“From the creators of Oscar-nominated documentary Unhappy Feet: The Perils of Trampoline Class and campy horror flick FACE/OFF: Parking Meters Gone Wild, the writers of the acclaimed sequel Blades of Glory 2: The Fractured Heel Meltdown and the producers of mid-season slapstick smash How I Stabbed Myself in the Face with My Own Toothbrush comes a new feature film – Singed Hair on a Plane.
In this hilarious new dramedy starring America’s favorite bumbling New Yorker, Big Apple Angelene finds herself flying across the Pacific Ocean toward a relaxing 10-day retreat on the beaches of Kauai. Little does she know what hijinx are to ensue before she even steps foot on the island!”
So, if my life were a sitcom (and sometimes I wonder), I imagine this incident would warrant its own episode. I’m only just realizing what happened today… a full two weeks after it happened. So let’s start the story right now and work our way back.
As you surely noticed, my hair looked awesome in Glamour and full credit for that goes to my stylist. Inspired by my temporary fame and my stylist’s skills, I decided to buy some of those Velcro rollers to volumize my mane and experiment with bigger hair. But as I was rolling up a swath of locks, I noticed something amiss at my roots. Moving closer to the mirror and squinting my eyes, I poked around the peculiar spot. Was it flakes? Dried hair product? Gray hair?
For better or for worse, it was none of the above. The half-inch area on the top of my head appeared to be … singed? I stood there staring cockeyed at myself, positively bewildered. I called Erin in for verification. Yep, definitely singed.
How in the world could this be? I’ve barely picked up a blow dryer in the past couple of weeks, so I didn’t think it could be a result of over-styling. I haven’t been playing with fire. No one close to me smokes, and I don’t think anyone has put a cigarette out in my hair at least three years. (I kid, I kid.) Puzzling, no? (As Mom famously said last week, I was ‘fiberglassted’)
And then the proverbial light bulb popped on next to my bubble-filled head. Let’s turn back the clock to Thanksgiving Day 2007 – yeah, two weeks ago. I was on Delta 850 from Atlanta to Honolulu, a 9.5 hour flight full of raucous toddlers. With no functioning electronics to block out the noise (a cruel caveat in Murphy’s Law), I popped in my earplugs and sprawled out with my booted right foot and braced left knee on the empty seat next to me. My back and head were pressed into the window.
I don’t know how long I was asleep but I awoke with a start. The top of my head where it was propped against the window was really, really hot! Barely coherent, I reached up to ensure I wasn’t just dreaming and touched the window. It was flaming hot! Though still practically asleep, I was distressed that the inside of the plane could get that hot just from the sun outside.
Drowsy and confused, I patted my hot head until it felt better, and I pulled down the shutter and quickly fell back asleep. I completely forgot about this incident until today when I noticed the super short singed hairs messing up my sexy wild new ‘do. It’s literally the only explanation and it’s so absurd that I don’t even believe it.
Can anyone explain to me how something like this could happen? And furthermore, what the heck is wrong with planes? Moreover, what in the world is wrong with me? Planes, parking meters and trampolines attack me at random… what’s next? A pancake griddle? My iPod? The Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree?
I recognize that my life is starting to just get out-of-control bizarre for you folks, and I’m hesitant to confess that I’ve only shared about half of the current oddities that are currently coming to pass. Stick with me though… perhaps someday normalcy will find me.
So readers, I ask you: does this scenario even seem possible? Has anyone else ever singed their hair on a plane? Snakes on a plane seem more likely than this. Should I call Delta or will they laugh me off the phone and then use me as a story about loonybird fliers?