Saturday, November 19, 2011

Can Haz Cardboard Box Under Bridge

This is going to be very scattered because I am very scattered so if you're looking for anything resembling structure I suggest you look at a bridge or something.  So, basically, things are pretty lame.  Yay, optimism!  Seriously, that's me being optimistic.  Wee bit lame.  Tiny bit annoying.  Smidgen inconvenient.  Generally godawful.

Since my last genuinely optimistic blog I discovered that the super-amazing-awesome salon I'm working at has a booth rental fee equal to my car payment due once a month whether I've worked my booty off or had zero clients.  Where as before I was miserable but paying a part time option that was totally reasonable, I'm now paying a zillion dollars to be more miserable because I'm broke plus whenever I walk into work the other stylists look at me like I've grown a third head or don't look at me at all.  Not sure which is worse.

And when I tell you I'm broke I realize that it is a first-world kinda problem.  I have a roof over my head and Ramen in my belly and the internet ablaze before my eyes.  Actually, there's a good chance I'm going to loose my home.  Yeah.  One of the slightly more wrist-slitty thoughts but reality is reality.  I simply can't afford this nice roof over my head.  My mom has helped me out tremendously this month and without her I know I'd never have been able to be where I am for as long as I've been here, but my dad has quit his job and while he's still bringing in money, it's not like it used to be.  Even if I removed every bit of extravagance that keeps me sane- my computer, satellite, phone- I still wouldn't be able to pull it off.  So while the thought sickens me and brings me to tears, I am going to have to start seriously thinking about moving back to my parents.  At 28.  Yup.  I do believe I'm owed one "Looser" badge.  I can get those by the door?  Fantastic.  I hope they're free.

At least the relationship is going well!  Oh, wait!  No it's not!  Give me your opinion here, if you will.  Let's take this week for example.  He, the boyfriend, spends all day hanging out with his aunt and cousin.  Of course, he doesn't have a job and while he could've spent that time applying at different locations he has to, ya know, hang out with his relatives and drink coffee and smoke all day.  So he rolls in, sometimes, when I get off work around 5 or 6, and sits with me to watch some TV or whatever.  Cool.  Then he has to leave after about an hour of that to, ya know, hang out with his aunt and his cousin until about 10:30 or 11 at night when he rolls back in to fall into bed, have sex, and fall asleep.  In the morning I wake up, quietly, get dressed, quietly, and go to work, quietly, while he has a nice long sleep because he's had such a Terribly Difficult Week.  Is it just me or does it sound like I'm being used as a room and board and booty situation.

Mind you, the booty is really.... really.... -ahem-


Silver lining there I suppose.  Also, I still have the most amazing set of friends on the planet and while we don't get to speak as much as we like, I know that when it's two in the morning and I'm ready to shoot myself at least one of them will be online to talk me off of a ledge.  One will goad me into writing when I really dun wanna.  And the other will be more supportive of me than the best pair of Spanx ever invented.  Even those kind that are head-to-toe though I've always wondered where all the extra fat goes when it's squeezed down.  Do your toes explode?

Things could be worse.  I always say that then things prove me correct.  Why yes, yes we can be worse.  Would you like us to continue?  No?  Ah well, fuck you, take this, you whore.  Bazinga!

I'm also drafting a Hairstyler's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse.  I may do it in several parts or one gigantic novel depending on my state of mind.  So look forward to that!  And as always, best wishes.  Mr. Fluffy says hai too.  "CAN HAZ HAIS!" See.  Told ya.   


Tuesday, October 4, 2011

The return of the entity known as something-something

Hello everyone!  I hope you've all had a fantastic week.  Wait.  What's that, Mr. Fluffy?  I haven't posted a blog in ages?  It's actually been so long that cobwebs have formed over the Blogger Dashboard?  Well that's rubbish!  It hasn't been that... long... Oh my sweet Jesus.  It's been forever!  You're right, Mr. Fluffy.  I am an awful person.  What have I been doing all this time you silently ask while licking your ass.  I seem to have been slowly descending into a depressed and defeated funk resulting from my stationary and seemingly permanent position within the city of Bumfuck working in a salon whose owners were trying to destroy my will to live, whose client list has declined sharply due to said depression and funk and general lack of anything resembling confidence. 

But guess what.  I have news!  Wonderful fabulous news!  I not only left the hell that was my work environment for greener pastures in another salon I also visited my amazing friend Nicole in Utah for a much needed vacation and Doctor Who-fest and could possibly maybe slightly might be dating someone.  Of the opposite sex.  In actual person not, like, nicely trading quips online and via text. 

These activities in conjunction are helping me to yank my head from the deep dark depths of my own butt-hole and re-enter society as a human being with worth.  Because I've been feeling pretty damn worthless.  And I may not be worth a million yet, but at least I'm at a buck fifty. 

First things first:  my new salon!  I decided after weighing my options that I had to make a change.  And in the space of one week I put out the word and was hired on and moved out.  Seriously it was like a mad salon-moving ninja packing extravaganza.  My new place had been hinting at wanting me for some time and the stars just happened to align in my favor. 

Part of me feels really bad about the way things went down.  There was no nobility.  No two-week notice and fond farewells.  I told the other girls in the salon that I was going, but had to tell my boss via text as I was driving out of the parking lot with my car packed with my belongings that I had quit.  I really do wish that it had been otherwise, but I was genuinely afraid of what her husband would have done to my equipment if he were given any warning what so ever of my leaving.  I'd rather not have driven up to work to see my belongings in trash bags tossed out the back door. 

I'm still getting adjusted to my new place.  I was at my old salon for five years.  My boss had actually hired me straight out of school and called dibs on me while I was attending.  Despite everything, that's a lot of time and a lot of memories both good and bad.  I had a lot of myself invested in that business.  To leave it behind was hard, but staying would've been impossible.

The next challenge is to repair my clientele.  It's pathetic.  I hadn't realized in my stupor what had become of it only that I was getting progressively more destitute.  To sit down with my appointment book to inform my clients of my move and to have so few people to contact was a wake-up call.  I've been sabotaging myself for quite some time now be it in my desire to cut back my hours to avoid being in such a horrible environment to my surely poor attitude while working.  I was miserable and when mama is miserable everyone is miserable. 

I'm going to make a concentrated effort to start rebuilding  my confidence.  I have to or I'm going to be living out of a cardboard box.

But on to the subject over which you're all gnashing your teeth:  a male breeding prospect.  Okay, maybe not breeding but definitely staring at longingly because holy god and all that is in heaven he is a pretty creature.  And quite sweet and genuinely trying very hard not to piss me off.  All traits that I admire in a man.  I had actually done his hair a few times and apparently impressed him with my mad scissor work.  Or something.  I seriously have no idea why he finds me appealing but I won't push him about that.  If he chooses to find me entertaining then more power to him! 

So there we are.  I'm trying.  Again.  It's not going to be easy but I am blessed with unbelievably amazing friends and family.  I couldn't ask for a better support group.  That they've tolerated me during my departure from sanity speaks volumes to their character and patience.  Without them I don't know where I'd be or who I would be. 

Until next time (which will hopefully be sooner) DFTBA and God save the Queen.

Monday, August 1, 2011


As you can deduce from the title, today’s blog will be about the shallow nature of man and why I never date.  Also, I bought a Harry Potter Sorting Hat that doubles as a puppet.  Those topics are not mutually exclusive.

So I was watching a video from some of my favorite YouTubers (Is that a word?  YouTubers?  It sounds like a vegetable with an identity crisis.) and they were randomly listing the people who they would love to take to the pub.  Brits, of course.  They listed several vloggers (Is that a word?  It sounds like a logger who cuts down vaginas.), all of whom were awesome and that I totally agreed would be fun to get hammered with or to watch get hammered.  They then said that, wow, this is kinda a sausage-fest.  Any girls they like*?

That’s when things went south for me.  The first girl they mentioned was fairly acceptable.  Pretty, neon pink hair, Irish so points for that.  Then one of the boys said that the girls had to be smart, funny, and witty.  The other looks over.  “Or just cute?” he asks.  They nod.  Then we hear a long list of names of tits with cameras. 

I’m not naive.  Whenever you meet someone new, you can’t help but categorize them by what they look like, what they’re wearing, or, in my case, the state of their hair.  But even idly thinking of spending several hours with someone, I think I’d go with fun and smart over cute and stupid any day. 

Of course I fall prey to this as well.  The guys I was talking about are pretty damn fit.  But I don’t watch their videos to see their hotness.  I watch their videos because they’re well made, well thought out (sorta), and hilarious.  I spend time with them.  I don’t care if they have six packs or most of their teeth (they are  British…).  Hell, one of my favorites to watch is the amazing Wheezy Waiter and the only time he sees a six pack is when he picks one up at the store!  And I would totally nail him even if he has a beard!

I just don’t know.  Ya know?  I realize that I’m in the business of “beauty” but I’m not in it to make anyone a sex bomb.  I’m in it to make people feel good about themselves.  I can be just as shallow as the next person, but to me what matters most aren’t the eyes, it’s what is behind the eyes.  The individual, not the individual parts.  I always feel so discouraged when someone lists criteria for a mate starting with looks and ending with intelligence.  More often than not you’ll hear that from men but I’m always ashamed when a woman dates an asshole that happens to model on the side.  Sure, he cheats on me and treats me like a dog, but he has a great ass! 

So, yeah, I don’t date.  I don’t even put myself out there.  It’s not that I’m not lonely because I can be.  Ask my cat, Mr. Fluffy.  What’s that Mr. Fluffy?  You don’t want to be in my blog?!  What the… You ungrateful feline!  Don’t you turn your back on me!  Why I ought ta…. Um.  Date.  I think I need to go on a date.  Maybe get out of the house.  Ahem.

In the end, what the hell was I talking about?  I bought a hat.  I talk to my cat.  Men are made of shat.  Nothing new about that.

Mr. Fluffy is judging you!

*On the subject of women on YouTube.  Sadly there are too few who rock.  Some who are like Nanalew who is gorgeous and funny and…. Ok that’s the end of my list.  Seriously there is a huge lack of kick ass girls on YouTube.  And don’t even think of saying, “Jessica, you could vlog!”  The answer is NO!  NO I WON’T! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!  Jesus, it’s hard enough for me to see my own writing let alone stare myself in the nose for five minutes while wearing a Sorting Hat and Pooh Bear pajamas.  Yes, I just described my outfit to you.  That’s a sexy conversation.  “So, what are you wearing?”  “I’m wearin’ Pooh and a giant floppy wizard hat.  What are… um… hello?  Hello?!”  

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Bendy Straw of Madness

I have been inspired by John Green and Maureen Johnson’s advice to writers:  Dare to suck.  I haven’t written in quite a while mostly because there hasn’t been much to say, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t make a noise and use my fingers.  So I’ve decided to thrash around a bit and see what happens!

Mostly what has been happening is copious amounts of Doctor Who but before that I saw the midnight premiere of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Deux!  Official and unsurprising impression is that the film was amazing.  The last one.  The big ending.  Oh sweet Jebus I'm going to cry again.  

More than the film, the most amazing part was the experience of seeing the last Harry Potter at midnight surrounded by enthusiastic, joyous, melancholy, and unabashedly nerdy fans.  I would’ve strangled a house elf for a decent pair of wizard robes.  There was an abundance of Belatrix Lestranges, one hilariously bad Mad Eye Moody, a Dumbledore that was comprised of a mop and obvious graduation robes.  Each one was precious and beautiful and heartwarming.  I even found, for a few brief seconds, fans of A Very Potter Musical!  And they gave me a Red Vine!  Which, if you haven’t seen the play, is really goofy, but trust me, it was amazing.  And disgusting but by god I ate it like there was no tomorrow.  Because really, what the hell can’t they do?  There were three Ozark boys at the front of the theater before the movie started who were playing a game of what we named “nerd-fu.”  Apparently it’s a mix between freeze-tag and karate.  Whatever it was, it was entertaining enough to have a big crowd of fans clap and laugh for about an hour straight.

I cried, of course.  Not the open wrenching sobs that I wanted to let loose.  Like when the Doctor left Rose in that parallel universe and she was trapped and OMG it was the saddest thing ever because they loved each other and he never told her and she cried and I cried and the Doctor cried and… what was I talking about?  Oh yeah, my other nerd-gasm. 

I recommend the film.  Obviously.  /Paris.  If you haven’t read the books (you know who you are) do that as well.  Then get a lightning bolt tattoo.  Then join the Harry Potter Alliance .  Then buy robes.  Then come with me to the next Leaky Con.  And be my friend for all of eternity.  Inna blue box.  With a wand.  And YouTube.  

Well that wasn't so bad!  Ok, who am I kidding, that's really rubbish.  But I dared!  And I sucked!  And one of these days something will happen to me of interest that will shock and thrill!  

Until then... suck it.  

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Born This Nerdy

As I slump over a keyboard in my Pooh Bear and Spamalot pajamas with the Vlogbrothers running automatically beside my Word Document, I rest easy in my freshly discovered nerdfighterness. I’m not one for labels, but this time the big rubber stamp is more than welcome. So, I have decided to regale you all with my nerd journey.

I could possibly blame my parents. As we know, when two people love each other very much and fall into nerd-like then add some marriage and possibly some illegal substances you produce a born nerd. We won’t go that far back, but that is the origin. Two hippies had a baby. One hippy grew up and stopped being a hippy to raise a nerd. The other hippy is still a hippy which does not make for a good father, only a marijuana machine.

Growing up as a single-child and moving only a few times from one deeply secluded home to another, you learn to live inside of your own head. Lord knows plenty of nerds come from the suburbs, but a forest nerd is like a tiny flickering fairy riding the back of a unicorn. That’s how I saw myself anyway. With my wooded “home” complete with paintings hung from trees, chairs salvaged from trash heaps, and boyfriends made of bark. Sadly when I finally did start dating that hadn’t changed.

I actually didn’t start dating until I was well out of high school and well into cosmetology school. I’ve always looked young for my age and when a nice juvenile man asked me out via a note shoved in my car window, I agreed and prayed he wouldn’t ask my age.

Eventually he did ask my age, but by that point we didn’t care. No, he wasn’t a nerd, but he was SOMEONE and my clandestine online romances never produced quite the same feeling as having someone actually sit in the same room with you holding your hand and not simply *holding your hand*.

This was my longest and first relationship. It ended after seven months when he dumped me over a horse. That the relationship had reached a point where an equine break-up was even an option was a sign that things were less than rosy. Later, of course, he came crawling back to me with a hang-dog expression and maroon mums clutched in his hands. I was at work at the time and probably should have handled his pathetic attempt at an apology better than yelling, “No, no, no, no, no! Stop right there. NO!”

Failed, few, and short romances aside, I spend a lot of time alone. Possibly an unhealthy amount. I was alone a lot after I had to withdraw from univeristy because of an illness. I didn't go out for about two years. I don’t mean I didn’t date, which I didn’t, I mean I didn’t leave the house. For two solid years. Seriously.

I work in a very social business so of course I’m much better socially now, but outside of my salon I’m indoors at my house. There may be outdoor nerds, but I’m not one of them. I do believe that along the path of human evolution we created for ourselves in the first world a water-tight, air-conditioned, pleasant-smelling, mostly bug-free, food-stocked, and sun-proofed shelter. Who am I to deny eons of human advancement in construction? I love my indoors. I am comfortable with my textually based friendships. Screw the sun.

Aversion to the outdoors, a love of video games spawning from Mario NES version 1.0, all consuming obsession with the written word, and now a love of the Vlogbrothers, Nerdfighteria, and all things that never forget to be awesome, I now feel more secure in my identity than ever before.

In a small-town community that prized the athlete, the cheerleader, the churchgoer, the buxom blonde, or the bouncy brunette, I filled none of these roles. For years I was uncomfortable in my own skin. The screwy artistic kid who could draw and who spent my lunch hour with the pot-heads and skater kids quietly drawing so that I wouldn’t have to look up from the page and brazenly meet someone’s eye. Eye-contact could lead to conversation. Awkward questions. Socializing! The horror!

Then I was a young adult struggling with depression and loneliness with no career and no formal schooling. I am now utterly secure in my craft, even if I am facing struggles I haven’t had in years. With business being worse than it’s ever been, I can only console myself with the knowledge that I am very good at what I do even if I haven’t got enough heads on which to work. And I’m pretty sure my boss is trying to kill me.

Finding the Nerdfighters and watching hundreds (and hundreds) of Vlogbrother videos has really given me the boost I needed to pull through. I’m excited to dive into this awesome new community. Thumbs up for having something to look forward to!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

In which there is cursing

So I was about halfway through writing a very POSITIVE blog about the GOOD THINGS that have been happening this last week (Oh em gee I’m going to see my friend in Utah soon! I may have found a new place to work in town with tons of business! My evil she-devil boss and her devil-devil husband are gone for the week!) when I got some bad news. And you have no idea how tempted I am to go on an “Oh OF COURSE something shit happened! It’s my life! Everything is shit! I touch it and it turns to shit! I look at it and it turns to shit! What’s that? Oh it was a beautiful diamond ring sent to me from a prince but now it’s a big ol’ pile of shit!” rant.

But that’s too easy.

Really I am not that upset. See, it was the job offer. A very busy salon in town is loosing one of their long time stylists soon and they wanted me to work for them. Which is… ok. They do about 90% over 90 clientele. So that’s a lot of little old lady perms and roller sets and teasing teasing teasing black lung from hairspray teasing. And that’s fine! There’s something to be said for stylists who can dress hair to that degree of skill because let me tell you, those old biddies let you know real fast if they don’t like what they see.

The thing is I am still planning on moving. I really only wanted to work there to help them with their over-flow and earn some more money to, ya know, fund my move! I couldn’t lie to them. Even a lie by omission is too hard for me. So I informed the owner that maybe in the fall I’ll be moving and for sure in the winter.

That was the deal breaker and I honestly can’t blame her. Not only would I be leaving her back in the situation she’s in, with one empty chair, I’d be leaving her my clientele as well. Ironically she said that there’s a chance the ladies will love me and be really mad when I leave.

I may have just been refused because I’m… good?

Either way, that’s out. But I do understand and I’m not too upset. I am sad that I’m stuck where I am; every day started with a mini-panic-attack at some new barb or nasty look shot my way and endless hours of lost clients because I am apparently supposed to be moved now!

Yeah that’s been a major issue. I have had so many people say to me, “Oh hey, you’re still here??? You were moving, right???” I feel like the unsaid, “You were moving, right, LOSER?!” is being screamed I my face. Not a great feeling. But it does explain my massive and sudden lack of clients.

Plus everyone is broke. Which makes me broke. Which means I have to have my parents pay my bills or I’d be writing this blog by candlelight on paper for no eyes to see.

I am genuinely trying to have a positive attitude though. I am very prone to that whole “my life is shit” stuff and thanks good friends who gently take me by the shoulders and shake the hell out of me, I’m not flinging myself from a cliff right now.

And I am still going to see my friend in Utah where I will look for some places to work that want very, very temporary help and have huge client walk ins. I realize that I’m probably going to end up at a Cheap Cuts For U Hut or some shit, but if that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes.

This is such a screwy time for me right now. I’m not sure what the hizeck is going on. So many questions running through my mind all the time. Should I just suck it up and stay here in Ozark until I can move to NYC full time? But I’m not making enough money right now to do that. So should I move to Utah for a little while and earn more there? Well, who wants to hire someone for such a short amount of time?

I JUST DON’T KNOW! But my life is not shit. It just stinks. Sometimes. Like excrement.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

They call me Big D

So last night I had a total mental breakdown. Complete with crying, snotting, keyboard face slamming, inability to breathe, that funky noise you make when you’re crying and you can’t breathe and you keep smacking your face into your keyboard. Yup. It was impressive. It also made me feel better. As did speaking to my friend who ignored my horrible face spelling and long pauses as I whimpered and internet kicked me like this “-kick-“ which was cute.

I hesitate to use the big ugly D word. You know that word. It has medication and self abuse and mucus involved. In my case it’s connected to too much cheesecake (which could be under self abuse as it makes me very ill but tastes so so good) and gardening. That’s right. If I’m reaching for the shovel and rake, you can bet your ass I’m looking at possibly maybe probably could be but not quite sure if this is a thing yet but maybe I haven’t decided depressed.

I get frustrated when someone bandies the word around. Oh yeah I totes broke a nail, it’s so DEPRESSING. I missed that sale at Barney’s and I’m DEPRESSED. I lost my home and job due to a medical emergency and I couldn’t pay my bills because I haven’t got heath insurance and I am now heavily medicated for my DEPRESSION. Ok, the last one counts.

I’m not there though. I’m just bummed. Bummed bummed bummed. Better today than yesterday because of my pity party. I was able to work on two of my three scheduled clients which was great. I now consider it a normal occurrence if one or more of my clients doesn’t show for her appointment and doesn’t bother to call to cancel. I just roll with it. And that, my dears is why I am bummed! I LOVE MY JOB. To the point that it’s a bit obsessive. I adore being a hairstylist and yes it’s not rocket science and no I’m not curing cancer but it’s what I do. And I’m good at it. Really good. So I love using my skills and helping people and when I’m denied that opportunity by fucking massive asshole whores who book appointments and never show thus making me loose two to three hours of my day, I get a bit tetchy.

When I can’t work, I am denied doing what I love and I am also denied making a living doing what I love. If I were an amazingly self possessed go getter social butterfly who glorified in pimping herself I would go out on the street with a sandwich board handing out flyers declaring my awesomeness, but I’m not. I am quiet. I don’t like to brag. Well, ok, I don’t mind to do so in writing but I seriously do NOT like to do it using my human voice. Mostly I’ll stare at my feet and shuffle around saying “eh yeah I’m ok I guess”. Ask Eric Alt. I’m a terrible self promoter. When I should’ve been rattling off gold medal wins and flashing pics of my epic hair achievements I was asking about his Brazil nut allergy. Face. Desk.

I want to work. I want to assist with Beth Minardi. I want to work fashion shows. I want to learn the massive freaking ton that I don’t know. I want to grow in my craft. I want to do more than attend random hair classes. I want to be in a healthy environment that encourages growth. I want to expand my art and become the best at what I do. I want to teach.

I need to get out of where I am.

I have to do it soon.

Or my front lawn is going to be on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Freestyling Madness

I decided a little while back that I would only write if I had something good worth writing about. I was getting sick of seeing bad news and even if I had to suffer, no reason to subject anyone else to my dreary whining. As you can tell, I haven’t been writing very much! In fact, the way I figured it out, if I only wrote about accomplishments on the road to a bigger and better life, this would be a rarely updated blog indeed. Then I also remembered that it’s my stinking blog and if I want to whine, I bloody well can.

It’s not that every day is bad. Some days I’ll get a little bit of good news. A thumbs up from my beauty supply lady that comes every Thursday letting me know the move to the other salon is well on track! Then the next day I’ll find out, oh, no wait, it isn’t coming along. In fact, they haven’t even started remodeling so I can move in! And the crooked landlord is now helping people in the area who have lost their homes to tornados, for a nominal fee of course, and won’t be bothered to get started any time soon or this year for that matter. Good news may come in the form of a newly available salon in town that I could simply move into alone and do my thang. Oh but ya know, they’ll probably want me to sign a lease so that’s out.

What else, what else. Hm. My house is overrun by spiders. It’s like a goddamn horror movie with John Goodman and the only thing I have to defend myself is an $80 bill from Terminix assuring me that my house is pest free. I use the giant bill to crush horrific spider monsters.

I did get to see one of my old friends today which was lovely. We hadn’t spoken in a while because she’s been ill and a bit home ridden and I know what that’s like. It’s hard to find motivation to leave the house when you’re sick and don’t feel as pretty as you should and before you know it, it’s been two months and you haven’t spoken to anyone but your house plants. But this story isn’t about me!

I haven’t named the plants yet which I consider a small victory for sanity.

My life is so random and confusing right now. As you can tell from the complete lack of structure herein. Honestly, if you’ve gotten this far you’re reading this sad excuse for a blog either because you’re my mother or my best friends. Hey guys. How’s it going? Why do all of my closest friends live in different far flung states? This sucks. Y’all should come over. Have some sweet tea. Swat mosquitoes with me. Malaria is great. Makes you thin, you know. Bit bleedy, but such is the price of beauty.

What? Oh um. So it’s really hot here.

Oh my god, Jessica you’re talking about the weather?!

Hey, even the best of us run out of ideas! And it’s not like I’m leading an excitement filled life here in Nowhereville. It’s a fucking thrill a minute watching the grass grow!

What about that music festival, Wakarusa, that came to town last weekend?

What about it? Ten thousand hippies descended upon a wee villiage of 3,500 armed with bongs and absolutely positively certainly no soap. I went the last two years but grew weary of seeing skanks in string bikinis flirt with drug dealers and melting in the sun surrounded by, let me say again, thousands of unwashed bodies.

Ah. Yeah your life is boring.

No shit.

You also appear to be talking to yourself.

I thought you were the potted palm tree, Julio. Goddamnit. Well, I have obviously gone crazy. Maybe I should find a life partner. Someone who loves and understands me. It’s hard though, around here to not find someone you’re related to. I know, I’ll use these guys! They’re awesome!

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Low Interest Rate

So I went to get my medications today from ye old Walmart pharmacy and, as they have done once before, the psudo-insurance Walmart offers to people they feel sorry for that takes about 30% off of your bill didn’t kick in which bumped my bill up to nearly $100 for a very small bottle of very small pills. Thankfully the lovely lady at the counter helped to fix the problem/ computer glitch/ voodoo doll daily jab and my total went back into the still too damn expensive but livable norm.

This got me to thinking about an article I read of the top five reasons it sucks to be poor. In it, the author describes the vicious cycle of too broke to get ahead. When faced with a medication I need to survive possibly being out of my economic reach, I knew exactly what he was talking about. I’d be able to make more money to pay for these meds and my bills and possibly a new shirt that isn’t stained to death with color or jeans that didn’t fall off of my ass by noon if I could invest in product to sell and earn a profit. Only, I haven’t got that initial boost of money with which to invest. So, I won’t make a profit. But I need to sell product to make a profit. And on and on and on.

Hand in hand this is the reason why I am still in Arkansas and not saying, “Eff you, New York State Board of Cosmetology! I don’t need your stupid tests and rules! I’ll just move anyway and sweep hair or bust tables until I can get my license! There’s no getting me down!!!!”

That’s a great theory. The blind dash to the big city in hopes of striking it big. Being able to tell your grandchildren as they roam the halls of your mansion that you came to New York with fifteen dollars in your pocket and a dream.

Thirty or even as soon as twenty years ago that may have been a possibility. Not now. That is one very expensive city. Even the shit-hole apartments are expensive and cockroaches don’t pay rent. Unless you want to commute an hour every day (which costs money as well) you will have to get a place close to where you want to work. And who wants to work in some po-dunk salon in the middle of BFE that charges the same for a haircut as they do in po-dunk BFE Arkansas? Where would that get me? It’s all about learning and growing and going up in the world. Not staying exactly where I am financially coupled with being too poor to actually go out with my friends and, ya know, learn and grow and shit.

I know damn good and well I have it pretty easy where I am now. I’m incredibly lucky to have the support of my family. I know that if I said to them that I wanted to move tomorrow, they’d do anything and everything to make that happen. But I don’t want them to have an empty investment. Because I do consider this an investment. It’s an investment in my future. I want to be the best at what I do. I am willing to work hard and sacrifice and start at the bottom and work my way to the top. But I’d rather that bottom not be rock bottom and the top not be head stylist at Fantastic Sams.

If what it takes to make it is a lack of fear then we may have a problem. I actually don’t see a bit of fear as a bad thing. The adventurous caveman discovered life outside the rock walls, but the adventurous reckless caveman discovered the saber toothed tiger. Of course fear can be crippling and can leave you with no forward momentum at all, but a healthy respect for not having to sell my body to feed my body is a good thing I think. I’m not afraid of the city. I feel safer walking those streets at night than Ozarks. Trust me, you will get murdered here in this quaint rural town and it’ll be at the hands of your meth addicted second cousin Bubba Ray Billy John. What I’m afraid of is being unable to pay my bills. Being unable to stand on my own. To be a bad investment.

Will I get there eventually? Yes, I will. Will I move without a plan and no sense of security? Never. Thus the problem. To achieve security one must be able to support ones self. I need to find a way to break the cycle. I made more money last year than I’ve ever made. Far above the average for Ozark. None the less I have little to show for it. Because I invested that money in product and classes and supplies, the money I made went into making me a better stylist but a broke one. At some point, the scales do tip and money is made and saved and available. When that point comes, who knows?

A safer move to Salt Lake City may be the step I need to take to get out of this terrible rut. I know that if I continue the way I have been, I will never be able to achieve my dreams. I will have to find a way to invest in myself.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Memorial Day

All night I dreamed of the computer virus that struck late Wednesday afternoon. It was the kind that completely shut down every file and command. I had to pay blood money to get it running again and then immediately cancel my credit card and will have to file a dispute to, hopefully, get my money back. I woke up thinking of the rash steps I’ll take to exorcise the demon from my hard drive and plans to run all day scans to ensure its complete removal. My head pounding from the frustration of loosing hidden files that no matter what I do, I still can’t find. This extreme inconvenience.

Then I realized what I hadn’t dreamt of. Why did I not have nightmares of the devastation I had seen yesterday? No more than fifteen or twenty miles from my home, a mile and a half wide F-5 tornado leveled a small community. There are houses still standing, but they are few and badly battered. What the storm didn’t destroy, back hoes and dump trucks will have to finish the job. It was as if a large hand had placed its palm across the earth and pressed down slowly and inexorably.

Why did I not dream of the friends I had lost? Clients? The amazing woman who worked so hard to keep her beautiful and spoiled little girl happy. That she died protecting her. And that the little girl was found later walking amongst the rubble with a collapsed lung and internal injuries.

Or of my co-workers brother-in-law and his wife. They found them together. Her dead and he with nearly every bone broken in his body. Their daughter whom I have attended to many a pageant who has lost a mother and who may yet loose a father.

The other little community I haven’t seen that was devastated. Is my grandparents old house still standing? Is their damage worse than others? It’s hard for me to imagine.

As frustrating as my problems are, they are such small things. I am faced with choices and it’s hard for me to set my mind straight. But I have choices. I have a home. I have a place to work, no matter how I feel about it. If the best I can say about my week was “I wasn’t killed in a tornado” it’s a bad week, but I can still say “I wasn’t killed in a tornado.”

This Memorial Day weekend I will remember Tina and pray for Piper. I’ll remember that Cheryl was always nice to me and others. I’ll see the devastation of Denning and be amazed that amongst so much wreckage only four lives were lost. I will remember looking across a pasture to three oak trees, each 100 years old if not more, plucked as if they were so much blades of grass and laid to the side. Of twisted metal flung high into broken topped trees. Of a trailer on its side sitting where another home used to be.

I will remember Tina Evans. And I will pray for her daughter Piper.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Plan B

Hello Readers! I’m glad everyone liked the Johnny blog. If I happen to have any more plans for his future, I’ll be sure to jot them out for all of you to enjoy. Today is going to be about me thrashing around blindly while I try to figure out the future, life, the universe, and everything.

My tunnel-vision has blinded me for the last umpteen months to anything but New York in June final end finito that’s all folks. So for me to squint my gimlet eyes outside of the tunnel to what will have to be a new future is unpleasant, but necessary. Like going to the dentist and fixing up that pesky abscessed molar.

From what I can figure I actually do have some options. I can stay here in Ozark until January when I’ll be licensed for five years and New York will grant me a license very easily. This, by the way, is not an option so don’t even go there. I may be going to a new salon here in about a month, but one more month of slow grinding mental abuse is unacceptable. I’ll start illegally doing hair in my kitchen first.

Option two is New Jersey. Sorta. The New Jersey State Board of Cosmetology is similar to New York in that it is very confusing if not more so due to the fact that they have Barbering lumped in with Cosmo which is just silly. They also have a Hairdressing option which would be fine by me, but damned if I can find any solid information regarding that clause. It’s as if they wrote the legal jargon with an attitude of “Imma give these silly hairdressers thiiiiiis much info then we’re just gonna start fucking with their minds!” Which isn’t nice. Also a con is that I don’t really know anyone in New Jersey. And have no idea what their salons are like. And no idea where to live. And it’s New Jersey. Pros? Um, well, like most Jersey folk have to say at night so that they can sleep, it’s close to New York.

I could also go with option three which is the one that’s most tempting; I could move to Salt Lake City and live near or with my best friend Nicole. That’s right people, if I can’t get to New York I can sure as shit get to Utah.

It’s funny the directions life takes us, no? Oui.

So, yeah, I’m seriously considering this. The cons being I’m not familiar with the area but in comparison to NYC, SLC is so utterly not intimidating. And one of my besties lives there and we could be happy and I wouldn’t feel like I were hurled out to the wolves and we could frolic amongst the Mormons and be sister-wives! Okay, I probably won’t turn quite that native, but it’d still be lovely. And the biggest pro there is to this situation: Utah is not Arkansas.

Need I say more?

Also, it’s pretty easy to get your license. All I need is a letter from my employer saying I’ve worked over 4,000 hours. I may beg my nice lovely wonderful Fort Smith boss to do this for me. I’m not completely sure my other boss would help me out. We’ve both reached the point where we each can’t stand the other in equal amounts. Oil and water. Plus a lit match when I get one more little note from her husband on how better I should do my job. Really, it’s amazing I’ve made nearly $40,000 a year for the last four years in a small town without him telling me how to improve myself. Honestly, how did I ever manage?! JFC.

I’m going to have to do a lot of thinking and get my brain back from its “can’t cope” vacation. Painful? Yes. Will I possibly get a nose bleed? Possibly. Will I over eat and gain weight like a killer whale gorging on penguins during plump penguin season? I’m already there, baby!

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Johnny Weir needs to pwn the interwebz!

Yup, this is going to be a Johnny Weir blog. Don’t like him, don’t read. Do like him, do read! Because this is all about wanting to see more of Johnny and to help him be seen by even more people so that some of those people could buy tickets to his shows, watch his television series, and make all of Team Weir a nice comfy living.

That may sound benevolent, but it isn’t. Not completely. It’s been ages since the last new Be Good Johnny Weir and while random television interviews and guest spots on morning shows help me to keep the addiction at bay, regular hits of Johnny-time are essential to my survival.

You have to understand that I can’t imagine how crazy his life is right now. He has a new clothing line, possibly a movie role to perform, the second season of his television show, friends, family, and that whole competitive skater thing he’s been doing since he was a child. One day in his Louboutins and I would be a quivering pile of exhausted goo.

Because of his crazy busy insane awesome life, he may not have time to do “edit heavy” videos like Wheezy Waiter. Though I’m sure there’s a line around the block of talented video savvy fans girls that would happily edit anything and everything for him including and not limited to his next novel, writing his bills, making his grocery list (whipcream, Pledge, low-fat lettuce), sacrificing small reptiles, you know what I’m sayin’.

Maybe he could do more direct videos where he talks about his day. If most of us were to do that it would be dreadfully boring. “Yeah, so, like I woke up. I checked the mail. I played Lego Harry Potter for, like, three hours. Walked the dog.” You get my drift, but like the fabulous Lady Gaga, his days are a bit more interesting than ours.

And that’s what makes him a perfect YouTube fit! It isn’t always about the fancy editing or catch phrases (I refuse to mention Fred though I suppose Viacheslav could be considered a “character” but at least that’s interesting and funny and doesn’t make me want to claw my eyes out.) It’s all about personality. Charisma. Wit. He has so much charm oozing out of his non-existent pores it makes me squint at George Clooney and say, “Hm. You’re cute but I gotta tell ya, you could not pull off a rhinestone onesie.”

Or he could do a straight up no-edits ranting vlog. For example, Charlie McDonnell has nearly a million subscribers and YouTube is his full-time job. And he makes a pretty damn good living as a YoutTuber. He’s able to pursue a music career and highlight his work and appearances. Charlie can promote himself in a totally classy and charming manner that never makes you feel as if he’s trying to sell you something, all the while you skip merrily to iTunes and buy his albums, go to and get his t-shirts, and drive thousands of miles to see him at various conventions oh God I want to go to VidCon so bad but I can’t it SUCKS to be poor! What was I saying? Oh, yeah, Charlie does a mix of practically everything, but my favorites are always his simple talking-to-you-like-a-friend vlogs.

So, it isn’t all about “here’s my day blah blah blah.” It’s also about free, fun advertisement for shows and products like his eDressme line. He can act like a massive dork and get creative with the wigs and sillies and make us all laugh. He could chat up his favorite charities and help people around the world reduce world suck like the amazing VlogBrothers’ “Project for Awesome” which has raised thousands of dollars for charity. He can have a really bad day and sit in a dark room and bitch adorably about running out of Windex at a critical moment or something.

The possibilities are limitless but the point is that we miss him! One television show isn’t enough! Twitter, while fun, is so limited and sometimes messages can be a bit mixed when you can only use 150 characters. His new website is amazing and this would be a perfect companion to add to all the awesome. New content and intimate but not invasive fan interaction that allows him to speak directly to us without it being, ya know, creepy. The less tempted I am to stalk him, the better off we all will be. Restraining orders are a bitch. Not that I would know. Ahem.

And it would totally cheer me up. I need it. Really, it’s all about me isn’t it?

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Emotional Whiplash

So a lot has happened in the last 24 hours. Equal helpings of good and bad as is normally the case. Let’s do the good news first then the bad which will totally negate the good so don’t get your hopes up too much.

A little back story first. As I’m sure you’re already able to deduce, I can be a bit funny about some things. About seven years ago, I was so “funny” about things that I was unable to leave my house. For about two years. God bless the modern marvels of outpatient therapy and an amazing family without which I’d still be sitting in front of my computer in my pajamas. Oh. Wait. Okay, today doesn’t count. I’m off work!

I’m now able to function fairly well in society and have gotten over a great deal of my depression, but there are still a few lingering shadows from the dark days. One of those is my inability to help myself. That isn’t to say I’m helpless. I would go to any lengths to help my friends and family. When I set my mind to something, some goal they have that I want to help them with, I generally can move mountains. A part of me has never let go of that horrible inner voice that sometimes comes with long term depression. It’s a voice that says, “You can’t.” It’s a bloody stupid bastard and nine times out of ten I am able to ignore it, but sometimes I can’t. Thankfully, I have some of the most amazing friends anyone could ever dream of having and one of them saw that I wasn’t quite able to move this mountain myself and got out her climbing gear.

How hard is it to make a phone call? For me, at times, it’s impossible. That would be my phobia. I think it’s a fear of rejection or bad news. Once quick call could build me up or crush me. That’s a lot of pressure. So one of my besties called New York for me to get the information I needed to proceed with getting my license. I had already found a great deal of my old testing supplies. Mannequin heads, rollers, my old Cosmo book. I had printed out page after page of test preparation and guidelines. I had fully resigned myself to having to take that damn test all over again.

Here comes the good news: No test! Apparently New York and Arkansas have “limited reciprocity” which means that all I have to do is write up a few letters, have a client and co-worker write a letter, and send it in! That’s all! Do they say any of this on either state’s website? Hell no, but who cares, I don’t have to take the bleeding tests! There is a pretty serious wait of about two months, but that’s fine because I was planning on moving in July anyway.

Here’s the bad news: I haven’t got a roommate.

I told you it was bad.

I’m not terribly surprised. We have an annoying psychic streak in our family and I’ve been having nightmares of this very thing happening for the last week. One dream was so horrible I forced myself awake in a panic. When you say, “I hope all of my dreams come true!” this wasn’t the one I wanted. I’ve also been dreaming of getting stung repeatedly by wasps. I’ll let you know how that one turns out.

Like Confucius say, shit happens. I’m still going to get my license. I may fight harder for my New Jersey license and even look into some other states.

I suppose that right now the only thing holding me back is me. Because I am bone deep scared.  I feel that if I look behind me I may see a chain from my ankle connecting to a very large boulder made of self-doubt and fear. Sometimes the chain is long and the boulder is so far behind me I can barely remember what it’s like to be afraid. And then I can be normal for a little while. But the links have an uncomfortable habit of disappearing. The chain shortens and I’m faced with reality or what I think is real but I can’t see beyond the hulking mass to find the truth hiding in its shadow. The chain went from a mile to a meter very quickly today. I’m going to allow myself the time to be a bit pathetic. Then I’m going to start adding links. One by one I will distance myself from fear and with each accomplishment distance myself from doubt.

It wasn’t fair of me to put so much pressure not only on myself but on my friend as well. We have to be able to stand on our own, right? Right! In a city filled with serial killers, right? Er, right! And a population of millions and you know exactly two and a half people, right? Um. Okay.  Maybe not.

No one ever said this was going to be easy. Here, watch this. A little wand-work always makes me feel better. And thanks again for all of the wonderful support from my readers and pimps. I’d especially like to thank Misfit Mimes without whom I would have exactly half of my readership and Nicole for listening to me all day every day do nothing but bitch and moan. Thanks, UTB.

Turns out that the dimwit my friend talked to about my license mixed up Arkansas and Arizona.  I can't easily get my license.  I have to test or wait until December when I've been licensed five years.  At this point I don't even care any more.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

And back to Earth... Also known as the Seventh Circle of Hell

I’m back home. After a day of slowly disintegrating under hours of work lost by clients not showing for their appointments, the hostile but familiar abuse from my boss, the hollow feeling of loss when I think of the parts of me I left behind in New York, and the yawning expanse of time stretched between my empty life in Arkansas and a return to what will soon be my home far far away, I feel less than fresh.

We’ll get back to that in a moment, but first let me tell you more about my trip! For those of you following me on Twitter, you may have noticed that I had some trouble on Friday getting home. My problems with United Airlines started on the first day of my trip when my connecting flight to Chicago was cancelled. Sticking me with another airline, United was then able to offer me a direct flight to New York! Which would’ve been awesome if someone had been at the airport to retrieve my lost country ass!

Amazingly, this wasn’t nearly the rape/murder/kidnapping disaster it could've been and I arrived in one piece on my friend’s doorstep. I then proceeded to have a great week. I went to a bookstore so large I could only make wee squeaking noises. Had a few successful resale shopping trips. Side note: NYC resale shopping is hugely more impressive than Arkansas resale shopping. Obviously. /Paris.

Revolver was a relief. A joy. A surprise. General consensus between the short list of people I know in the city agreed that Revolver was my best option. Encouraged, I sallied forth with my lovely escort, Lily, and then had a few minor panic attacks. She was an angel, dealing with my spastic cries and pathetic whimpers with stoic confusion. Allan then showed up at our lunch to finish my food, pick my head up from the table, and kick my ass the entire way just as predicted. One deep breath of “salon” air and I was at home.  The extremely cute manager, Joseph, instantly put me at ease. He said everything I wanted to hear. That the Steinway Revolver was drama free, had a fair commission plan, and was generally lovely.  Basically the polar opposite of Studio E.

Being comforted from the beginning, the rest of the trip was as relaxing as schlepping through New York can be. My zen outer coating protects me from most stress like a Teflon shield. Everyone I met was polite and pleasant minus one overly excited dog I wanted to chuck out of a window. Call it my being naive, but I have yet to meet a New Yorker half as rude as a single checker at the local Walmart. Ozark’s check-out girls turn unfriendly into an art form.

As with all things, if I feel like something wonderful is happening and I have a moment of contentment or, dare I say it, confidence, something rises up like a leviathan and starts shoving sharp pointy things into my ear with its big flipper of doom. Hello, Chicago O’Hare Airport! Due to weather and heinous fuckery, I suffered what amounted to a 24 hour delay. There was nothing to be done about it and the staff of United certainly can’t be held responsible for God bitch-slapping me for thinking, “Wow, what a wonderful trip. I feel really good about this move! I shouldn’t have any problem at all finding a job.” Kablooie. Tornado.

Saturday afternoon I finally came home to my deep green Arkansas. Despite being exhausted and very happy to see my parents, all I could think was how badly I wished I weren’t back in beautiful Arkansas. I wanted my friends. I wanted cold sidewalks and winter-bound trees. I wanted the racket of the subway and the confusion of downtown Manhattan.

Instead I came back to my lovely empty home and one of the most nerve-wracking days working in Ozark that I’ve had since "Bad Attitude Gate 2011". As the day progressed, my zen went away. Years of subtle abuse slipped back into place. The quiet digs. The snide remarks. By the end of the day, I was a wreck. I was ashamed that my boss had made my confidence shatter. Then I felt ashamed about letting that harpy make me feel ashamed!

All I can hope for now is that I get the opportunity to work tomorrow. If there is one thing that no amount of cruelty can take from me, it’s that I know I am a very good stylist. I’m disappointed that I wasn’t able to work as much as I wanted today, but that’s only because I love my job. I’m moving not only to live more freely in a new city, but to learn. I want to become the best in my craft that I can possibly be. That isn’t something I can accomplish here. I need more. But for now, I’m going to have to deal with being alone. Deal with hateful words and looks. Deal with fear and self doubt. Of second guessing and biting my tongue until it bleeds.

I can try. I will try. I’ll rebuild my armor and take each day as it comes. I may wallow in self pity a bit, but I’ll try to keep it to a minimum and away from anyone it can hurt. I don’t want to be a drag. Someone fetch me a crown, I need to try that “queen” thing.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Siiiiigh and YAAAAAY!

Hey bloggies!  I've been instructed to let all of you know that I'm alive.  I'm alive!  And having a great time.  Today was slubby chill out day which I needed.  We've spent an inordinate amount of time trolling resale shops and getting wicked deals which I am most excited about.  I'd wear my new jeans, but I'm afraid of lingering bugs and venereal diseases.  That's one souvenir I can do without.

So, Revolver was amazing!  The manager was incredibly nice and so helpful.  I am now armed with email addresses and more optimism than I'm accustomed to having at any point ever ever.  I'm not sure what to do with myself.  Do I dance exuberantly to the incessant Korean pop music to which I'm being exposed/subjected?  Do I toast my good fortune with copious cups of wine?  What do people do when they're happy?  Plant a tree?  Change their oil?  None of those things sound appropriate.  How about I bask a bit, read some more, go do a bit of book shopping tomorrow and generally enjoy myself and my friends?  That sounds awesome.

I've also managed to squeeze in some hair cutting which makes me happy.  Damn all this happy!  What the hell?!  I am a flailing squid of joy!

To temper all of this unbearable exuberance with wistful sighs about my departure.  I imagine limb severing would be slightly more dramatic, but not by much!  Okay, by a lot, but it's still pretty freaking sad!

More details coming soon and more obnoxious grinning and giggling balanced by the usual whining that I can't control.  Must be that bad attitude of mine.     

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The usual mess: In which Xanax and sister murder are involved

So, like, prom was totally awesome! I may have let Jimmy Johnson get to second base in the back of his dad’s Mustang, but I totes didn’t let him get any further! I’m not a slut! And the damn zipper of my dress wouldn’t go all the way down. God, you’d think they teen-pregnancy-proofed the freaking things. Lame.

Ahem. Sorry. Got a little young adult caught in my throat. Let me get that out with some scotch and bourbon and wine and beer and did you know it was tax season?! Rapture.

So, like, prom was totally awesome and my girls were so sweet. Unlike the heathen whore from hell the stylist next to me had to wrestle. Girls, if you plan on going to prom in your new $700 dress (if we didn’t hear this once, we heard it fifty times), please take a double dose of Xanax before leaving the house. Also, if it makes you feel better, kill your parents and siblings before coming to the salon because obviously any problem you seem to be having can be laid entirely at their dreadful feet. Limo isn’t long enough? Stab them with an ice-pick. Didn’t buy enough hair extensions? Rip out their eyeballs with a rusty spoon. Your twin sister exists and is in the same building as you? Burn down the building with her tied to a chair. Unless that building is the salon in which I am working. Then let me leave first.

Crazy bitches aside, prom was totally awesome. Here’s photographic evidence of a few lovely ladies who didn’t deserve to be drowned at birth!

Cheyenne's floral arrangement

Vincey's messy bun thingy

I had a few other girls whose pictures I put up on Facebook if you’d like to take a gander.

The second girl, Vincey (Vinci? Vency? Vyncyie?), was one of the most adorable girls I’ve ever met. She was attached to one of the most blissfully oblivious mothers I had seen in a while who nicely asked if I had time to do a manicure, pedicure, a haircut, and a perm also. In my spare time. On prom day. After arriving 20 minutes late. Aw. Cute. I could hear her daughter mentally facedesking as I gently told her there was no chance in hell of that happening on any planet in any solar system in any dimension ever ever ever.


Freaking. Out. For several reasons besides the fact that it seems like I’m always freaking out which I swear I’m not, it’s just this blog. I sit down, I start thinking about things, and I freak out. What was I saying?


That’s right. So I’ve tried to contact a few salons to let them know I’m coming and to send them my super awesome website linked herehere, and here. Ok, not the last one. Gotcha!

By “try to contact” I mean “these salons have no effing email and their Facebook pages suck and calling is, trust me on this one, pointless and what the actual hell.”  Soooooo apparently my tactic has gone from a cute introduction email to walking into the salon and annoying the front desk person and meekly placing a business card in their reception area and slinking away in defeat. Realistically. Hopefully I’ll have the balls to march up and slap my hand on the desk and say, “Kiss the hands of a master, bitches! It’s only $20 a smooch!” as my friend Nicole suggested. Isn’t she sweet? She’s sweet.

I suppose I’ll print a portfolio (haha) consisting of my crappy iPhone shots and hope I can beg someone to pay me some attention. Sigh. It sucks to be so southern you’re crippled by politeness sometimes. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry, I don’t want to waste your time but could ya’ll um lookie here at these here pictures I’ve printed off and I don’t want to be a bother oh gawd nevermind I’m sorry ya’ll I’ll let myself out ya’ll have a nice day.” My friend will have to kick my ass all the way to the front door of the shop, I can feel it.

My heart is still set on Revolver. Well, initially it was set on working for Eric Alt, but reality booted me in the head and I realized that wasn’t going to happen so NOW I’m set on Revolver. I’ll see how much I can annoy them in a one week span of time and bend them to my will.

Breaking good news: I may be in a new more Jessica-friendly salon here in Ozark in four weeks. Cross those fingers and pray those prayers.

Finally, I’d like to give a big thank you to all of the nice comments last week. My arthritis is doing a bit better which is great. I’m still not running any marathons, but at least I’m not swinging from a bell-pull a la hunchback. Who am I kidding? I couldn’t have even accomplished that. It would’ve been a halfhearted push then a long drop and a sudden stop.

And coming soon: A thesis on Why Johnny Weir Needs to Start a Vlog on Youtube. It’s coming ya’ll, it’s coming.

Friday, April 8, 2011

I (make others) feel pretty!

It’s that time of year. That’s right, it’s ~~*PROM!*~~  Ah, prom. A wonderful time of year for hairdressers. A really bad time of year for parents' wallets. I remember my first and only prom. I spent most of the day doing other girls' makeup then getting a really bad updo at my aunt’s salon (read previous post concerning my views on family as stylists even if said family happens to be a licensed cosmetologist) then slipping into a $300 dress I’d never wear again to go to the school cafeteria and sit for about an hour judging people and shooting nasty looks at the girl across from me who was dating the boy I liked then begging my date (who wasn’t really much of a date, just a friend to whom I felt no physical attraction at all ick yuck no) to take me home. Oh, to be a teenager again!

Actually, now that I’m nearing my 30’s (jumping Jesus on a stick I’m getting old!) I really enjoy prom! Not like that. I don't go.  I mean, I have no problem dating younger men and there was this one guy who came into the shop this week straight from History class that was woooooow AHEM! Not like that! I’m just in it for the hair. It’s one of the few times of the year that I can do marvelous updos and fancypants makeup and throw glitter at people and not get yelled at or sued.

This year I’m going to try to take some decent pictures for once. No more iPhone blur shots. So hopefully I’ll have a lot of new content coming in soon at my lovely fantabulous website that doesn’t look like it was photographed from a speeding vehicle.

In other news, my resume is still one sentence. It’s even hard for me to write more sentences about my lack of sentences.

Also my nerves have reached critical mass with my body starting to take the brunt of the abuse. Because of my stupid-ass disease (honestly, I’ll talk about it eventually, but it’s so gross let’s keep putting it off) any time I get freaked out either my ulcers flare up or my arthritis kicks in. Fate has delivered… drum roll please… ARTHRITIS! And with only one week until my trip to New York (aaaaaaahhhhhhhh excite!) I will be creeping along the streets like a 70-year-old ex-football player. But not to fret, readers! There is hope upon the horizon. Maybe. Possibly? I mean, at least now I feel like I have some options thanks to some good friends with connections, where as before I felt like a rat with one leg in a trap and some dude coming at me with a knife. A move may be in my future. Let’s just hope it’s sooner than later or I’m going to run out of knee braces, wrist wraps, Bengay, and heating pads. Oh yeah. Sexy.

Everyone remember to go visit my friend Binky and her cutesy-boot Johnny Approved blog and don’t forget to leave your comments below. In parting, I present to you a video from the Vlog Brothers. My disease is very similar to Hank’s and I actually used to take the medication he is ranting about. My prescription also went up an unexpected 30% this month. And like him I am self-employed and with my pre-existing condition I am uninsurable. Imma go build my new bookshelf, stock it, dump everything out, and start again. Let’s see if that works to soothe the savage beast.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Résumés and Animal Sacrifice

I’m going back to local work salon thingy tomorrow and the only thing I can think is ABORT ABORT FUBAR RUN AWAY RUN AWAY which probably isn’t a good sign.

I have a lot (A LOT) of clients booked for the next month or so and I can’t exactly just quit working because my boss is insane and my building owner is a sadist. On the path to FUBAR situation escape, I’ve redoubled my online job hunting which is a bit difficult. It’s hard for several reasons, one of which is that I’ve never seen so many options in my life. I feel like the spoiled child sitting on a pile of candy crying because she doesn’t know where to start. The other is that with salons, until you walk into one, you never know what you’re going to get. Where have I heard that before?

After all of my looking and Yelping I have noticed that my friend’s suggestion of the uber cool salon Revolver is still my favorite. It’s always nice when your friends know and understand you. Sometimes better than you know yourself.

Realizing that time is starting to slip away, I have started writing an intro letter that I can email to various salons. I need to introduce myself and let possible employers know that I am entering the area, scissors ablaze. And I must do this while not letting them know how horribly desperate I am for a job. I’ll sweep everyone’s hair. Be the shampoo girl. Clean drains. I’ll scrub the toilets. I’ll assist for the third assistant’s assistant. I’ll allow myself to be fondled, but only by gays because otherwise it’d be really weird.

I have to tell you, my letter is leaning on the desperate side. I’m not the most duplicitous person and I can’t pretend to be cool even in writing. If anything, my nerdiness flourishes beautifully when watered by words I can spell, but can’t quite pronounce. Thus the beauty of writing and also the trap that is inherent in the mechanism. God, someone stop me.

Also, I need to print a professional looking portfolio. The problem arises that the pictures I have are ones that I have taken with my phone and they kinda suck. I mean, because I have an amazing website with a great photo section, I can email my awesome website to various salons, but it’s good to come with pictures on hand. I assume. I have no idea! I’ve never done this before! Why can’t someone just psychically know that I’m coming to the Astoria region and call me (also psychically knowing my phone number because… they’re psychic) and say, “Jessica Lane Jones, we have felt upon the wind your arrival! The hair falling to the floor spells your name then ignites like a phoenix! The spilled innards of our sacrifices cry out to us and beg, nay demand, that we summon you to our salon for employment! Will you grant us the honor?” And I’ll be all like, “Listen, I am not sure about the spilled innards thing, but if you have a place for me, I’ll seriously consider your offer.” Because you can’t look to desperate.

Did that sound desperate? Should I just email my blog?

Also, also, also I noticed that my wee blog has been read over 400 times! Which resulted in me making small high pitched noises that made the puppies pee a bit. You know, between them trying to eat my face off with their needle teeth. I want to say thank you so much to all of you for reading. If you have any comments, please leave them in the dobbly-doo below and if you live in the New York area and have an amazing salon you think I should work at, let me know! Chicken gutters need not apply.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

In Which I Cry A Lot

I was told today by two of the most morally bankrupt, universally hated people I know that I have a bad attitude and poor work ethic. I'm going to choose to view this as a compliment!

So, yeah, my day was full of suck wherein I silently took a great deal of undeserved abuse mostly centered around my character, something I can not, and should not, have to change and then I cried all over my clients. I pride myself on my professionalism, but today I didn’t have it in me to be stoic and had a wee moment of vulnerability. I was pleasantly reminded that while the world is full of horrible people, it is equally filled with kind hearts and soft shoulders on which to cry and maybe wipe your nose a bit. My clients are wonderful.

After bawling and venting and being genuinely confused by human nature, I came home and watched the amazing Vlog Brothers on the Youtubes and was cheered immensely. By immensely I mean I stopped dripping on the keyboard and was able to eek out that little crooked half choked smile you get when you’re crying but want to smile and it gets stuck half way in between.

Today I was also reminded of the blessing great fathers provide. My step-father, on discovering from my mother the pile of suck I was mired in and from whom the mire was originating from, rushed to my place of work to offer a hug and the promise of physical violence to any and all that dare make his daughter cry. He didn’t say this in so many words, but the vein pulsing in his forehead spoke volumes.

The reason this small act means so much to me is that my birth father is a horrible little bully of a man similar to the one I had to cower to today. And actually looking back I now realize that the horrible man today used physical intimidation by invading my space with a truly creepy and victorious look in his eye that I wasn’t afraid of then, but oh god looking back I should have been. That doesn’t say much for my survival instincts. New York here I come! Is that a kitten in your van, mister!? Is that… Is that CANDY?!

My step-father/best most amazing man ever gave me the comfort and strength I needed to get through today, along with my mother who TWEETED for the first time to tell me to inform said bullies to “go straight to hell”. Ah I loves her.

And with that love and support I was able to move past the shame that others had tried to force upon me and realize that, ya know what, I’m awesome. And I plan to make something of myself. Actually, I plan to make a whole hell of a lot of myself and do whatever it takes to get as far away from hatred and drama and negativity as possible. That isn’t me. I’m a mellow, relaxed woman who’s passionate about my work and my education and who refuses to be squashed by soulless monsters out to hurt those they’re either threatened by or who confuse them. I will use their negativity to fuel the rocket ship I’m using to get to the top and may the flames fry off their eyebrows.

I know that I have the support of some pretty amazing people and while I may not get to speak to them as often as I’d like, or live near them to give them the hugs they deserve every day, their approval means more to me than anyone else’s disapproval. One of whom is one of the most well regarded stylists in the country. He said I’m pretty good. I’ll take that.

Also, we got puppies! In our family apparently a crap day equals puppies! Welcome Butter and Mocha to the herd.

On that note I will remind all of you of the Vlog Brother’s motto: Don’t Forget To Be Awesome.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

I'm like totally awesome

In this week’s blog, I would like to delve into the world of coolness and how I have none.

Recently I’ve started almost looking for salons in New York to work for. I say almost, because I loathe job hunting. I suppose I’ve been very lucky over the years to have been sought out at all of my places of employment and have only sent out one actual resume. I wanted so badly to work in Ozark’s only cool clothing store. I was not offered a position. I am afraid I will also be denied employment at the tragically hip salon my friend suggested I check out.

The salon is called Revolver and they have several shops around New York and most conveniently a salon in the immediate area where we are planning to live. I put off checking them out for a few days, dragging my feet and hemming and hawing, only to be proven correct in that, oh wow, this may not be the place for me.

It’s not that Revolver isn’t amazing because it seems like they are. The mega nifty moving illustration they have at the top of their webpage makes my knees sweat. It’s not that they don’t offer to clients all of the services in which I specialize because they do that as well. The prices are pleasantly high without being utterly outrageous. My friend also said that they have a wonderful energy and seem to genuinely care about the client and each other which is something that is very important to me.

On the surface, Revolver seems like a perfect fit. The only thing is, I’m a dork. Normally I kind of own this. I’m not ashamed to wear my Monty Python’s The Holy Grail t-shirt with obscure references. So what if I sport the same pair of beat up leather Chuck Taylors to work every day because they’re ergonomic and I have high arches. I may have also spent a large chuck of Wednesday night on Twitter constructing a make believe Star Wars alternative reality involving figure skaters as the main characters. I know what an MMORPG is. While all of these lovely quirks were once a badge of pride, I am now forced to see them as they are: badges of dorkdom.

Of course, I must not limit myself to only one choice for employment. I’m sure there are other hip salons willing to hire a five year stylist who has been working in the same salon in the same tiny town since forever. But oh boy, this place looks really keen. It’s always possible that they’ll look past my massive lack of experience or impressive references to the inner me that I’m obviously going to have to make up to get the job.

I’ve never had to create a persona before. I mean, what should I wear? Do I have to take off my Family Guy shirt? Do I need to buy Louboutins? Do I get points for knowing what a Louboutin is?

I suppose it comes down to whether or not I have the balls to simply be myself and hope that what I have to offer is enough or be realistic and realize that I am woefully inadequate in the awesome department and work at a Fantastic Sams.  Is being cool something that can be learned?  Maybe I can find a how-to book.

Or not...

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Pageantry and Facedesking

This week was interesting. By interesting I mean really unpleasant! But as any good artist knows, I am going to turn my pain into your entertainment. I'm like Taylor Swift only with less sex appeal.

For those of you who go to hairstylists, which I assume is the majority of humanity, may I request on behalf of your loyal hairdresser to PLEASE call 24 hours in advance of your bailing on us and ruining our day. Eight no shows this week. Silver lining, I did get a lot of reading done. Glass half full. Of booze.

And speaking of hair and silver linings, I assisted a lovely girl named Victoria in her high school pageant last weekend. And we WON! Yes, I say “we”. Don’t judge me. She and I have done this bloody high school pageant for years always placing in the top three, but never winning. Well, we aren’t losers anymore!

Victoria Victorious

Helping Victoria and other girls with their various school, fair, chili cook-off, and motorcycle club pageants is the closest I’ve ever come to such a spectacle. Actually, while I was in school I don’t recall realizing such things existed. Of course, I knew what Miss Ozark High School was, but as far as having friends that participated or, shudder to think, myself competing, it was well beyond me. Not my kind of crowd. That I now lend a hand to girls in what I had before thought of as a meat parade is just zany. I have also come to find that they’re actually quite fun! As long as your girl isn’t a bitch. Important fact: you definitely want to work with Miss Congeniality.

In preparation for the event, the girls had practiced for weeks on their walks and… twirls and… Ok, honestly I’m just there for the hair. All that other business is still a mystery to me and can remain as such. Though my impact is relatively small, I still get dreadfully nervous before an event and I have to remind myself that they’re the ones up on stage being judged and smiling so hard you can hear their makeup crack. Mind you, they’re up on stage with my hair on their heads. One misplaced bobby pin and the entire thing explodes. Judges loose eyes, the girl stumbles off stage in humiliation. Yeah, no pressure on me at all.

This year was a bit different. For whatever reason, the other girls apparently decided that fixing their hair or even brushing their hair, putting on their makeup neatly, bathing, and so forth, were not requirements. I have never seen a motlier group of girls. One of the poor things had all three of her sisters working on her, each one looking like a freshly released inmate from Alcatraz. Another had decided to eschew Spanx for saran wrap. One young lady was complaining about her shift at Hooters. At any moment I was waiting for girls to start hiking up their dresses to flash their tattoos. Oh wait, the girl from Hooters did just that. It was a butterfly. Very sophisticated.

So there I am, quietly spraying my girls boobs with Elmer’s craft glue to keep her dress in place thinking, “These hoes are going down.” For once my bitchy inner monologue was correct! Victoria sashayed to the top and won with flying colors. I almost felt sorry for the other girls. Almost. Remembering all the years of nasty looks I’ve endured from the other stylists (a term I use loosely in regard to family being employed to assist), the heartbreak of first runner-up, and watching girls with more money and political pull win over the less socially adept beauties I stopped feeling quite so sympathetic.

I’m going to choose to hold this memory to my heart and pretend the rest of the week didn’t happen. For photographic evidence, please check out my Facebook Album and notice the wee “like” from Mr. Eric Alt, my stylist hero. That alone kinda made my month.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Oh it's all so bad

It has been a very rough couple of days.  This blog's intention is to share with you what it takes for a small town girl to move her entire life to New York. That should entail full disclosure. The good, the bad, and the fashionably crippled. Sometimes it isn't all good.  Sometimes even being fashionably crippled seems like a minor annoyance and if you know me, that big annoyance would have to be pretty huge to make fashion an afterthought.

As a matter of fact, the annoyance is quite large.  My move is hitting some snags.  Unavoidable and truly no ones fault, but there they are.  Big ugly snags.  Moving may be delayed by a month, possibly more, possibly less.  Everything is up in the air, a state that I loathe. 

But as with all things, something beautiful may come out of something ugly.  This unraveling has shown me that I am not taking nearly enough responsibility for my own life.  One of the many things that endless hours of therapy has taught me is that we all must depend on ourselves first because when it comes down to it, we are all that we've got.  So to regain a sense of self, I’m going to start working harder on facing my fears and being responsible for my own life.

After taking a long walk today, letting my ears rest from phones and television, the pervasive hum of the computer, I was able to ask myself what was really upsetting me.  I’m moving to a city that I love to live with a friend I adore.  What’s not to love about that?  No, I will not be familiar with my surroundings, but I will be in time.

I have lived a fishbowl my entire life.  Ozark is all I have ever known.  This small town and its inhabitants and my family are the only people I’ve spent a great deal of time with.  I haven’t had that time to wean myself by moving to a city that’s not too close and not too far to start anew like most people.  At 27, I am coming to a phase in my life that most people meet ten years prior.  With me though, that’s par for the course.  For whatever reason I have always seemed to come to things later than others.  I am a wonderful one for avoidance.  Only I can’t do that any more.  Not and be able to move forward in the direction I want my life to take.

In facing my fears I realize that they are relatively minor.  For someone with phobias it is harder, but perspective is important.  Of course, with the tragedy in Japan and the Middle East, worrying about where you’re going to work or when you're going to arrive in an unfamiliar city seems beyond trivial.  None the less, it is my life and it is immediate to me.  And again, my fears can be summed up as where am I going to work and live in one of the greatest cities on earth.  As far as fears go, that’s not too bad.  The more frightening aspect of how I plan to support myself and what will I do if I’m faced with going this alone are very difficult for me to confront and would scare anyone.  I imagine.  I mean, honestly, I do not want to have to go buy that duck.

So yeah as soon as I figure all this mess out I’ll let you know.  Ugh, how horrible and serious.  I can’t end on this note.  Here, watch something irreverent!  That has to do with hair!  Sort of!

Do not try this at home.  Please.  I need a job.