How many people are running around in the white onezie, anyway?!? Did anyone watch Giuliana & Bill on The Style Network Wednesday night? Then you got a glimpse of the white onezie I ranted about a few posts ago. Guiliana Rancic tricked her gay assistant/second husband into joining her for what he thought was a trip to a Club Med spa but turned out to be a tortuous weekend of fasting, fat flogging and colonics at a place ironically called the We Care Spa. Matthew, perhaps the most hammy but endearing gay to hit the airwaves since Queer Eye, innocently found himself having to don the white onezie for an endermology session. He did, as his female abductor pointed out, look a little like a gay superhero. And I realized in that moment that that's what was missing from my own endermology "incident"...my gays. This is just my opinion, but I think every girl needs a gay man in her life. I am fortunate enough to have five in mine. And I'm telling you, the next time I bare my white-onezie-encased self to be pinched, rolled and sucked into endermic perfection, I'm taking Jesus with me (Beloved Gay, not Beloved Master...although I'll need him, too).
In unrelated news, I'm still hiding out in dark alleys and skulking around under cover of darkness until the brown hair color fades. I've decided it's not so much the hair color itself as much as it is my face with it. Maybe Halle Berry is the only human being who can bring people to their knees with her beauty no matter what her hair looks like. But for me, one bad haircut or color gone awry...and I'm Kathy Bates in Misery.
So I have two questions. First...what have YOU done in the name of beauty or weight loss? Whether it was a success or hilarious failure, what is the most ridiculous thing you've ever signed up for? And second, what's the worst hair disaster you've ever survived? Something that left you in tears and ready to join the Witness Protection Program.
Friday, October 2, 2009 at 06:05PM 
Reader Comments (2)
When I had a job at a very trendy stylish business, I followed up on a recommendation from a co-worker to try her super-cool Harley-drivin' hairstylist that she swore by. I ended up with one of the tackiest haircuts of my life. No one wants the Carol Brady hair in the year 2,000. It was the modern mullet and It took foever to grow out. There was NOTHING i could do to fix it other than contemplate decorating a bag with my old hairstyle on it to wear over my head.
Oh, EJ... How about the time I let my mother pull all my hair into a ponytail on my forehead and then cut off my hair at the ponytail holder? I was 19, so this must have been 1994. And I had a 1970's shag. A bad one. So I cried and cried, and my mother felt bad. She called and got me an emergency appointment with her stylist, who tried to fix it, but I swear she made it worse. So I headed to my aunt Pat's house where I cried and cried some more, and Aunt Pat, who did a partial course in cosmetology when she was in high school in the 1950's, cut my hair for the third time that day. It was the first time I didn't cry after the haircut-- she fixed the worst parts of the hair disaster. But I had really, really short bangs for quite some time thanks to that fiasco...