10.10.2011

Dear Rachel Dratch,

Apparently something crazy happened on last night's "Breaking Bad". I wouldn't know; I don't watch the show.

Over the past ten years or so there have been some really great shows that generally appeal to people like me: young, have enough money to have the luxury of having cable that includes channels like the Food Network and AMC, and people with time to make a habit of devoting an hour or so each week to watching. Shows like Breaking Bad, The Wire, Mad Men, and other shows that come on Showtime, HBO, etc. have done really well with my demographic and with awards programs. They have great writing, great actors, and enough money to continue making their programs. I generally get on the wagon a little late, though.

Take 30 Rock for example. I didn't start watching the show until season two. I found season one at Target during their crazy holiday promos. I instantly devoured it. It's hilarious, at least to me. The critics love it, the award shows love it, but it does not have a huge audience, like many of the other shows I mentioned. But I made time to watch the entire first season--it was easy, each show is approximately 22 minutes and they are hilarious. You can bust out a few episodes in half the time you would spend watching any of these other hour-long dramas.

I have not been able to get into any of these other shows because the commitment is too much. I once watched the first season of Heroes (another critically acclaimed, yada yada yada). I lost like 23 hours of my life because I got so absorbed. The show wasn't that good and I will never get that time back. I cannot take another risk like that. Season two was a total stinker and I stopped watching after the third or so episode. The same thing with Lost. I watched the first two seasons back-to-back before I started grad school. I was totally hooked. Then the first few episodes of season three were horrible, they were doing that weird split season craziness, and I got totally out of it. More time wasted.

So all these shows are things I should be watching. I feel like I can be hip sometimes and I love television, so it totally makes sense. And if not these shows, then I should have been into Battlestar Gallactica, Smallville, Buffy, something like that. Maybe I don't like dramas. I do love to laugh. After I spent all that time with Lost during the first few months of grad school, I switched instantly to my old stand-by, Friends.

I was very late to the Friends train. Even though I totally had a Friends poster up in my room as a young baby gay, I never watched the show until I got into college and at that point the show was on its tail end. My sister and I bought my mom season one as some sort of gift. She hates anything on DVD, movies included, so she never really got into it. But me and my sister watched all of season one over the course of two days. It was easy--the 22-minute format is great. And it's light hearted, has nothing to do with meth, Baltimore, and there's no real asshole on the show except for maybe Chandler.

As I am writing this, Ben and I started discussing this very topic. I said I don't care about watching many of these shows because it's such a time commitment and you have to watch so much television filler to get at the good stuff. Then he made the argument that some of these shows were originally designed with an end date in mind, whereas others like Lost and Heroes started out with the intention to be on TV forever so they had to stretch and make stupid decisions about plot and character to be able to make their 22-episode deliveries. I guess when you only have to make 13-episodes and you know you're only going to be on TV for five seasons, you can edit out the poop and get to the good stuff. Case and point: Sex and the City.

When that show began, HBO and the creator DUDE (because let's face it y'all, SATC was a show about women ultimately brought to life by a man and not Candace Bushnell. Most of the first couple seasons were written by this dude and the women writers and ultimately SJP as producer hopped on board later than most people want to really own up to) they knew they were only getting into six seasons, a la The Sopranos. When you know how long your show's going to be on, you can be more interesting and have better scripts because you don't have to make up things to fill in multiple years because you know your time is finite.

SATC did well because it was a half-hour, it was hilarious, and we knew it would end. Friends began to take a dark turn because it just kept going and going and going. Certainly, there are moments in the later seasons where it is hilarious, but not quite as hilarious as in the first few seasons. I'd say that SATC remained continuously entertaining because they could use only their best jokes and didn't have to scrape the trash bin to recycle duds (although the argument could be made that most of Charlotte and Samantha's jokes and storylines were pretty, well, leftover).

Okay, so maybe I should spend some time with some of these shows. But dang y'all, I don't know if I have it in me to sit down and watch The Wire. It takes so long! And it's not funny. I like my shit to be light. This is why I love trashy television. Rachel Zoe, The A-List, anything featuring RuPaul. These shows are entertainment because they don't take themselves seriously. It is not that big of a deal to me that Snoop got shot on The Wire; didn't she really have it coming? I mean, hello, you deal drugs or something in Baltimore. It would be insane if Miranda got shot, and totally unexpected! And I sort of feel like comedies, because they don't take themselves so seriously, can be more free with what and how they write. And I find that more creative and interesting. And the same with stupid reality shows. The cast are always a bunch of bobos, and maybe because they do take themselves so seriously but their stakes are so low is why I like it. It's not going to be the end of the world if Rachel Zoe doesn't get the right dress for Anne Hathaway for the Oscars, but it is funny to watch her slug back coffee and not really eat anything ever all the while knowing everything will be okay. All sorts of contradictions here, but whatever.

Long story short and the more I think about it, I think I'm not into certain dramas because it is thought that I should be into those shows. I hate when I feel like I should like something just because people like me should like it. And that makes me hate it. The A-List reunion, hosted by Wendy Williams for the second year in a row, is coming on tonight. I need to go spray tan.

Jon

9.20.2011

Dear Rachel Dratch,

A good friend of mine wanted to know if working a retail schedule and, ahem, 40 hours a week really allowed me to be fully creative outside of work when it comes to my writing. She's had a great job for a few years now but is contemplating a move across the country to fully pursue her dream. Of course, I am fully encouraging and loving this move. But, I don't know if there is any job where you're doing the 40 and you can still get your write on on the side.

The day I got fired from a job a few years ago I went and saw that movie, "Julie and Julia". I love me some Meryl Streep and food, and I was feeling down so it only made sense that I emotionally ate popcorn while I watched a movie about a lady who is emotionally cooking food to get her life together. Julie is the main character. This woman who works a regular 9-5 would get up at the break of dawn to write out her latest recipe and the trials she managed trying to get that dish to the table. Maybe I just love sleep, but I have never been able to make myself get up earlier than otherwise necessary to get work done, no matter the amount of coffee that is ready. But she made it a habit to get up and get going first thing in the morning. In my mind, I've always had this as a goal--that no matter my weirdo schedule, I can always get up, get some coffee going, and get some writing in before the day takes off.

I can see how this regular schedule works. If you work the same shift the same number of days per week, and you always have the same days off, you can totally swing a side hustle of sorts in your down time. As it currently stands, my schedule tends to be all over the map. Sometimes I go in at 7, sometimes I go in at 3. Sometimes I get done at 4, other times I get done at 2am. It sounds insane but it works for me in terms of living. Ben's schedule is also kind of weird and flexible so the two combined work.

I have even reached the point where I don't mind closing the store at night. I love having a long lazy morning of slugging mugs of coffee while I play computer solitaire. I am not productive at all in terms of my creative self, but damn, I just watched all of the previous day's fashion show videos and I just won three straight solitaires, clearly I am doing something right. But there is a sort of guilt there too sometimes because I feel like I do have things to say and stories to tell but I don't make time to do it.

The past two months at work have been the most trying of my short career. Girl, I hunkered down in my house and didn't speak to a soul when I wasn't at work. I didn't write a word. I barely spoke to anyone at work about anything. "You, go on your break now. You, you can go when she comes back." That was the extent of it for most days, I feel like. The isolation I was feeling, when combined with working even longer and weirder hours sometimes, do not make a blog or a life run.

Then the crux of all work problems disappeared. I now come home and instead of ranting and sometimes crying, I am telling funny stories about customers and my colleagues again. The weight dropped and my shoulders loosened up. I am wondering if I can make time outside of work to write a little. I have this great idea for a book and I even have some early ideas already sketched out. Everyone who I've run the idea past love it. That is great, right? And now like all things we want to do but don't know if we can, it just sort of sits on me to get it done. Yes, my schedule is bizarre but I manage to make time to read a bazillion fashion blogs and magazines, can't I take a little bit of that time and do something else?

I subscribe to, I think, four different fashion magazines. Then I got a Barnes and Noble gift card which let me purchase like three more September issues. On Friday, I almost vommed from too much fashion! There is no famine of beauty in this house! So I really can make time, even too much time, to do things I want. If I can know the ins-and-outs of Marc Jacobs and the possibility of his going to Dior, then maybe I can drink another cup of coffee and get up a little earlier and just do it.

I realize now that this is pretty much what I would tell my friend Maura. If you want to do it, then do it! The only thing that would hold you back if you are working a wonktastic retail schedule is you. I don't do shit sometimes because I'm a little lazy bones and enjoy just sitting around, thinking about my next sweatpants purchase. I just love all sweatclothes, okay!? You can totally have time to do a little writing or painting or sewing, or whatever, if you just don't do something else that is less productive. It can totes work.

I don't know if this letter is less to Rachel or more to Maura. But this is where things sit right now. I'm going to go make an appointment to get my oil changed tomorrow because I just realized I sort of sat and coffeed away my morning just now--solitaire and fashion, their love is my drug.

I like your beard.

Jon

6.16.2011

Dear Rachel Dratch,

After several years of convincing myself that I was fine being pale during the summer, that it was better for my skin if I didn't get too much sun, and that I should probably avoid the sun so I don't look like Janice Dickenson, I decided that Summer 2011 is the summer of the tan.

I regularly threaten to get a spray tan because I think they're hilarious. Tanning, in any kind of way, is hilarious. It's completely vain. You are laying there, whether in the sun or in a bed of crazy intense lights, waiting for your skin to change colors so that you will look different. It could be said that it's no different that getting a hair cut, but when have you ever been accused of you're skin being too long or so smelly that you need to take care of it? Never. We're never so taken aback by someone so not tan that we tend to only notice tans when they are crazy thick, i.e., Snooki.

All of that said, there is still something very sexy about a tan. The summer after my senior year in college, my friend Megan and I got a little tanning package at this place near the Food Lion. As it turns out, this was also the summer that we last took family portraits and I was looking toasty. My sister outed my tanning to my mom and dad while we were on vacation, as if it were some deep, dark secret. "So Jon, why are you so brown these days?" I admitted it and I admitted that I liked it. I mean, let's be real, the mix of the hotness of the lights with that crazy fan they blow on you is kind of intoxicating. I would just lay there and drift off to the sounds of light rock and dream about what I might look like if I took this as seriously as Hulk Hogan.

That was not my only experience with the tanning bed. In Fall 2008, I was going to a wedding and I thought I needed to be tan to look my best. I don't think I was working full time yet but somehow I managed to scrape together enough cash to afford another set of tanning salon time. Looking back, I'm not sure how this happened but when something is a priority, you have a way of making it work.

Something was a little off this time around, though. For whatever reason, I decided to tan fully nude. The last time I kept my underwear on, which made sense because it's kind of gross otherwise. But this time, with caution in the wind, I laid it all on the bed. This turned out to be a gross misunderstanding between the tanning bed and my body. I am now wholly convinced that certain parts of your body are not meant to see the sun. I will scream this at nudists worldwide, if need be. Your butt and thighs should be your natural color so that you can maintain some element of humanity that the tanning salon takes away from you. When you tan, you are doing something sort of natural, but also mostly unnatural. Well, when you tan in a tanning bed. I don't mean to get all judgy, but I have reasons.

I got the worst sun burn on the backs of my legs throughout this experience. Every time I'd think it be different, I strip down to the buff and come out of there wailing, "What have I done!? Whaaat have I done!?" I don't know if this was a different machine than the one I used the first time I used a tanning bed or if I was just allergic to their cleaning products. But it all just ended in regret. I had to stop going because the pain was too unbearable. My body couldn't take it and that was when I decided it was probably okay for me if I just avoided getting a tan. I worked inside all the time anyway so it was pretty unnatural looking on me, especially if I hadn't been to the beach or anything. I had no explanations for a tan and the pain was too much.

So all that now being said, I have become obsessed with getting a tan this summer. On multiple occasions I have even had my credit card out, ready to purchase some time at my local Sun Tan City. However, seeing as I only now understand how frivolous this can be, at least for me, in the last week I have taken to going to the pool and laying out. And by in the last week, I mean twice over the last three days. This is all natural and doesn't cost a thing. This should work right? After all my judgy comments and hateration, all I want to do this summer is to look like a beach bunny. Or at least to be able to pass for a Californian. Oh, I have also become obsessed with California being where I possibly want to live. Notice the word "want". I haven't yet fully come to terms with this bizarre thought, so don't expect much more right now. But I can at least begin playing the Real Housewives of the OC part now by getting golden brown.

Or I could look like Janice and Snooki's brother. I do love me some pomade.

Jon

4.11.2011

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I am not so secretly back on the caffeine wagon. About two months ago I made a big to-do about how I was going to give it up for real, how it was better for my body and my life, and how it was going to be so hard to live without that cup of coffee first thing in the morning. I also thought, what the hell, I'll even give up soda, too, except for that occasional Coke for when I'm wanting some.

That turned into I'll just do a soda every now and then, when I have to be at work at 7am. I slid even further when I decided that I would just down a 5-hour Energy drink on those days which has the "same amount of caffeine as a cup of coffee" but without the stomach upsets. I do believe that statement.

And then it turned into me just getting a coffee from the coffee place every couple mornings when I was in early. All of this, I thought, was on the sly and that nobody knew. I was so drinking coffee again and it would just be my little secret. It's no so secret when you smell like your fifth grade teacher Ms. Travers and you are super excited about everything, prompting people to ask you, "Did you drink coffee today?"

Secret coffee drinking = fail. Full disclosure: I have been mixing one cup of coffee with one 5-hour Energy drink some mornings. I have yet to alienate any co-workers, but one girl did get frustrated when I made her re-do a table three times because I may have told her three different things because I couldn't remember exactly what I said the first two times. Either way, I am drinking coffee again and I'm feeling less guilty about than in the past.

Ain't nobody holding it over my head that I enjoy drinking coffee. I had to give it up, sort of, in the first place because this new medicine made it taste funny to me. And that's not even a side-effect! But I figured it was impetus enough to give it up after discovering that there was nothing wrong with my guts and that all my stomach issues could not be accounted for, not even by an IBS diagnosis.

The flavor, though, and the ritual of my coffee drinking, and perhaps an addiction to caffeine, proved too much. And there wasn't much fan-fare when I started carrying around a little red cup, with its cardboard hand-protector, just a, "Oh, I knew you couldn't give it up. It's just too good."

All of this is to say that I am glad that I haven't and won't reach my grad school levels of caffeine consumption (despite my coffee and 5-hour cocktail). A little coffee here and there isn't too bad. I mean, I was once drinking like eight or ten cups of coffee a day and then walking around in the middle of the night wondering why I couldn't sleep or get any work done. That was then.

What a crazy person.

Jon

2.21.2010

Dear Rachel Dratch,

It wasn't until a day or so ago that it finally hit me that I am that freaky/crazy neighbor folks may make up stories about. We were discussing our eccentricities when I asked Ben, "Do you think people look at us when we're out with the dogs and say, 'There goes that crazy dude!'"

He looked down at my sweatpants tucked into my rainboots as I was about to head out into 70 degree whether and said, "Yes."

I never intended to get real crazy. But I must admit that I wear these rainboots with shorts, too. Like cutoff sweatpant shorts. The kind I just bought after having fantasized about them for a week. I am trying hard to make cutoff sweatpants happen, and in some places they have already caught on. But not where I live. And especially not when accessorized with green rainboots.

When I get ready for work, I keep it pretty good looking. And by good looking, I mean normal. The color combos can sometimes be bright and a little out of control but they work. The same cannot be said for what I wear to the gym or around the house. In addition to the cutoff sweatpants, I have a pair of gold gym shorts that I love to pair with garish colored tees when working out, like green, purple, and light blue. It's the gym--not a fashion show. And if it is a fashion show, my statement is clear: I like it crazy.

As I've become older, my taste has changed. Where I once wore oversized denim and Nike Air Force Ones, I still love jeans but they're snug and with Jack Purcells. I've never been afraid of color. I have become less into bizarro shirt and tie combos. I'd rather keep it simple, with a sort of crazy shirt with a solid tie rather than pairing the shirt with some sort of crazy color or striped tie. But when I'm at home, it is no holds bar. Right now, I have on some giant sweatpants, a cardigan that is also made of sweatshirt material, a t-shirt, and some blue house shoes. And if it gets cold tonight, I will gladly tuck the sweats into my boots when I take the dogs out.

Maybe my style is a little crazy, but to me that's what makes it awesome. I'd rather see somebody look amazing with something just a little off that really takes it somewhere rather than someone who is perfect, h-to-t.

Jon

1.14.2011

Dear Rachel Dratch,

There is never really a good time to bring up stress crafting. There is never a good time to bring up most of what we do to take the edge off, or to bring us down when we're wound up. Sometimes I eat my feelings, especially when I am feeling like blue corn tortilla chips. Sometimes I paint my feelings and they take the form of a picture that looks so child-like that an actual child may have painted it. My mom once took all three of these paintings I did and created a mini-gallery in her house for me. The kicker is that this gallery existed behind her bedroom door and could only be seen when the door was shut. The other kicker is that a twenty-year old me is the one who painted the beauts, not an actual child.

So while many times I would just eat my way through whatever I was letting bring me down, there have been very distinct periods where instead of turning to food I would instead turn to crafts, in general. I don't know if painting is exactly a craft so I'm not going to count it. But I think it was after my freshman year of college, a couple friends and I got really into making bracelets, necklaces and tye-dying. My friend Megan went up to a school in the mountains and came back a changed lady. I mean, she was always kind of crafty and into hippie-ish things, but there was something about that spring semester that really left her with a thing for creation and it rubbed off on me.

I learned all about how to make hemp necklaces and bracelets from Megan. The tye-dying we did was not very good, and everything ended up a weird shade of purplish brown. Gross. I remember spending a large amount of late-night time up at the Wal-Mart in the craft section debating over which bag of wooden beads would be the best purchase or which thickness of hemp I really wanted to work with.

The thick kind was clearly too hippie for me. You remember those dudes and possibly ladies who wore those really thick hemp necklaces, right? I always kind of judged them because hemp that thick is ridiculous. But something too thin wouldn't work either. I wasn't trying to have my jewelry be a non-presence. I needed to make a statement when I stepped out wearing these things. What kind of statement? Maybe that I'm super cool because I am wearing a hemp and puka-shell necklace. Or maybe that I am so crafty that I can recreate styles from Claire’s at a fraction of the cost. We did contemplate selling these things. I'm not sure who the audience would have been, but there's always some white kids running around wearing some hemp necklaces and I just needed to find them!

We bought the medium thickness and got to it. The first few times we made jewelry, we would go at it for hours. This was before any of us really drank alcohol so were stonecold sober and making necklaces. It was really fun. It'd be me, Megan, and my friend Beth just sitting around discussing what kind of bead we'd want to use, what would make the most appropriate hemp necklace to wear everyday and what might be more of a special occasion piece. We'd discuss making bracelets that matched the necklaces (which is weird because all hemp kind of matches itself). I was never much into the bracelets, but let it be known that is the way to go if you are trying to break into wearing hemp jewelry.

Of course I made myself an awesome everyday piece that I instantly vowed to wear until it literally fell off my body. This necklace was great. It was simple, with just a few classy wood beads to give it the requisite oomph. But what you don't know about hemp unless you are wearing it is that that shit can get itchy. Like you'll get a little itchy burn situation on your neck if you react like me, which is to say to scratch like crazy (but not Black Swan crazy). I tried to grin and bear it. I even wore this hemp necklace in the shower. The shower! Gross. I'm not sure now how long the necklace lasted, but it wasn't much more than a few days. So maybe wearing hemp jewelry wasn't for me, but I did enjoy making it!

Sometimes I think I get why carpenters do what they do. They get to work with their hands all the time, and they just kind of work it out and make something beautiful without hemming and hawing. It can be therapeutic to create something with your hands. It's a different kind of therapy than writing because you have to think about and choose words to get your point across. A cabinet or a stool really speaks for themselves. So does hemp jewelry.

Long story long, I started to work on my hemp outside of the hanging out time with Megan and Beth. I have long struggled with irregular and crazy sleep so I am always on the lookout for a new sleep aid, be it a book, an herbal supplement, or just something to do to wear my ass out. There really is something therapeutic about working with your hands that leaves you tired and exhausted, and clears your mind right out. It can also be hell on your fingers. As was the case with hemp, sometimes I would be working my hands on necklaces until my hands were a little raw. I guess this is what it's like being a child necklace worker in Caribbean. Your fingers really start to take a toll after six hours of weaving and knotting. But you ended up with something so beautiful, like a necklace with one giant wooden bead in the middle, and you just knew all that hard work and blistering was somehow worth it.

I took to making hemp things that summer when I couldn't sleep. I would lay there for a little while and decide that my time would be better served creating a hemp belt. This belt would come to symbolize my trials with sleep and stress. My fingers would be a little raw, the strings would be flying all over the place, but I would still be working that belt. It never really amounted to much more than a few inches because it's tough working trying to weave a belt in the middle of the night when you're also trying to watch Cosby Show reruns. Sometimes I couldn't hear Cousin Pam because I would get so into making that belt that I would eventually shove the belt in the drawer and just cuddle up to her voice.

There was definitely something bizarrely soothing about saying to myself, "I'll just do a little hemp work tonight before I go to bed." It seems like this went on for a while, but it was probably just a couple weeks. But it really became a thing I was into whenever I was feeling stressed out or anxious. I wonder what might happen if therapists would just hand people a ball of hemp string and told them to have at it. Actually, that's probably how all this began: a couple stressed out hippies realized they needed something to wear with their tye-dye caftan and they just turned to the one thing they know--crafts.

This sort of makes me want to ask people who sell those weird designer-y bird houses at craft fairs to say more about their inspiration. I hated wearing hemp necklaces, but making them felt so good. I wonder if they actually hate birds, but love making bird houses. Some things we'll just never know.

Jon

1.12.2011

Dear Rachel Dratch,

I once left a comedy show with toilet paper flying out of my pants. I mean, I know exactly how it got there but I'm not so sure about how long it had been there (or I guess I actually know the answer to that one, too) or why no one said anything until they did. It wasn't as if I planned on the tissue being an accessory, like some sort of flowy scarf flying from my pants waist or as if it was a white flag to the world that my pants had finally given up, thrown in the towel, and declared they were done fighting me. I guess I just didn't pay enough attention when finishing things up. The bathroom was rickety and I didn't trust the door to stay shut, and there was only one stall and what seemed to be a room of four hundred people, about half or so of which was other men who may need to use this bathroom. Oh, I don't think I mentioned that I couldn't get the toilet to flush and had to leave everything just sort of there. Except for the piece of toilet paper that escaped through my pants.

The little things that happen like this, like walking around for hours with your pants fly entirely open or realizing at the end of your eight-hour shift that you had a piece of romaine lettuce stuck in the side of your mouth that no one over the course of the eight hours told you about, that should make you take things a little less seriously. Because I know there are certainly some people who take themselves entirely seriously, I try to do my part to help them not look a little crazy, even if it would be hilarious. I will often stop a customer and tuck the tag of their White Stag blouse back into their shirt. Or I will say, "Hey, you have a little something hanging out of your nostril." All just to help a person out.

Then there are times when I see something like this, but I don't or forget to say something. There was once when a boss of mine lit into his wife for not telling him that he regularly suffers from stinky breath. It must have been a severe problem because he had like super-strength toothpaste that offered to blast off plaque and stank when you also combined it with what seemed to be almost pure alcohol tooth wash. I liked to think that he was really just drinking to make it through the day and that was what caused that weird alcoholy-smell, but I think it was probably the hippie Listerine. He got so mad at her, and I can sort of now understand why.

Sometimes in the evening, I too suffer from stanky in the mouth. And most of the time, I don't even know it. My breath will be part dragon and part old wet garlic feet and I am just yapping and yapping, getting all up in your face, trying to be cute and not even knowing what I am putting out there. Sometimes, like we all know, we can taste it when our mouth is probably erupting some stank. You know, like after you've enjoyed a nice long night of Thai food. It tasted so good, but sometimes that comes at a price.

No one at work has ever told me when my breath may have been kickin. In fact, no one I've ever worked with has ever said anything. Which means one of two things: one, I probably go around reeking havoc on people's faces often because I spend most of my day talking to people; or two, my breath doesn't start needing fumigation until I clock out. I'm not sure which it is. I have had bad breath enough times in the evening to think that it had to have started a little earlier than right as I was walking in the door. Whatever, let those fools suffer.

But maybe it is just a problem I get into at home. Or maybe I do suffer from this all of the time and the people at work are politely suffering through my rants on why not everything needs sequins or why we need to pay more attention to the male customers because they come to spend. I talk so much to everyone that I really hope no one is plotting an intervention sponsored by Crest. If anyone else is suffering, please come forward. I will not verbally assault you or make you feel bad for speaking the truth, I just need to know that I smell bad. I can fix this!

Just tell me that my breeze is blowing and I'll know exactly what to do. Otherwise you may relive my dinner and lunch, and nobody likes old pasta sauce feet!

Jon

1.7.2010

Dear Rachel Dratch,

It's the new year. Maybe it's more like, it's A new year. I feel like we think about new years the way we do about birthdays, that we are supposed to feel something different once the clock strikes whatever o'clock. Or that because that one year of life we just experienced has made us more wise or more something. Sometimes I feel like the old year was basically me just getting more cranky and finding gray hairs in my doo.

I guess it wasn't quite the new year last year when I decided to bleach my hair. I considered it for a while before actually breaking down and scheduling the appointment. Because I am a total fashion nerd I was inspired by these models who were also dying their hair bleach blonde. I figured I could and should look different and fresh. This was around December when I got it done, but it was probably October when I decided to do it. Someone asked if I was an actor and if I did this for a role. Babygirl, I am an actor and this role is called life!

After the first bleach job, I got it done two more times. I wanted my hair white white white. But my hair is regularly dark dark dark, which means I was going to spend a long time with my hair covered in the blue bleach. I was not prepared for this. I sort of knew what I was getting into because I had to schedule like a four hour block of my stylist's time, three or so for the dying and one for the cut. People got this done all the time, I told myself, I can totally handle this.

The bleach was no problem. Even though I think there may have been scabs on my scalp afterward, it never really hurt. I knew it was doing the trick because after the first round, my hair was a bright gold. There was one more bleaching to go before the toner. I survived the first bleach, so the second round was fine. But it was the toner that got me! That was no joke.

She told me it would tingle and probably feel a little funny. That's cool. I had used Pert Plus before, so I was clearly prepared for a tingly sensation. But this wasn't some kind of sensation, this was more like full on pain. Nobody ever talks about how painful this can be! I remember a season of Top Model where that girl Michelle, who also later suffered from that weird flesh disease, got her hair bleached and she damn near flipped her shit, all shivering and shaking. Because I could not really handle letting the toner do it's thing for too long, I never got to that level. I did have to sip on some red wine to help calm my nerves because all I could whisper was, "Julie, this kind of hurts."

I may have been a little over-dramatic because I also think my teeth chattered a little and I also remember whispering, "Is it supposed to feel like my hair is being slowly pulled from my head?" It hurt. But beauty is pain, and I wanted that top model beauty. I didn't quite get the color I really wanted that first time because it hurt too much. The second time was perfect and by the third I was a little over it and my wallet was hurting. I am no dancer for money, so my cash needs to pay my bills.

The blonde was a little intense and maybe not really my color, but it was fun. This past week I scheduled a last minute appointment because I was feeling ugly. I had one scheduled for next week, but the sides of my hair were getting too voluminous and making my head look all round. Not great. I went in with Henry Holland as my inspiration, but I think my cut looks more Jefferson Hack, circa 2010, but with shorter hair on top. I am making these esoteric references just so when you google them you'll realize just how insane my references are, but also know this is really what made me want this look! Chew on that!

Looking back I wonder if my new haircut has anything to do with the change in the year. I don't feel older, wiser or richer. I do feel like I really need to make a commitment to scheduling my appointments ahead of time so that I don't go into hair shock when I feel crazy and my self-esteem begins to dip because my hair is too long. Maybe that comes with age: knowing when you need to get your head taken care of and just how important it really is. This new look may be more influenced by a new fashion project I'm beginning to work on that will hopefully land me in the front rows and in the pages of magazines. I would even do magazines that are free, so if you need some volunteer styling, I got you!

*Side note: I just looked up how often I have written about my hair, and it's kind of embarrassing. Maybe I just realized how vain I am. I think I really only have one or two stories I like to tell over and over. Oops.

Jon