Pam Pastor's Blog, page 4

Oh blue, you aren’t so bad.

My blue hair started growing on me today. I guess it helped that I wore a blue shirt. And that I painted my nails blue. And that I got a haircut. And that the cut ended with a perfect blowout.



I like my blowout.



I asked Jill, “If you get really really really insanely rich, what would your biggest luxury be?”



And she said, “I want a beach house.”



That’s cool. I’d definitely hang out at her beach house. But I don’t want my own. I don’t want cars, big houses, planes and my own island.



You know what I want?



I want one of those salon shampoo chairs and I want someone to come in and give me a salon shampoo every day.



You know what else I want? Someone to fill my iPod with songs I’ve forgotten I love. When I hear songs on the radio, I keep going, “Holy crap, why don’t I have that in my iPod?” And then I completely forget about them again. I just want to be able to shuffle without skipping over any song.



I was up until 5 a.m. working on an article and after I slammed my laptop shut I settled back with my new copy of Nick and Norah’s Playlist. I am reading two Cohn + Levithan novels at the same time. Dash and Lily, Nick and Norah. Both for the second time. And no, I’m not getting confused, even though in my head both couples are Michael Cera and Kat Dennings.



I love Kat Dennings. And Michael Cera.



This week is bound to be busy, the good kind of busy, the kind that makes you want to run around and hug people and scream, “Life is awesome!”



There is a lot of awesomeness in the world.



And right now, awesomeness is a big tub of popcorn which I need to make.

Oh blue, you aren't so bad.

My blue hair started growing on me today. I guess it helped that I wore a blue shirt. And that I painted my nails blue. And that I got a haircut. And that the cut ended with a perfect blowout.



I like my blowout.



I asked Jill, "If you get really really really insanely rich, what would your biggest luxury be?"



And she said, "I want a beach house."



That's cool. I'd definitely hang out at her beach house. But I don't want my own. I don't want cars, big houses, planes and my own island.



You know what I want?



I want one of those salon shampoo chairs and I want someone to come in and give me a salon shampoo every day.



You know what else I want? Someone to fill my iPod with songs I've forgotten I love. When I hear songs on the radio, I keep going, "Holy crap, why don't I have that in my iPod?" And then I completely forget about them again. I just want to be able to shuffle without skipping over any song.



I was up until 5 a.m. working on an article and after I slammed my laptop shut I settled back with my new copy of Nick and Norah's Playlist. I am reading two Cohn + Levithan novels at the same time. Dash and Lily, Nick and Norah. Both for the second time. And no, I'm not getting confused, even though in my head both couples are Michael Cera and Kat Dennings.



I love Kat Dennings. And Michael Cera.



This week is bound to be busy, the good kind of busy, the kind that makes you want to run around and hug people and scream, "Life is awesome!"



There is a lot of awesomeness in the world.



And right now, awesomeness is a big tub of popcorn which I need to make.

I’m blue.

And I mean that literally and figuratively.



I’m sad because my hair is blue.



It’s not purple, it’s not blurple, it’s god damn blue.



And it was supposed to be purple. The label on the bottle said “deep purple,” for fuck’s sake. And I’ve been using that brand and that shade for years. For years. But apparently, they decided to change the formula. And the formula wants everyone to have blue hair. So much for democracy and the freedom of choice.



It smells different too.



And I thought yesterday’s low point would be the ten minutes I spent on that elliptical machine, otherwise known as the machine of death. By the time I stepped off, my legs were rubber. I have no idea how I managed to walk across the gym to get to the stairs.



The truth is, I only go through cardio to get to the best part – boxing. And I have to admit, despite the exhaustion and aches and pains, it was fun brushing the dust off my gloves.



After boxing yesterday, I headed straight for my hair dresser who, luckily, was willing to wait for me past closing time. I sat in his chair for three hours, getting bleached, getting dyed, watching TV, restocking my Tiny Tower, getting reacquainted with Nick and Norah, talking about his past love.



I left his salon with blue hair.



It’s probably going to turn purple after I take a bath, I thought, thinking that the color just looked blue because it was so intense.



But when I turned on the shower, I started dripping blue. The suds turned purple when I shampooed, giving me hope. Yes! Yes! Yes! That’s more like it! I thought, as the purple suds covered the floor, making the bathroom look like a purple crime scene.



I stepped out of the shower, got dressed and the first thing Giff told me when he saw me was, “Beks, your hair is blue.”



Insert your favorite expletive here.



When the plan is Grimace and you are turned into Cookie Fucking Monster, I think you have the right to want to punch something.



But I didn’t. I am trying to be mellow about it (yes, this is mellow). When life gives you blue hair, you drink lemonade. But there was no lemonade to be found. So I grabbed a Hoegaarden and I drank it in a cup with ice. Beer. In a cup. With ice. And I didn’t even finish the whole thing. When did I become such a wuss?



When I had blue hair, that’s when.



RIP, Raw Hair Dye. We had some good times. But I am now switching to Manic Panic.

I'm blue.

And I mean that literally and figuratively.



I'm sad because my hair is blue.



It's not purple, it's not blurple, it's god damn blue.



And it was supposed to be purple. The label on the bottle said "deep purple," for fuck's sake. And I've been using that brand and that shade for years. For years. But apparently, they decided to change the formula. And the formula wants everyone to have blue hair. So much for democracy and the freedom of choice.



It smells different too.



And I thought yesterday's low point would be the ten minutes I spent on that elliptical machine, otherwise known as the machine of death. By the time I stepped off, my legs were rubber. I have no idea how I managed to walk across the gym to get to the stairs.



The truth is, I only go through cardio to get to the best part – boxing. And I have to admit, despite the exhaustion and aches and pains, it was fun brushing the dust off my gloves.



After boxing yesterday, I headed straight for my hair dresser who, luckily, was willing to wait for me past closing time. I sat in his chair for three hours, getting bleached, getting dyed, watching TV, restocking my Tiny Tower, getting reacquainted with Nick and Norah, talking about his past love.



I left his salon with blue hair.



It's probably going to turn purple after I take a bath, I thought, thinking that the color just looked blue because it was so intense.



But when I turned on the shower, I started dripping blue. The suds turned purple when I shampooed, giving me hope. Yes! Yes! Yes! That's more like it! I thought, as the purple suds covered the floor, making the bathroom look like a purple crime scene.



I stepped out of the shower, got dressed and the first thing Giff told me when he saw me was, "Beks, your hair is blue."



Insert your favorite expletive here.



When the plan is Grimace and you are turned into Cookie Fucking Monster, I think you have the right to want to punch something.



But I didn't. I am trying to be mellow about it (yes, this is mellow). When life gives you blue hair, you drink lemonade. But there was no lemonade to be found. So I grabbed a Hoegaarden and I drank it in a cup with ice. Beer. In a cup. With ice. And I didn't even finish the whole thing. When did I become such a wuss?



When I had blue hair, that's when.



RIP, Raw Hair Dye. We had some good times. But I am now switching to Manic Panic.

Purplexing

Guess what.



My hair is still black.



I thought I'd be dripping purple by now but no. My meeting started too late, the damn salon refused to wait and now I'm rhyming like an idiot. An idiot with black hair.



So instead, I ate salad, pork chops, a lot of vegetables and spent Friday night in the supermarket.



That's how you know you're getting old. Screw partying, let me hang out here by the dairy section.



It was enjoyable, it really was.



So the trip to the salon has been moved to tomorrow – but not at the original salon. Because if you're bitchy, you don't get my money. (Please, God, make the rhyming stop.)



And after the salon trip, I will dust off my gloves and start boxing again.



Purple dye and punches. I can't wait.

Big banging

Today was one of those days that make me wish I had at least ten pairs of hands and five heads.



There were just too many things that needed to be done – watch pages, finish articles, conduct survey, call people, reply to people, e-mail people, phone interview, caption photos, choose winners, tag prizes, pick up package, ship package, send gift, fix schedule, find dye, clean out bag, and on and on and on.



And that juggling act becomes even harder when what you really want to do is watch The Big Bang Theory.



And update your Tiny Tower.



Some things needed to be sacrificed so I ate just once the whole day. It was remarkable – I swallowed four dumplings while typing. And I skipped my much-needed pedicure.



But some things cannot be sacrificed, not if you want to keep your sanity. So I watched The Big Bang Theory in the car. Yes, while in traffic.



It's always essential to keep your priorities straight.

One day I’ll be Xena

How the hell are you doing it, Tony Pierce? You still blog like it’s 2003. And I’m jealous.



They’re all gone. Mad Pony. Goobita. Sepi. Duke Kim. Some have had babies, some completely disappeared. But you, you’re still here. Congratulations, you’re the last man standing.



And I’m glad you are. But haven’t you been lonely?



Today I went to watch the Smurfs movie. It was totally what I expected – a Chipmunks movie with little blue people instead of squirrels. And that makes me kinda sad because I have a strange attachment to the Smurfs. They deserve so much better. But really, what kind of movie can you write for the Smurfs?



They could have exploited Smurfette’s potential sluttiness. But that wouldn’t be too kid-friendly.



Two Halloweens ago, I promised myself I’d be Smurfette for the following Halloween. That didn’t happen. There was no exploitation of sluttiness. I became a bee instead – a freezing bee in the West Village Halloween Parade. I wonder what I’d be this year.



A zombie-seeking plant. Super Mario. Xena. I’ve always wanted to be Xena.



Last week I was interviewing someone and as we were nearing the end of an almost two-hour conversation, he stopped and said, “What about you, Pam? Tell me about yourself.” And it completely threw me off. Because that never happens. You usually get there, switch on your recorder, ask the questions, let them talk about themselves, switch off your recorder and leave.



It was so unusual that I ended up stammering. I’m 30, I’ve been doing this for 13 years.



But I should have talked about wanting to be Xena. Or how I’m freaked out because my beer limit has hit an all-time low of one bottle. Or that I finally watched The Bodyguard for the first time and kept wishing someone would just shoot Whitney Houston because her character was so goddamn annoying. Or that I can’t fire Katy Perry from my Tiny Tower even if she wants to work in a tattoo parlor and I don’t have one. Or how I just ordered a new Helmer even though I promised to stick to just one. Or how I always feel breathless when I’m inside book stores. And that I am currently obsessing over Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. Or that I made cheese pimiento like my grandmother makes it and it made me so happy. Or that I thought I would burst because Rachael Yamagata sent me a sweet message about my book. And that I should really finish the next one. Or that I am now sweating on the world’s softest carpet. Or that I’m dyeing my hair purple again on Friday. Finally.

One day I'll be Xena

How the hell are you doing it, Tony Pierce? You still blog like it's 2003. And I'm jealous.



They're all gone. Mad Pony. Goobita. Sepi. Duke Kim. Some have had babies, some completely disappeared. But you, you're still here. Congratulations, you're the last man standing.



And I'm glad you are. But haven't you been lonely?



Today I went to watch the Smurfs movie. It was totally what I expected – a Chipmunks movie with little blue people instead of squirrels. And that makes me kinda sad because I have a strange attachment to the Smurfs. They deserve so much better. But really, what kind of movie can you write for the Smurfs?



They could have exploited Smurfette's potential sluttiness. But that wouldn't be too kid-friendly.



Two Halloweens ago, I promised myself I'd be Smurfette for the following Halloween. That didn't happen. There was no exploitation of sluttiness. I became a bee instead – a freezing bee in the West Village Halloween Parade. I wonder what I'd be this year.



A zombie-seeking plant. Super Mario. Xena. I've always wanted to be Xena.



Last week I was interviewing someone and as we were nearing the end of an almost two-hour conversation, he stopped and said, "What about you, Pam? Tell me about yourself." And it completely threw me off. Because that never happens. You usually get there, switch on your recorder, ask the questions, let them talk about themselves, switch off your recorder and leave.



It was so unusual that I ended up stammering. I'm 30, I've been doing this for 13 years.



But I should have talked about wanting to be Xena. Or how I'm freaked out because my beer limit has hit an all-time low of one bottle. Or that I finally watched The Bodyguard for the first time and kept wishing someone would just shoot Whitney Houston because her character was so goddamn annoying. Or that I can't fire Katy Perry from my Tiny Tower even if she wants to work in a tattoo parlor and I don't have one. Or how I just ordered a new Helmer even though I promised to stick to just one. Or how I always feel breathless when I'm inside book stores. And that I am currently obsessing over Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. Or that I made cheese pimiento like my grandmother makes it and it made me so happy. Or that I thought I would burst because Rachael Yamagata sent me a sweet message about my book. And that I should really finish the next one. Or that I am now sweating on the world's softest carpet. Or that I'm dyeing my hair purple again on Friday. Finally.