. Harry might have been making a "gag me" face and I wouldn't have known...at least I didn't hear any snickering.) How hair stylists must HATE when people come in with photos of stars and say they want to look like "that." I'm sorry, Harry--I don't want to be one of those people!!!

You know, whenever you grow your hair out, you have to go through this stupendously ugly stage—there is no way around it (besides wearing a wig or baseball hat). Harry warned me about this event in my near future. I will keep a stiff upper lip (and a lot of hairspray) for this event. Her maternity leave will give me the opportunity to grow my hair out in silence. I made her promise that if my hair gets to looking ridiculous, she is to slap me as hard as she can and then cut it all off. I have faith that Harry will do that as needed. (Of course, this is the same lady who has seen cattle be born and somehow thinks giving birth to her baby will somehow be relatively the same....)

I went back to work with my new-not-really-so-new hairdo and paraded around for MJagger. She gave me a high five and told me my hair was "rockin'!" I take that as a good sign. Now, if I could only do something about these lips......