Vocab word of the day: Salty

Salty (saul-dee): 1) pissed, upset. 2) Upset, embarrassed or indignant as a result of humiliation or wrong-doing by another person. 3) A word originating in Philadelphia generally meaning that you just got played, or are looking stupid, either because of something you did, or something that was done to you.

The Ad Club downgraded my name tag from a real badge to a printed name tag. That made me be salty; but the talk was good, so I kind of got over it.

Don't be hatin' on my school

Twice in the last few days I've had people hatin' on my school and that's not cool. First a friend made a really racist remark (which I can't repeat) and told me that I could transfer to the Redken school because they are starting a new part-time program. Then, at the professional beauty supply store where I have to show my student ID and transcript in order to make a purchase, the sales woman (to whom I of course started telling my whole story the minute I walked in and she started following me around) was all "wow, you probably have the best grades and attendance record at that school. You know, they have people there that are in women's correctional facilitates. They just let them out to go to school." I had to sort of agree with her. But then she went on to tell me how she went to the "best beauty school in the state -- International in Colerain." And how a "person like you would be much better off there." OH REALLY?! I wanted to say to that self satisfied snob.. "well -- maybe that's true but I have DEGREES FROM SOME OF THE BEST SCHOOLS IN THE Freakin' COUNTRY. And I think Western Hills School of Beauty rocks! There are some very, very strong teachers there. One (at least) who could go up against anyone I had at Horace Mann, Hamilton College or COLUMBIA-FREAKIN'-UNIVERSITY. The Ivy League? Heard of it? No? I didn't think so! (Who's the self satisfied snob now? Ooopps.)

Western Hills rocks because the teaching is good, there's lot of individual attention and because in practice, everyone actually has an individualized curriculum and pace. Do you already know how to do roller sets and fingerwaves, but want to work on foils? You can, and you do. You start doing practicals your very first day.

Surprisingly, it is at the Western Hills Beauty School that I have discovered that I was never taught exactly how to study. I was just always in the "smart class," then the "honors program." By the time I got to prep school I guess they assumed that everyone just knew how to study. I've got say I did struggle. And now I see that I really could have done SO MUCH better. Maybe would have gone to medical school after all. Did you know that if you read the review questions BEFORE you read the chapter you'll retain the material (almost as if by magic). (Granted this material is pretty simple -- although there is a lot of anatomy and physiology.) And if you write out the study guide.... you know it. These "tricks" really work. When I mentioned this to my rocket scientist (literally) husband he told me "yeah, I didn't know that either. And then when I got to Michigan and they told me I didn't believe it and blew it off. Once I started doing it (studying the right way), I got really good grades. I should have been doing it all along."

treasure island

Ever drive, or walk by one of those beauty supply stores that looks really enticing, but has a big ol' sign on the door "professionals only?" Wondered what was in there and why it was "professionals only?" Was it really that much better? Well..... I've been, and it is! A fantastic array of products. Color and texture. All those "salon only" projects. The ones I use to buy at salons. Goldwell, Sabastien, Kiwi, OPI -- all my favorites. The one's I use to pay BIG BUCKS for. Flat irons that get hot, hot, hot -- so much better than anything you can buy at Target. Better even than the pink one you buy at the kiosk at the mall -- and for A THIRD OF THE PRICE. I love retail environments. I love the displays. The organization, the end-aisles, the colors, the patterns. Retail at it's finest. And they had a lot of holiday season gift items...... so you all know what you're getting for Christmas....

Breakfast of Champions

The week I got fired, David Kessler the author of The End Of Overeating: Taking Control of the Insatiable American Appetite (http://tinyurl.com/yc9yrp) was interviewed on the The Daily Show. That week I also saw Food Inc. (http://www.foodincmovie.com/). I felt I was left with no choice but to start weaning myself and my family off any and all processed food and meat. I got some vegetarian and vegan cook books from the library. Brought the food processor up from the basement and bought one of those Asian rice steamers. I made the most delicious curry veggie burgers -- with ingredients I could only find at the health food store in Clifton. I spent A LOT of time chopping. I also committed to buying local and cutting back on dairy. I bought organic. Not only was I chopping for what seemed like hours a day; I was driving all over the freakin' city to buy produce, meat, dairy and bread. Sometimes I was baking my own bread. It was a huge time commitment. And a little bit crazy. Channeling all that unemployed energy. Not a life style change I could sustain. Especially not when I'm in school six days a week. Months later, we've managed to hang on to the soy "dairy" products and the local meat and eggs. So I feel good about that.

But the food at school is an entirely different story. The food culture is probably the single thing that is the most radically different from my "old life." These ladies eat JUNK ----- ALL - DAY - LONG. A typical breakfast is chips and pop. Mountain Dew and potato chips! For Breakfast! Mid-morning snack is Doritos. Lunch is KFC, McDonald's, Chili Cheese Fries, Rallys or Taco Bell. And not just once in a while. Every - single - day. In advertising you might see a bunch of people go out to say, Chipotle or a wings place once in a while. It's an indulgence; a treat. People's breakfast would be a boiled egg and coffee, or a yogurt. Oatmeal was very popular. Lunch was salads or soup or a Lean Cuisine, maybe a sandwich from somewhere. (And, not all four!) Of course there was always the skinny guy who ate junk all the time and the fat girl who never had anything but baby carrots and rice cakes. But, man... these beauty school chicks just let's it all go. Most of the girls are quite thin, some have great figures, many are overweight and one is pregnant. But with only one exception, they all consume A LOT of junk food. Junk food, junk food, junk food. The girl who's trying to diet has a slim fast shake in addition to her Lean Cuisine and then a donut. Really, I couldn't make this stuff up. I had no idea that people --- young, attractive people -- ate like this. And God knows, that unlike in advertising where people go to the gym five days a week -- these ladies get no exercise whatsoever.

On Friday, a teacher from another class came down to our class room to ask if anyone could claim the lunchbox left in the break-room 'fridge. It was a nice neoprene lunch bag. She held up the bag:

"does anyone belong to this? Anyone? No? It's got to be one of you guys, you're the last class I've asked."

Student "Well what's in it?"

Miss Teacher: "let's see (she opens the bag...) celery, baby carrots, a little thing of low-fat ranch and an apple."

Me: "No one in this class would have that!" Laughter

Other Student: "Fo' Sure!" Much laughter.

We're a bunch of junk food junkies! Fo' Sure!

Coming Out

I put off even looking into beauty school for months because I couldn't admit to my family, friends, colleagues, ex-colleagues that that was what I wanted to do. It would be so much easier to say "Oh I'm going back to school for .... law, or veterinary medicine,... or education... or a PhD in Theology." Anything but BEAUTY SCHOOL. For God's sake.... Beauty School?? WTF?

At the six month mark I started to realize that I needed something, I'd had enough of cooking, gardening, quilting, scrapbooking. And besides, the pool was closed now until next May. I called the beauty schools in town and went to visit them. Figuring there was no reason to get everyone's panties in a bunch until there was something real, I didn't even tell my husband what I was up to. Of course I also keep looking for that elusive "day job" -- the one that would pay me in excess of $100K to get treated like shit from madmen and morons pretending to know how to work with an agency. I even went on an interview; sent a couple of resumes, did a few networking lunches/coffees and checked indeed.com every day. Truth be told I am still doing all that stuff. 'Cause I like it, and turns out I'm good at it. But I digress. This is suppose to be about coming out.

I pick a school -- based on overall flexibility and ability to switch to part-time (for when I get that big, perfect day job). I filled out applications for financial aid and student loans. I talked to unemployment about whether or not I can go to beauty school and still get benefits (I can). And still I TELL NO ONE. Because it's embarrassing. BEAUTY SCHOOL....WTF?

So I decide I just have to do it, and now's the time. I tell my husband and a couple of close

girlfriends. They are all unbelievably supportive. But I don't tell anyone else. I'm embarrassed. But then I start school and I LOVE IT. On so many levels it is completely awesome. (See first posts) I keep trying to channel Michael Gill Gates of How Starbucks Changed My Life (http://tinyurl.com/y8sqyc8). I want to be happy -- publically; but I can't. Not yet. I tell my brother, a few out-of-town friends, close friends who live far away but know I've been talking about beauty school for years. I give a few people the url to this blog. Every single person I tell is genuinely thrilled and many are jealous. When I meet new people (which is often because since I've been unemployed I've gotten very involved in my church -- but that's another story) I start saying "I use to be in advertising." It feels weird, really weird, and I wonder if it's true.

Then comes Halloween. I live on one of those streets that you see in the movies, that you wish you grew up on. Everyone is nice, everyone is normal, people watch out for each other, and everyone is smart and fun and the kids are all above average and they all get along -- all the time. Halloween is a big deal here. There are little block party-like affairs on the front lawns with adult (and kid) beverages, hors d'oeuvres, fire-pit fires and everyone sitting around having a great time while giving out the candy to the trick or treaters. Okay, so you get the picture. As the evening winds down and we start to talk to each other, I get the curious, but sympthay-loaded "how are you doing?" Phrased the way you'll know if you're unemployed -- emphasis on "doing," in kind of a sing-song tone of sympathy. And then it happens -- instead of the lame and uncomfortable ... "working on projects, doing some consulting, networking, exploring options..." I just come out with it... "I just started beauty school. Yup, beauty school. Have wanted to do it for years... blah, blah, blah." People got really excited, everyone was so psyched for me -- and then they wanted me to give them highlights. It's like being the doctor at a party I'm finding.

Then yesterday was the big one. Like telling your parents your gay. I attended a networking event with about thirty other "highly networked" professionals -- invited because "people know, like and trust you." These are the people who could help me get that "big job," these are the people who could help my friends and associates find great jobs (Tangent -- I've kind of fallen into a little; albeit successful head hunting thing. Again... need to save that for another time.) As usual we go around the room and introduce ourselves to the group -- our name, company, why we're here, what we want to get out of it, etc, etc. Lawyers, designers, HR professionals, marketers... I'm starting to sweat and

feel like I'm going to have a panic attack. I think to myself that if I'd know this was going to happen I would have taken a Xanax before I got out of the car; and it's too late now. The damn thing takes twenty minutes to kick in. I'm thinking I could do the "laid off, ... project work.... consulting.... " thing. But when it's my turn, I come clean. I tell the whole freakin' room that I'm fulfilling my dream of going to beauty school so I can work in a high-end salon and do cuts and color. That it'll be fun, and creative, and fulfilling. I'll be making people feel good. And if the client is an asshole -- they'll be out of my chair in 40 minutes! It felt good. Even though a little voice in the back of my head keeps screaming (WTF are you doing!!!! You're going to ruin any chance you have of EVER going back to a big job you moron!) But the room went wild. Seems I'm living out everyone's dream. Later, during the networking part, people came up to tell me they wish they had the balls... how inspirational I am. And of course wanted my opinion on their hair. (again, I think it's like being a doctor... weird.) They asked for the address of this blog.

I loved being in the professional meeting enviornment. I felt validated. I felt secure. I felt at home. At 9:00 I had to race off to school where we did theory on pedicures (YUCK) and spent the afternoon doing thermal curls. I heard some crazy stories about shit that went down in ISS (In

school suspension), and some really jacked opinions about birth control (did you know if gives you cancer? and "That Norplant don't work. when I got that thing taken out I got pregnant a week later")

An interesting day. (and I didn't even get to the part about my seond grade religious ed class making their first reconciliation last night. So sweet. It fills me up.)

At least I'll never get called up by the pilot to trim someone's bangs!

Oh, and I'm still keeping this a big secret from quite a few.... but I'm working on dealing with that.

In Mourning

I'm constantly comparing my old life with the new one. Yesterday we did theory and practical on manicures. I keep thinking of the hundreds and hundreds of manicures I've had. Remember when the magazine reps use to take us to the Elizabeth Arden salon at Saks for lunch? We'd get manis and pedis and a "light ladies lunch." The best was at Jessica's Nail Clinic on Sunset in West Hollywood. The concierge at the Mondrian hooked me up with an appointment there one time, and then I'd make one for whenever I was in LA. Only place ever to be able to save a natural nail and make it look good. Along with good schools, gray flannel, straight hair and alcoholism, my WASP heritage came with weak nails that break all the time. Total opposite of my Italian family -- they actually have to cut their nails; a couple of times a week. Imagine! Anyway I keep remembering all those manicures and the life that went with them. I wonder if I can really keep at this beauty school thing. Then I have to tell myself that that life no longer exists for anyone. At least not for overweight fifty year olds who have priced themselves out. Today we'll be doing pedicures. There was this place on 73rd street that would do a reflexology pedicure that was heaven....

Assimilation of Language

The Summer I was eight we moved from Framingham, MA to Hartsdale, NY. That Summer the cocktail crowd at the Riverdale Yacht Club would tell my mother "your children have awful Boston accents." Beefeater & Tonic in hand, and always in denial, she'd reply "Funny, I don't hear it." But by the second week of September I was pulled out of my new class for one-on-one speech therapy where instead of asking where "Mummy paked the ka," and adding an "er" to any word ending in a vowel (my own name included), I was taught to speak correctly. By Halloween I was speaking like a real New Yorker and no longer had to meet with the speech teacher in the little room.

Twenty-one years later after living in Mexico for a few months, friends from back home began commenting that I was "getting a weird accent." Even though my ability to speak Spanish was was on par with the average Mexican three year old, I'd picked up the accent of native Spanish speakers speaking English. On moving back to NY, the "weird accent" went away in a matter of days.

Then again, shortly after the move to Ohio "are-ange" became "or-ange," "warrter" became "wahter," and sometimes "soda" is "pop." Now when ever I'm back in NY I'm taken-aback by the strong New York accents in friends whom I previously had thought had none.

I've just always picked up the accents and dialects very easily. I'm also an excellent mimic. I could never understand people who spoke, say Italian for the first twelve years of their life but then spoke nothing but English for the next fifty years, AND STILL have a strong Italian accent. That would never happen to me. My speech patterns -- accent, vocabulary and grammar -- naturally assimilate seamlessly.

Now in this very different beauty school culture, I'm trying very hard not to stand out. Because I already stand out enough. On Friday I actually heard myself say "Where's that flat iron at?" I felt my grammar slipping all week -- the inexplicable urge to use double negatives, ending sentences in prepositions and the deletion of the verb "to be" from any sentence. Mr. McCardell (my high school English teacher) would TURN OVER IN HIS GRAVE. Interestingly, there are many, many people who easily slide back and forth from "speaking white," to "talking black." Just not many old white women like me. On the plus side I've got some great new vocabulary words. I'm seeing that like Yiddish, there are some Urban words that just perfectly express something I had no one single word for before. My favorite is "bitter," as in: Those teenagers, I don't know why they so bitter all the time. That puberty get to them.