The perils of modern life: Please enjoy this long not-published joyful anecdote about life in the Big City.
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Life in NYC is a series of swift, sweet highs and (sometimes) depressingly low lows. Or is that life? That probably applies to life in general.
BEHOLD:
The High:
Last night after work I took myself to get a laser facial. (Ho ho ho)
As an important aside: With t-minus 79 days to the wedding, I'm booking everything and anything that claims to impart a 24/7 post-coital glow. This was my second trip to Skin Laundry and you know what? It's pretty nice. I did an intro package for $150 but I will NOT be able to swing the full price weekly sessions they recommend. Does this merit a full post?
ANYWAY I skipped out, skin freshly laundered, radiating from that hurts-so-good zap. Was it the lasers shot at my brain? The misty, anticipatory electricity in the air? Whatever it was—I felt in sync with the city. So aliiiiive.
I did my usual muscling down onto the L platform and practically Hills Are Alive'd with happiness until the shiny silver carriage whisked me home, where I ordered delicious Thai food delivered to my bed while gleefully watching My Love From Another Star because GODDAMN this is New York City—The Big Apple!—baby. Amen!
The Low:
This morning I dutifully dragged myself off to Bar Method at 6:45 AM. The nice thing about early commuting is I can sometimes get a seat and, aside from the rogue dickhead construction worker, people usually leave me alone. Ohhh trololol not today.
As I waited to exit at Spring Street, the little old lady in front of me took a beat longer than usual to go through the door turnstile. So the lady behind me, rather than OH I DON'T KNOW, WAITING, decided to shove herself into my single person-sized turnstile cage wedge. Of course she didn't pull her purse through fast enough. Of course.
There we were, stuck like rats.
In the few minutes we were trapped, I had time enough to do the following: 1. realize, with my un coffee-addled brain, that I couldn't extricate myself because this complete and total dumbass here, 2. softly and sadly say out loud to no one in particular, "well, we are trapped," 3. tell the rat bastard I couldn't "go back" as she was demanding, because the turnstiles don't let people INTO the subway for free, and 4. watch a good Samaritan tug the lady's purse out so I could go on my merry (not merry. NOT merry) way.
What a world. What. A. World.
Showing posts with label beauty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beauty. Show all posts
Friday, July 31, 2015
Saturday, September 20, 2014
The Bright Side
At the end of the day, I blame Pinterest.
Here and there, innocently enough, pale girls with blinding white blonde hair appeared in my feed like little peroxide pixies. Their makeup popped, their clothes looked cool, their eyes sparkled with the knowledge that their routines were MUCH higher-maintenance than mine.
I'd been a fan of eccentric, towheaded Harriet from Bright Young Twins for a while—and Gwen Stefani and Debbie Harry obviously—but suddenly, the siren song of platinum-ness warbled.
It was a bullshitty quote from hairstylist Oribe in Allure that did it: Every woman should try platinum at least once.
Yeaaahhhhhhhh! I mean, fuck it. I'm young. What's the worst that could happen? You only YOLO once.
It was decided: I was going to bleach the fuck out of my hair. So I struck out, Odysseus post-Troy. Except my quest was way stupider.
My then-current salon could do a double process in 4ish hours, but it would cost $500, probably. Oh.
Another worthy contender would do the double process for much cheaper, but the stylist was a flake who literally left me out in the cold with a scheduling mixup. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, fuck you, I'm on a QUEST.
I agreed to see a friend's longtime stylist and she ended up being lovely AND affordable. Sold!
The double process took 4-5 hours altogether, from bleaching to toning and glossing. I'd heard horror stories of writhing in pain, peeling skin, burning everywhere, but somehow I ended up winning the scalp lottery.
I did almost keel over with shock when the towel came off and a big, flesh-toned blob of face/hair stared back at me. It took a blow dry, a long, very awkward subway ride home (freshly dyed platinum attracts attention, who knew?) and a little time in front of the mirror for me to fall in luuuuurve.
My hair, which had always been nice—though I say it myself—suddenly became a Thing. It was a lifestyle. I was Khaleesi. Hair floated around me, wispy, damaged, conversation-starting. It could look chic with a cateye, or it could be fashunnn with bright lipstick and a topknot. (Although sans-makeup, I looked like an albino boy.)
I loaded up on coconut oil, deep treatments, keratin spray, purple shampoo. Because bleached hair is so delicate, I only washed it 2-3 times a week. One of those washes, I used purple shampoo to tone down the brassy color. (Side note, that stuff spattered over the walls looks like the murder scene of a beloved children's TV icon.)
Rather than hating the maintenance, I'd camp out in the bathroom and lovingly nourish my desiccated strands. The salon visits were actually cheaper (single process) and happened every 4-6 weeks, same as with highlights.
On the other hand, my beautiful, effortless waves were replaced by a deranged mess, à la Dee Snider, that needed quite a bit of styling to look even half as good as before. Plus, there's the constant breakage. Despite braiding my hair every night, I ended up with baby hairs all around my face.
If the texture were the only issue, I would probably stick it out for a while longer. But for my wedding, I don't want a look. I know white hair would be ethereal and pretty against my skin and dress, but for the big day, I want to be classic and as much "me" as possible.
So I'm going back to a color that's found in nature. Au revior, platinum. We hardly knew ye.
Here and there, innocently enough, pale girls with blinding white blonde hair appeared in my feed like little peroxide pixies. Their makeup popped, their clothes looked cool, their eyes sparkled with the knowledge that their routines were MUCH higher-maintenance than mine.
I'd been a fan of eccentric, towheaded Harriet from Bright Young Twins for a while—and Gwen Stefani and Debbie Harry obviously—but suddenly, the siren song of platinum-ness warbled.
It was a bullshitty quote from hairstylist Oribe in Allure that did it: Every woman should try platinum at least once.
Yeaaahhhhhhhh! I mean, fuck it. I'm young. What's the worst that could happen? You only YOLO once.
It was decided: I was going to bleach the fuck out of my hair. So I struck out, Odysseus post-Troy. Except my quest was way stupider.
My then-current salon could do a double process in 4ish hours, but it would cost $500, probably. Oh.
Another worthy contender would do the double process for much cheaper, but the stylist was a flake who literally left me out in the cold with a scheduling mixup. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, fuck you, I'm on a QUEST.
I agreed to see a friend's longtime stylist and she ended up being lovely AND affordable. Sold!
 |
| "Before" and "Don't mind if I do" |
 |
| "What have I done" and "After" |
I did almost keel over with shock when the towel came off and a big, flesh-toned blob of face/hair stared back at me. It took a blow dry, a long, very awkward subway ride home (freshly dyed platinum attracts attention, who knew?) and a little time in front of the mirror for me to fall in luuuuurve.
I loaded up on coconut oil, deep treatments, keratin spray, purple shampoo. Because bleached hair is so delicate, I only washed it 2-3 times a week. One of those washes, I used purple shampoo to tone down the brassy color. (Side note, that stuff spattered over the walls looks like the murder scene of a beloved children's TV icon.)
Rather than hating the maintenance, I'd camp out in the bathroom and lovingly nourish my desiccated strands. The salon visits were actually cheaper (single process) and happened every 4-6 weeks, same as with highlights.
On the other hand, my beautiful, effortless waves were replaced by a deranged mess, à la Dee Snider, that needed quite a bit of styling to look even half as good as before. Plus, there's the constant breakage. Despite braiding my hair every night, I ended up with baby hairs all around my face.
So I'm going back to a color that's found in nature. Au revior, platinum. We hardly knew ye.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Tada
Tap tap. Is this thing on?
Hello, internet! It is I! I'm back!
Guys, it's been a hell of a year. And look, I feel refreshed and invigorated and I have so much to talk about.
For one thing, I got engaged. I know!
I think I speak for the two of us when I say we're disgustingly, sickeningly in love and we're very excited. I'm consciously deciding to plight my troth to someone until I DIE. It's crazy. But in a good way.
Who would have thought I'd a) fall in love with someone who b) wants to marry me and c) has ACTUALLY asked me to do so without threats or nagging, and d) allowed us to make plans and have stupid discussions like well, should we have a lounge setup? I feel like we need one but, like, we'll have actual chairs anyway and why should we dish out that much extra for a tatty couch people can sit on for maybe whole MINUTES when we could splash out on the croquembouche? I don't know.
As you'd imagine, I have much to say on the subject of weddings and marriage and wedding planning.
In no particular order, I also:
And that's just the things that leap out at me right now. So why did I go radio silent? I guess I was just tired of blogs and blogging. I keep up with hundreds of blogs, from the Gawker empire to the Awl and co, to endless personal ones. One-by-one they've all (maybe minus the Awl) gone from honest, unflinching, creative, funny, raw essays and accounts of people's lives to listicles and sponsored, wooden nonsense. I think lifestyle bloggers, in particular, must feel trapped. They turned blogs into businesses, and now they need to keep using their kids and their personal lives to sell, sell, sell.
I mean, I get it! I work in advertising. Maybe that's why I'm sensitive to it? It's just SO EASY to give a blogger money to shill something to thousands of captive readers. And if someone offered me $5k to profess my love for a product I didn't hate, I might take it.
I'm not in that solar system of blogging, durr, but "blogging" as a Thing is just boring and exhausting, so I stopped. After all, I still write everyday at work. I tweet and 'gram and I journal a bit for myself using OhLife. But this year is going to be CRAZY and I want to put it out there, somewhere, without needing it to be funny and snappy (Twitter) or disguising it as a curated caption (Instagram).
So. That's it, really it. Let's get started, shall we?
Guys, it's been a hell of a year. And look, I feel refreshed and invigorated and I have so much to talk about.
For one thing, I got engaged. I know!
I think I speak for the two of us when I say we're disgustingly, sickeningly in love and we're very excited. I'm consciously deciding to plight my troth to someone until I DIE. It's crazy. But in a good way.
Who would have thought I'd a) fall in love with someone who b) wants to marry me and c) has ACTUALLY asked me to do so without threats or nagging, and d) allowed us to make plans and have stupid discussions like well, should we have a lounge setup? I feel like we need one but, like, we'll have actual chairs anyway and why should we dish out that much extra for a tatty couch people can sit on for maybe whole MINUTES when we could splash out on the croquembouche? I don't know.
As you'd imagine, I have much to say on the subject of weddings and marriage and wedding planning.
In no particular order, I also:
- Lost 40 pounds. I did it through sheer willpower (code: Weight Watchers), sweat, tears and a gym whose monthly dues I sometimes bring up in polite company as a party trick.
- Got LASIK. Ho boy. This is a story.
- Dyed my hair platinum.
- Achieved Sephora VIB AGAIN hashtag whoops.
- Got diagnosed with a... drumroll... wheat allergy! And I'm gluten intolerant, too. That explains a lot.
- Started playing Dungeons and Dragons, because of course I did.
- Took a French class at Coucou Brooklyn.
- Saw some amazing theater and shows and movies.
- Went to four weddings this summer. I was also the maid of honor at my best friend's wedding and saw my other best friend get engaged and start this madness alongside me.
- Helped my parents move from my hometown of Chicago to Boulder, CO.
And that's just the things that leap out at me right now. So why did I go radio silent? I guess I was just tired of blogs and blogging. I keep up with hundreds of blogs, from the Gawker empire to the Awl and co, to endless personal ones. One-by-one they've all (maybe minus the Awl) gone from honest, unflinching, creative, funny, raw essays and accounts of people's lives to listicles and sponsored, wooden nonsense. I think lifestyle bloggers, in particular, must feel trapped. They turned blogs into businesses, and now they need to keep using their kids and their personal lives to sell, sell, sell.
I mean, I get it! I work in advertising. Maybe that's why I'm sensitive to it? It's just SO EASY to give a blogger money to shill something to thousands of captive readers. And if someone offered me $5k to profess my love for a product I didn't hate, I might take it.
I'm not in that solar system of blogging, durr, but "blogging" as a Thing is just boring and exhausting, so I stopped. After all, I still write everyday at work. I tweet and 'gram and I journal a bit for myself using OhLife. But this year is going to be CRAZY and I want to put it out there, somewhere, without needing it to be funny and snappy (Twitter) or disguising it as a curated caption (Instagram).
So. That's it, really it. Let's get started, shall we?
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