Friday, October 07, 2005

Don't You (dada da daDA)...

As is contractually obligated by every Oberlin graduate who relocates to Brooklyn, I am now rocking a homemade haircut complete with bangs and layers and various (artistically) missing chunks destined to make the Aveda kids next door shudder right down to their Diesel sneakers. I don't know how it happened. One minute I was watching hour three of The Tenth Kingom (the best worst ten-hour-long miniseries network television has ever produced), and then next I was standing in the bathroom as a fistful of hair dropped into the sink.

Maybe it was this week's episode of America's Next Top Model that prompted the change. I haven't watched the show at all before Wednesday night, at which point I tuned in because I was promised a tranny-outing. Rumor has it one of their contestants may be hiding her candy, and while this may make for an exciting bikini shoot during some later show, I was given no such gender-bending, "WATCH OUT THIS IS A REALITY TV MINDFUCK!!!!" moment. Instead, a former pageant winner from Texas refused to cut another inch off of her already short hair and decided to leave the competition. The possibility exists that I may have internalized her total pussitude and taken it out on my own head, but whatever the motivation, I'm happy with how my hair wound up. Most importantly, I didn't have to spend even one thin dime on a haircut that inevitably wouldn't have turned out how I wanted it to anyway. I've had more than my share of cuts bungled by either language barriers or evangelical straight hair preachers and I think I'll take care of my own head from now on, thankyouverymuch.

(But if Tyra said cut it, I'd cut it. That's all I'm saying.)

My first week as a tax paying resident of Kings County and the New York City metropolitan area at large has felt like second third of a teen movie in fast forward. Take the "dork" scenes through the "makeover and beginning of rise to popularity" scenes (but stop before the "critical moral error, loss of old true friends, and learning of lesson" final act). New haircut, new bag, a plan for new clothes, access to places I've never been, and an excellent stellastarr* show last night make for the feeling that I'm being sucked face first into some other echelon of society who doesn't have to entertain themselves by hating everyone who walks into Starbucks. It's a good echelon. It's an echelon that probably won't get "that look" frozen on my face. Or sent straight to hell, for that matter.

The other reason I know I've entered Act II of my teen movie is because a new male character has just been introduced.

But he doesn't even know I exist.
Swoon!

And we are so woefully mismatched.
Hijinks!

For real, though, there's just a new dude at the office; a really exciting day around here is when the copier accidentally gets unplugged, so a new possibly eligible bachelor is some serious shit. Even more fascinating is that instead of the typical bespectacled button-down type who tends to flock to scientific publishing, this kid looks like someone who's probably played lots and lots of lacrosse. The jury's still out on whether or not I think he's any kind of a looker, but many of the other women in the company have already turned in their guilty verdicts. For the first three days he was here I heard--at least once an hour--a woman sidle up to his cube to individually offer her welcome and extend a helping hand should he ever need assistance with his computer, the editorial database, his belt, his fly, etc.

When I started working here my boss gave me a bottle of 409 to spray down my desk. That was my welcome in its entirety.

Whatever, this is my teen movie and its high time I rode off in a jock's Camaro towards the dance, even if he does turn out to be a bonehead, or a date rapist, or worse, a chauvinist who wants to squelch my dreams of becoming an artist or some crap. There is also the possibility that I am, actually, three weeks into my season of America's Next Top Model, I just got my makeover, and he's actually a chick.

Either way, scientific publishing is about to get way rad. Gnarly even. Excellent. It'll be the most.

4 Comments:

Anonymous Andrea said...

when do we get to see the haircut? we're adoring fans and whatnot.

9:23 AM  
Anonymous Rebecca said...

I personally think that Coryn is too obviously masculine to really be a tranny waiting to be exposed, but then again, I'd buy it...

I had a dream last night that I cut a few inches off my hair myself and then decided to go to the hairstylist I stopped seeing a little over a year ago to fix it up for me because I wasn't happy about it.

Let's see a picture!

8:53 AM  
Blogger DMo said...

This reads strikingly like the plotline of one teen movie in particular: Sixteen Candles.

This dude's name isn't Jake, is it? And let's be honest -- you only cut your hair because you got it caught in the door while you were drunk and Anthony Michael Hall was trapped in the coffee table, huh?

8:53 AM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Guuuys, I'm your prooom queeen....

I'm not sure what his name is, because the person who used to put the names on the cubes quit. So he very well could be a Jake. Plus, he's rocking a popped collar and pleated khakis, so he's an honorary Jake even if it doesn't say so on his driver's license.

11:09 AM  

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