J. Lo Junior

***Warning: This post is highly narcissistic. If you are sensitive in any way to self-absorbed photos and commentary, please take a step back and affix your safety glasses, the rest of you, settle back and get ready to feel really good about yourself. . ***

Specifically, the self attached to your head connected with follicle-thingies that unfortunately and inevitably turn grey, wiry and/or thin.

Happy times ahead, my young friends, happy times.

My hair issues began in 6th grade when for some insane reason I wanted my hair short. Like caught in a blender short.

Insert awkward middle school picture here:

FYI: my friend thought I was a “Super Girl” and wrote it so. Ain’t she sweet?

And for anyone who’s every breathed and lived past middle school, you know that life during that quagmire of hormones, awkward body changes and embarrassing moments is awful with a capital A.

I had many terrible memories of middle school, one of which involved my mother dressed as Mrs. Claus coming to school to bring me extra clothes because I had slipped down a muddy hill. Not sure which was worse—having dirty trousers or having your frenemies sing Jingle Bells as you walk by them in the hallway.

In 7th grade my mother agreed to allow me to have a “body wave”. Alas, my hair then was as flat as Kansas and I wanted it un-flat. Like sand dune un-flat. So probably out of guilt for all my mental anguish and truancy, she conceded.

It was all I ever dreamed of and I was determined that my body wave would always be wavy--never dull or straight again! My flawed logical thinking made me further conclude that to keep it wavy, I must never, ever brush it again.

Insert awkward Rat-pack photo here.

So a brush was a stranger to me until my body no longer waved.

And now, twenty some odd years and years of wacky hormones under my belly later, I now find my hair with mucho oomph—lots of volume with out a lot of direction. My hair is curly-ish on the bottom, wavy in the back and hybrid wavy-flat in the front. Combine that with an healthy dose of grey hair in all my parts and edges, and you have one wacky head.

That I suppose matches the inside. I like to call it a well-matched pair.

Recently after watching American Idol, I decided I envied Jennifer Lopez’s wavy locks.

See?

Wavy.

I like wavy.

So for a few days I…uh…didn’t….brush…myhairmuch and addedlots ofproduct.

I asked Jeremy what he thought when he came home and he looked quizzically at me and replied, “Well, it just looks like you’ve had a really rough day.”

Sweet, that one.

And right before I took these pictures Hannah asked, “Mommy? Did you brush your hair today because it looks all messy.”

No lie.

So here’s JLo and a slightly off-center me:

I mean if you look past the great body, amazing hair, skin, jewelry and sense of style I think I’d could be a stand-in for sure.

For those of you still doubting, here’s how I’d look if I were judging the show:

I’m smokin’.

You’re a star!

Are you kidding me? You stink.

Ok, so I’m not so photogenic and my hair looks like angry crickets with teasing combs  and mousse have invaded, but at least I can laugh and at least I don’t look like a boy anymore.

Right?

Maybe I should just go bald and look like this (with chapped lips):

Suggestions, anyone for the hair-impaired?

(P.S. Sorry for the un-post last week. I had two kiddos in a play and it was much more important than taking pictures of myself and blathering on and on about me, me, me and more me.)

Did I mention me?