Friday, May 18, 2012

Sparkling graduation with undertones of A.D.D.

As I passed the 300+ pound woman wearing the bright blue I heart New York shirt, I was assured I was on the right plane back to Texas. After I woke up on the plane with a cute dab of drool sparkling my face I decided maybe it’s time I stop falling asleep in public, and begin either an intensive coffee regime or see a doctor about “my attention deficit disorder” for Adderall. I’m pretty sure everyone has that, and my case can surely be argued with a focus on my driving habits and two totaled cars. It’s a good thing I’ll be one of those lulled into the public transportation circuit of NYC. For my own safety and the people (or objects) who I still insist were in my way.
Falling asleep in public only happened once after that, but it was during my graduation ceremony. With only two short speeches to break up the 750 jumbo-tron logs of graduates’ smiling and mouthing “I love you mom and dad” (or in my case, losing all composure and mouthing an excitedly frantic “YAY!”), what else is there to do?
Sleeping on the sly.
This semester in New York flew by. These past four years flew by. I’m a graduate- a cum laude one at that (to my surprise) which I realized by an asterisk in the graduation program. Apparently I did well on these final finals. Is adulthood really the hangover after the college party? I’ll fill my adult life with Gatorade, ice packs, and long runs to sweat out the toxins.
The last week before leaving for graduation at Baylor was an exhausting blur. Memorable points that break away from the haze include big girl job related activities, and Baylor’s NYC Karaoke party after my last final which was a success for many and a bomb for some, the latter involving my quad of gals screaming “voulez-vous coucher avec moi.” I insisted that Christina Aguilera was not in our vocal range, but others became ambitious for Lady Marmalade’s rhythms. After the performance, my girl group all agreed Spice Girls would have been more of a hit. My roommate Cait was excited to do the song she knows, Jesus Walks by Kanye, and her out of character “hellll yea” won over the audience in a fit of laughter. Another quieter guy in our program surprised everyone with his System of a Down burst which proves everyone has that alter ego, and one guy even began freestyle rapping and was totally stoked to break out of Microsoft Word to reveal his inner rap star.
It was all in all a grand time and full of embarrassing memories.
That week I also attended a Sunset Social with my Parasol Marketing boss, Andrea. She drove me up to Westchester to Oasis Day Spa, and upon walking in I was immediately sent to the back for my spa treatment: my first spray tan. The spa gal knocked on the door, and after an awkward “Am I supposed to be naked?” convo, she got to work with her spray gun inches from my bare flesh. As I stood spread eagle desperately trying not to make eye contact I began to silently thank myself for going on a run that day. Who knew my first work event would involve getting naked for a stranger? I’ll be upping my mileage before the next work event--
Andrea and I were attending this rooftop spa event because later this summer Parasol is hosting the next sunset social, and one of our clients is catering. I was able to meet the client, who loves everything Texas, and tried to bring out my inner cowgirl to make a good impression. Thinking a faux southern accent would be a smidge over board, I stuck to describing my love of boots and red meat, and even confessed to knowing line dancing from when they made the waitresses do that at Texas Roadhouse. (Almost as degrading as singing for birthdays, little did I know it would come in handy. Yee-haw.)
Suzanne said she has big plans for me to be a Suzy Sirlion gal and go into radio shows wearing cowgirl boots, hat, and even daisy dukes (per her request). I’m hoping I rope myself a cowboy out of it. A rich Manhattan one. Who believes in opening doors like a good ole southern boy, but is cut-throat like a New Yorker in a business deal. Can I get a yee-haw?
I DID buy blinged boots while home in Colorado for the few days I had before making the move to New York. Plan in motion.
This past weekend's graduation was a time for family photo shoots (my dad finally "found his calling" in photography) and bedazzled hats. I was not walking across the Ferrel Center's stage in the Harry Potter deal (as much as I am a fan), and so when my sister flew into town we decided Hobby Lobby could save us with pink spray glitter and gemstones. It was a sparkling success, but when I fell asleep on the stranger's shoulder next to me, my cursive, gemmed "J" was pretty set on grabbing people's attention. There's pictures.
Now I’m back in the city. Sleeping on a couch. Sorting through the hundreds of craigslist ads desperately trying to find an apartment before my June 1 deadline of temporary housing goes into effect. Graduation seems like a distant memory already and brutality comes in the form of $1000 monthly rent bills in all  of these ads I scour—and THAT’s cheap.

I will be accepting all donations in the form of cash, credit cards, and grocery gift certificates. Come one, come all.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

New Job, New Do

I should just start a hair blog. Of what NOT to do. Becuase it's amazing how many times past mistakes are removed from memory at the sheer excitement that comes with covering up dark roots to fake a natural blonde again.
This time, after an experimentation series of unsuccessful temporary root touch-ups which can be washed out (aka zero perma-damage), I knew I had to take desperate measures to hide the brunette tell-alls. After all, I was going to be on TELEVISION the following day. Blondes pop, brunettes bomb (for bigoted, dye-hard Jessica). And so blonde box-dye "it comes with a magical root-tool!" it was. Friendly and easy to use. Fab.
It wasn't.
So when my roommate, Caitlin, saw me rubbing blonde hair dye all over my scalp with my bare hands and the friendly tool in the trash can, we both knew I was in for a multi-colored orange-yellow TREAAAT!

For Alison Brod, miss thang intern had been preparing to be a dress model for a style segment on New York Live. I even stopped binge eating past midnight for an entire week AND bought a tanning package (helloooo graduation--either kill two birds with one stone, or massacre two photo-ops with skin brighter than the flash--tough call.) So when I washed out the scalp scorching dye and was left with a vibrant sunset, I began making the frantic calls to hairstylists who didn't find their calling in a box.
Rationalizing that an in-person plea of my failure would be more successful, I found a salon that found my situation pathetic enough to squeeze in before they closed, I'd just have to kill 2 hours beforehand. Easy enough. I was walking in the rain and passed by a homeless couple looking very wet. Suddenly, the sermon from the church I visited that morning struck me in the form of a large raindrop and I double-backed.
The sermon at Trinity Grace church on the Upper East Side was about food. Basically I found, that if you're reading the Bible and you find yourself NOT hungry, you're not reading it right. Jesus built relationships over the dinner table. He set an example eating with sinners and taxpayers. He fed thousands with a few fish and meager loaves of bread. Jesus is a foodie. HALLELUJAH!
"Hey I haven't had dinner yet and this rain sucks, will you grab a bite to eat with me?"
And that's how I met Jimmy and his pink suitcase-toting wife. We had McDonald's and besides my post-dinner self-hatred of eating lard it was rather enjoyable. They had been living on the street for about a year and a half after Jimmy lost his construction job. While they did have kids in college, they did not feel it was their duty as parents to inform them of their homeless state. Shout out to Mom and Dad-you always have a couch with me... or if it was now, a bunk bed, which has proved pretty insufficient in its comfort value this spring. I told Jimmy and his wife that if they're looking for a yummy morning bagel and coffee the church down the street has them for free. And they have sermons about food, which is awesome.

And they have pastors that are Australian which brings me to the following conclusion of holding off on my visionary escapade to live in Australia for the time being. Because.
I HAVE A JOB!! Woooo
I will be an account coordinator with Parasol Marketing, a luxury public relations and marketing agency that has clients such as Hotel Arts Barcelona, Fairmont Miramar Hotel & Bungalows, Phulay Bay Ritz Carlton and others. Luxury travel is Parasol's focus, however they also have other clients such as FIG restaurant and very new client Suzy Sirlion.

Everything happened so fast. Jennifer, a friend of my aunt's, introduced me to Parasol's Lorianne earlier that week. I had the job interview shortly after, came back later to meet the boss that day of the interview, emailed references and an assigned project to the office later that day and recieved an official document and email offer later that night. WOAH whirlwind.
I accepted over the weekend, and went into the office the f ollowing Monday to train with Eva, the gal whose position I will be taking over. I set up various accounts and email subscriptions I'll need and ordered an identification card to enter the building. I went through daily tasks and had too much coffee already (there's a coffee maker down the hall-my impulsive excessiveness stems from excitement). I met with Andrea, Lorianne, and Eva for a lunch meeting and discussed clients and the agenda for the week. It was info-overload, but Eva graciously set up a transition document for me to make my first few weeks a lot easier.
I'm going back to the office after finals this week to attend a Sunset Social at a spa on Friday. Becuase Parasol is hosting an event at this spa later in the summer, we are going to check out the location and I will be able to meet some of our clients. Apparently the gig involves complimentary spa treatment--YES.
I start the real-life grown-up New York City job May 21. I am excited, luxury travel was what I had begun to focus on. By that I also mean I had applied to be a waitress on a cruise ship and had been selected as a candidate earlier in the week before the interview with Parasol. Fact. But in all seriousness travel PR sounds like a great fit for me. The gal I interviewed with had even just gotten back from visiting a client in Thailand. Um, awesome. I'm hoping I have some covered travel expenses coming up fingers cross? Parasol is a small company, however, that leaves room for much hands-on experience and makes my opinion within the company matter.

Speaking of finals- how did people ever get through that terribly long week without Facebook? I have one final left tomorrow, and then I just have to focus on finding an apartment within a very short time. Oh and moving out of this one. And catching a plane to Texas. And graduating. And moving stuff from Colorado. And..... The speedometer never slows.
BUTTTT the growth of my hair does. Especially after I had it done after my McDonald's meal and I STILL had to go back to the salon the following week for them to fix it becuase another situation was created by the hands of the one I trusted. Fortunately, the orange tinting only tainted the back of my hair and so I smiled radiantly on New York Live the next morning more confident in my poses than in my capability to dye hair.

 But even after my "fix" the hair still doesn't look great. And cost the amount of 200+ McChickens. And is requiring some intense TLC and hair masks. And is still beckoning me to dye it brown and just give up on my dream of being blonde.
I may end up listening to it.