3 Lessons

As my life spins more and more out of control, and I am collecting all of the life lessons I’ve learned, so that they will serve as a reminder of how exactly I fucked up my 20’s. The three from this weekend:

#1 Do not get drunk and then go to the salon for highlights.

It was 7 nations, the big European thingy for rugby. Granted I am not into the sport that much, but let’s keep in mind I have a small British fetish and I’ve appropriated a cool Welsh friend from one of my MoHos. He schools me in all things UK, including waking up at 9am to cheer on the Welsh team when they went against England. Loving sleep and being chronically late, I missed the game and joined him and his Union Jack friends mid-drunkenness at 1pm.

Of course my desire to drink diet coke and to continue the 12 hours of sobriety that I’d accumulated went out the window with his confusion of my ordering of diet Coke with Rum and Coke. He understood the word Harp well enough. As we know, usually I am very good at scheduling responsibility far away from my bouts of inebriation however, my colorist was going on vacation for three weeks and my signature artificial red hair began to look natural. Left with the only option of a 4:30 Saturday afternoon hair appt. I was left with no choice but to take the it and commit myself to sobriety. But let's be real. My resolve to say no to peer pressure went out the window with the first beer he bought for me at 1pm.

And with the first sip touching my lips as I hung out with a bunch of Cambridge boys, the afternoon was marked.

After drinking for 3.5 hours, I hop into a cab cross town, running late for the appt. I am inside the cab, yelling to the driver to avoid 7th avenue while simultaneously on the phone with Lu, trying to quell her fears that my stress may be manifesting itself into a possible drinking problem.

I walk into the salon, 10 mins late, and present myself to the receptionist.

“Hi, I am here for Mary Lou for 4:30.”

“Sure. She is running a bit late, but have a seat.”

“Hey, dude, uhm, I have a confession to make…I am slightly drunk. You know it was rugby today.”

“Shannon, if you are telling me that you are a little drunk, you probably are a lot drunk. Let me get you some water,” as he says chuckling. I love my salon, PANYC. Go see Mary Lou for highlights and tell her that I sent you via my blog, she would get such a kick out of it.


And he fed me water, replenishing my cup each time I saw the bottom.
And of course when you are drunk, feeling comfortable in the salon, and they remember you talking about becoming a dominatrix, you develop nicknames. Mine are now the “dominatrix girl” and “rugby”.

#2 I destroyed a baby shower and I didn’t even go.

As I am the queen of procrastination, I waited until the very last minute to book an appt with my colorist. When I finally mustered the concentration to call, I learned that she was headed off to South Africa on vacation for 3 weeks. The only appointment available was at the same time as a baby shower on LI…

Let’s think which one I picked. Come on! It’s fashion week in NYC, and I have to look good for the tents (if I manage to get tix!)! In all seriousness, I am interviewing and I needed to get my roots covered so I had no choice but to take the Sat appt.

I IM my friend to tell her that I couldn’t go, and she replies:

“huh? What are you talking about, this is the first time I have ever heard of it!!”

FUCK IT WAS A SURPRISE!

“Uhm, nevermind! I think I have you confused.”

But come on, how many preggers friends could a 24 yr old have? I ruined a surprise that was in the works for 3 months…and I didn’t even go to the fucking thing.

#3 Not really a lesson, but a frustration I wish to share:

I love my friend Jen. When she worked for the fashion magazine, we would steal tickets to fashion week, and walk into the shows pretending to be other people—crashers extraordinaire, especially because I dress like a grad student instead of a fashionista and had more fun sitting inside the tent getting drunk at the Lotus booth than watching the 15 mins of runway hoopla. However, Jen has moved onto bigger and better things, and has left the fashion magazine. It’s Tuesday of fashion week, and I have not been to a single show. I feel so, plebian. This blog started because I wanted to publicly rub it into everyone’s nose that I went to fashion week NYC…and now, it’s being taken away from me. Please, I need your prayers that Jen’s contact comes through and we could at least get tickets to some of the lesser known shows. With the job search growing frustrating, grad school slowly slipping past my fingers, and my wallows into depression, this is all I have to feel good about myself.

And now I am off to write the Oxford Profs to say “Wazzup Dawg! Yo, I is smot! Let my ass in!” Frustrating. However, my tax return is enough to pay 1 month of rent! YEA!!