She So Funny

By Lisa Harmon

Getting a haircut from a new hairdresser is always such a magical experience.  As they look at my hair and cut it, they always say enthusiastic things like “You have such straight hair!” and “It is so shiny!”  I usually leave with a haircut that garners compliments for up to two weeks!

A great first haircut creates some kind of small hope for the future.  Hope that I have found THE ONE; the hairdresser that will always be there, for now and forever, to make me look terrific, even on short notice! 

Sadly, I’ve been hurt before.  So many fantastic first haircuts, only to be followed by haircuts of decreasing quality, until finally I wind up with a hack job similar to Mom putting a bowl on baby’s head and cutting away while in a hysterical panic, or so the results seem to indicate.

What causes this decline in coiffure quality?  Why does it appear to be inevitable?  Is there a way to keep a relationship with one stylist and still look my best?  Is there really a THE ONE in my hair’s future?  Tune in next week…just kidding. 

As spa services go, I’d say a first haircut is a nine on a scale of one to ten.  (Ten is the best, as if you couldn’t figure it out, ya nitpickers!)  A tenth haircut is a four on the scale.  And by haircut number fifteen, I’ve got to bail.  End the relationship.  It is time to move on.  By the way, on my spa services scale, a Brazilian is a negative six.  Not that I’ve ever had one.  I’m not even exactly sure what it is.  But would you do something you thought was a negative six?  Me neither!  Maybe if I was drunk.

So what, exactly, happened to my haircut?  Mainly I believe it is that hairdressers lose interest in my hair.  Yes.  Quicker than a single guy can lose interest in my…ahem.

Rejection based on my hair only.  Is that harder or easier to take than a guy breaking up with me?  I can’t decide.  At least the guy breaking up has ammo, something to work with – he’s seen me without makeup, naked, and he knows what I’m like in the morning.  But my hair?  Reject me out of boredom for my beautiful silky hair?  That’s just cruel.

What if other professions besides hairdressers rejected me out of boredom?  My gynecologist would be rolling her eyes,  and saying “Ok, I get it, it’s a vagina.  I’ve seen it ten times already!  At least get a yeast infection once in a while or something!  Boring! So predictable!”

My accountant:  “Listen I can’t do your taxes anymore.  W2s, 1099’s, I’d like to do your taxes but I keep falling asleep!  Could you open up a shell corporation or make some investments in derivatives?  That would be great for me because it is totally out of my area of expertise and I love a challenge!  The only thing I love more than a challenge is screwing with the IRS!”

My supermarket cashier:  No she’d never get bored with me.  I’m always on a diet or a binge.  That’s one person that I keep on her toes.

My mechanic:  “Ug, Lisa don’t bring your car here anymore.  It’s dullsville, baby!  You never drive, you don’t even have normal wear and tear!  You could use new brakes but frankly I feel it is beneath me to install them on this vehicle.  Please take your business elsewhere!”

By Samantha DeRose

All I knew at the time was that the 6^th grade talent show try-outs were rapidly approaching and I was gonna bring the house down.  If Sissy Spacek could be The Coal Miner’s Daughter with her guitar,  so could I.  After all, I had a guitar and a few years worth of lessons (sans practice) under my belt.  I had this.

What to play, what to play.  Escape (If You like Pina Colada) was THE SONG!  I’ll do that.  Nope.  Too hard.  Like 10 chord changes or something.  Stairway to Heaven!  Um probably not.  That involved finger picking and practice.  Nope.  Another One Bites the Dust.   Required too much bass. Nope.   Have to Believe We are Magic?  What the f--k is a D Seventh Flat Fifth Chord?  Jesus.

And all of a sudden, it dawned on me!  A song with 3 easy chord changes A-D-E, no finger picking, no seventh flat fifth chords.  The song I had been playing since 3^rd grade.  Blowin’ in the Wind.  Of course.  That was the answer, my friends.  The answer was Blowin’ in the Wind.  So what if the strumming pattern, down/down/up/up/down/up was something I hadn’t completely mastered.  This was the easy chord song.

My mother was thrilled!  “Oh!  You’re singing Blowin’ in the Wind?  How wonderful!”

Sing?  Nobody said anything about singing.  I can sing.  I can play.  But not at the SAME TIME.  I’m not that coordinated to do BOTH.  

Firm voice, “No.  I’m just going to play the chords.”

Perplexed voice, “Oh?  Well how will anyone know what you’re playing?”

Indignant voice, “What do you mean?  I can tell it’s Blowin’ in the Wind!”

Patronizing voice, “You’re right dear.  Have fun.”

Why she didn’t stop me there is beyond me.  You see, this was a time in history before everyone got a trophy just for showing up.  Tryouts meant you were really trying out.  If your audition sucked, you didn’t go on stage.  End of story.

The audition came.  The judge was the meanest teacher in the whole school, Mrs. Braun.  She looked like a Berenstain Bear with fire red hair.  

Janet M., child television commercial actress, got on stage and played a recognizable piano concerto.  Talent Show Material.  Suzanne played the guitar while Jackie sang Take Me Home Country Road.  Talent Show Material. 

I was next.

I hoisted my guitar on stage. 

I started.  

“A” chord.  

Strumming pattern down/down/up/up/down/up

... hesitation 

“D” chord. 

Up/down 

...“Wait a minute” 

down/down/up/up/down/up

... got it.  

“A” chord

... down/down/down 

“Hang on”

 up/up/down/up... 

“E” chord.

Whew.  Made it through the song.  Wasn’t that bad.  Done.  Smile on my face.

Mrs. Braun then said, “Well, aren’tcha gonna sing er somethin’?” (I’m not Southern.  I don’t know why I’m typing in a Southern accent.  That’s just the way I remember it).

I said, “Um, no.”

“Well ya gotta sing.  We can’t tell what it is.  Maybe you could find someone to play the melody or sing or why don’t  you learn to sing it.  But you can’t just go on like that.”

I hated Mrs. Braun that day.  I didn’t perform in the talent show.  But in hindsight, I’m grateful for her.  It was a tough, but necessary lesson that I think we lose sight of in a world where kids (and adults) are told that they are winners just for being present.

That’s not the case.  Whether you’ve been passed at a comedy club or permitted to perform in the talent show, getting there requires time, effort, hard work, and practice, practice, practice.

I haven’t auditioned for a club yet because I know in my heart that I need more practice.  I’ve been at this game for a little under 3 years and I’m still fine-tuning my comedic voice, that proverbial strumming pattern, so that my transitions are smooth, my stories and jokes flow, and I make sense to the audience. 

And this time I’m practicing.

Thanks, Mrs. Braun.