images6.jpg Sometimes I miss acting purely for the outfits. I really want a job where I can wear a wig and a sweat shirt with a puffy photo of two kittens frollicking with a ball of yarn, you know, something completely unflattering and unrelated to my life. My friend Alex suggested that I start wearing wigs in my regular life, but nah, that’s not why I dig it. I like pretending to be someone else on stage or on film, I don’t really need the attention in real life, does that make sense?

I went wig-shopping with my mother yesterday. Once she gets an idea in her head, she’s a bit like the racing horse with blinders, she will not be deterred, regardless of how retarded the ideas. Like she wants to stop dying her hair (probably TMI about my mom that she would prefer I don’t share, so do me a favor and don’t bring it up with her), so she’s thinking wigs are the way to go. Someone at her job wears a different one everyday, which is how she got the idea — never mind the fact that a wig cap and wig might be uncomfortable or too hot after nine hours of wearing. Just saying.

We went to Fulton Street Mall in Brooklyn, to a discount wig store catering to a mostly African American population, and my parents kind of have no clue about race and cultural differences between all of us, blah blah blah, so that was kind of fun to watch them navigate that. Since the wigs targed African American women, the color options worked for an Asian face and the caps were adjustable despite my mother’s fear that her head would be too gigantic for any normal size wig (like mother like daughter. I too have a gigantic noggin.)

There were like signs every where advertising the strict rules: YOU MUST BUY A WIG CAP! YOU MAY ONLY TRY ON THREE WIGS!!!! She tried on three wigs — one that was conservative bob with red streaks, and then two others that were permed with bright blonde streaks and kewpie bangs, which made me urge to her to start an all-girl Japanese anime band. She looked like a hip bassist.

There were three tiny kids watching us, two boys around 8 and a 3-year-old girl. Where their mother was? I dunno. But after watching my mom, one of them whispered “That one looks nice, Chinese lady,” and I startled them by saying “Did you just say ‘that one looks nice Chinese lady?’ I have supersonic hearing you know.” And then chaos ensued. The little boys took my friendliness as a cue to try on the wigs and accompany each one with a funky dance or walk. Me and my dad laughed so hard. I did get a little nervous when one of them eyed the $75 wig, b/c I don’t want them to get into too much trouble. Where was their mom? Is the security camera catching all of us messing around? And at the same time, there are times when I have hung out with little kids where I completely abandon adult responsibility. I’m worse. I encourage them to act out and laugh and challenge them to thumb wrestling and am the worst loser. It’s like Vince Vaughn possesses my soul for a moment. [I’ll blog about my Thanksgiving face-off with an 8 year old next.]

And then one of them told me I ought to trying them on to…and I’m such a rule follower and I was kind of tired that I didn’t bother. What a lost opportunity!!! Mom ended up buying the conservative bob with red streaks, the one the Peanut Gallery voted for. Look out world.

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