The New Rules for Blondes

by Coppock, Selena

  When the offensive line comes out, they aren’t screaming profanities,73 but rather they are the aforementioned Os who will be on offense, trying to score. Their specific positions have names like offensive tackle, guard, center (who snaps the ball to the QB between his legs), quarterback, tight end, wide receiver (one type of wide reciever is called the split end, natch), and running backs (fullback, tailback).

  If a play starts and the QB, looking for who is open and where he can throw the ball, gets tackled by a member of the opposite team before he has a chance to throw it, that’s called a “sack.” It’s usually outside linebackers or middle linebackers who pull off a sack, and it’s pretty sweet to watch. I also love that it’s called a “sack.” Let’s end this orientation to football on that double entendre, shall we?

  Know How to Read a Map (Subway or Street)

  I have a pretty good sense of direction (until you get a few cocktails in me—then I’m useless and gunning for a fight), but nonetheless, navigating a foreign city or unfamiliar neighborhood can be confusing. Above all, try to act casual and not lost. Walk with confidence, even if you’re secretly thinking, Where the F am I? This neighborhood is terrible and I’m scared! Never let ’em see you sweat. If you must refer to a map, I recommend using a hard-copy map, not your smart phone or, heaven forbid, an iPad. Sure, a hard-copy map might make it obvious that you’re lost, but at least it’s not an expensive miniature computer that could be snatched from your hand. Walking around an unfamiliar area while staring at a map on your phone or iPad just looks like an advertisement for thieves that says, “Hey, thief! Here’s an expensive gadget for all to see! Take a look and come over and punch me if you want it!” So go with the old-school paper map like Chris Columbus used to use (but please have a better knowledge of geography than he did). And don’t be shy about how you hold it. I find it easier to get my bearings if I am holding the map to match up with exactly what is in front of me. So if I am pointed south and looking to walk south, I hold the map upside down. There are no rules in map handling! Cartography may be filled with standards and rules, but holding maps is not. So hold it however you like.

  Most major cities have subway systems, and they’re pretty logical, despite the color-coded, crisscrossing maps. I have rocked public transportation in Boston, New York, Chicago, Paris, London, Venice, Rome, Prague, Edinburgh, Glasgow, and possibly Athens (my three days there are a blur of ruins and disappointing food). I don’t speak the language in many of those places, but a subway’s a subway’s a subway and if you can match up letters, you can find your way. Your best bet is to look at the last stop on the line of the direction you want to go. So, for example, if you want to visit a neighborhood in Brooklyn called Windsor Terrace (where I currently live and where Mindy Kaling lived when she was broke and unfamous—what what!), you’d take the orange-line F train—specifically the one that ends at Coney Island (a mystical place filled with fried food, tattooed vagrants, and a surprisingly awesome beach). So if you were in Manhattan, you’d hop on the Brooklyn-bound F train that says “Coney Island” on it. You’re not going all the way out to Coney Island,74 but the train is telling you that Coney Island is the last stop on that train line. Also worth noting is that sometimes you may need to take a train “inbound” to get to an “outbound” train.75 This is the way it sometimes works with the T in Boston. You might be thinking that you need an outbound train because you’re trying to get out from the city (and go to an outer area like Brighton or Brookline). But if you’re transferring trains (perhaps from Red Line to Green Line), you may need to take the Red Line inbound (to Park Street) to get the Green Line outbound. It’s like the old saying goes, “You gotta get up to get down,” right? Wrong? Huh?

  Know How to Pump Your Own Gas

  This section doesn’t apply if you live in New Jersey or Oregon, two states where self-sufficiency at the pump is, strangely enough, illegal. But if you live in any of the other forty-eight states of the union, you have no excuse. Everyone should know how to pump his or her own gas—it’s simple and important. How many horror movies have scenes set at a desolate gas station with a creepy attendant and a car full of frightened coeds? Don’t be that helpless girl—pump it your damn self.

  Know which side of the car your gas tank is on so you don’t pull into the gas station wrong and have to do a sixty-four-point turn flipping around to the other side. Turn off the car when you pump. This isn’t required and, in theory, you can leave your car idling while you pump, but I think it’s a bad idea. Whenever I have done that, I have forgotten that I’ve left the car idling and unthinkingly turned the key in the ignition once I got back in the car, prompting a horrific screeching sound and disdainful looks from other patrons. To avoid doing this, I make it a rule to turn off my car whenever I gas up. More and more gas stations demand that you pay (whether with cash or credit) before you pump to ensure that you don’t pump and run. So if you pull your car into a spot next to a pump, the first thing you might need to do is swipe your credit card into the machine above the gas choices or hand over your cash to the dude in the bulletproof box.

  Gas choices! Let’s talk gas choices. You can use regular or diesel in most cars, but know this: Diesel cars take diesel gas, and everything else takes regular. Unless you drive a German-made sports car, you probably don’t have a diesel engine. Read the signs at the gas station carefully, though. You do not want to put diesel gas into a nondiesel engine. That would be like regularly using deep conditioner if you already have limp, fine hair—it is not a good idea. It will ruin your day and possibly your week. So, if you’re 99 percent of America, just use regular gas and don’t worry about buying the more expensive gas for your car. Unless you drive a Lamborghini, your car doesn’t need high-grade gasoline.

  So you’ve positioned your car next to the pump on the correct side, turned off your car, opened your little gas trapdoor, unscrewed the cap, and swiped your credit card. Time for the real pump n’ grind of pumping that gas into your tank. Isn’t this fun? Like a 1994 song by R. Kelly! OK—there probably will be three pumps in a row on the gas stand. After you have swiped your card, select your gas choice by pressing the giant (sometimes illuminated) button. Once you have selected that, you should grab the nozzle, which probably resembles a penis made of accordion. While you’re doing all of this, you should not be smoking or talking on your cell phone. I’m not a scientist, but both of these activities, when combined with gas pumping, cause explosions. It looks cool in the movies, but in life it’s a total bummer. Don’t ask how this cell phone/cigarette/gas cocktail works—just follow my advice blindly, OK? So take the nozzle, put it into the hole in your car that leads to the gas tank, then turn back to the pump stand. Once the nozzle is resting firmly in the hole, you may need to turn back and flip the lever thing, where the nozzle was resting before, back at the pump. This will enable gas flow, but it won’t start until you pull the trigger. So flip that thing, then get both hands back on the accordion penis, and pull the trigger. You should feel gas flowing, and at this point, you may wish to cry out, “I RULE! You think I’m stupid, but I’m not—YOU ARE!” at whoever is near you. Congratulations—you’re pumping gas like a pro!

  Now let’s talk dismount. Once your gas tank has filled to capacity, the gas will automatically stop. Magical robots, huh?76 If you are trying to hit a certain amount of gas (perhaps just ten dollars’ worth), you can simply stop the accordion penis when you get to that quantity. You do that by pulling the trigger again. Either way, once you have all the gas that you want, make sure that gas is no longer passing through the accordion penis, pull it out of your car, and place it back on its original holster (you may need to flip this down, also). Put the lid back on the gas tank, close the elfin trapdoor on your car, and you’re good to go! Drive out of that gas station giving the two-finger salute (flippin’ the bird, my friends) to the haters. Or just safely drive out, with both hands on the wheel. It’s your life, you decide!

  You got all those down? Then let’s jump
into some more sophisticated assignments: I’m talking linguistics and pugilism.

  Know a Few Phrases in Major Languages

  Here are some key phrases that you should know how to say in a few languages in case you find yourself abroad and in dire need of help. These crucial phrases are listed below, with their translations after that.

  “Where is there a hair salon I can visit?”

  “I am blonde and proud!”

  “Where is the bathroom?”

  “I don’t speak your language, but my amazing hair makes up for it, no?”

  SPANISH

  “¿Dónde está la peluquería puedo visitar?”

  “¡Soy rubia y orgullosa!”

  “¿Dónde está el baño?”

  “No hablo su idioma, pero mi cabello increíble lo compensa, ¿no?”

  ITALIAN

  “Dov’è il parrucchiere piu vicino?”

  “Sono bionda e fiera!”

  “Dov’è il bagno?”

  “Non parlo la tua lingua, ma con i miei capelli bellissimi, non mi sembra che c’e proprio bisogno di parlare!”

  GERMAN

  “Wo gibt es einen Damenfriseur?”

  “Ich bin blond und stolz darauf!”

  “Wo ist die Toilette?”

  “Ich kann deine Sprache nicht, aber mein tolles Haar macht das doch wett, oder?”

  FRENCH

  “Où puis-je trouver un bon coiffeur?”

  “Je suis blonde et fière de l’être!”

  “Où se trouvent les toilettes?”

  “Je ne parle pas votre langue mais pour compenser j’ai les cheveux superbes, n’est-ce pas?”

  Know How to Throw a Drink or a Punch

  I’m not encouraging you to become a surly brawler who is always itching for a fight, but I do think it’s important that you know how to take care of yourself. Blondes are often perceived as weak and defenseless, so knowing a few tricks for how to throw a drink or a punch can help us overcome this (only if you absolutely must, of course).

  Throwing a drink is a good go-to if you’re in trouble and you don’t want to get too close to the target or you don’t want to potentially injure yourself. Perhaps you’re a hand model who simply can’t be doling out uppercuts and haymakers, so drink tossing seems like a better option for you—go for it. Throwing a drink is a good move if you are at a bar and a creepy random is trying to rub up on you or has forced you up against a wall or into a corner. Much like the opening credits to the moronic display of humanity that is The Real World, situations like the bar creeper are times when you must stop being polite and start getting real. Throw that drink with attitude and impunity. Usually a drink toss will be an underhand maneuver, in which you simply unload the liquid into the perpetrator’s face. Aiming for the face or head is your best bet—it will be most effective and give you time to scramble away. It’s also hilarious and cartoonlike to watch, so revel in the situation for a moment, then jet out of there in case the drenched person tries to chase you down.

  Throwing a punch is a bit more intense and can lead to hand injury, but sometimes it’s simply necessary. To get comfortable with landing different types of punches, you might wish to take some boxing classes at your local gym. I belong to a very mainstream gym, and they have a really basic cardio-boxing class that introduced me to the uppercut, jab, and cross. This class also enabled me to become acquainted with a hot, jacked instructor who loves the music of Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch almost as much as this Masshole writer. Nothing gets me ready to whip my fists at a hot guy’s padded mitts quite like a teenage Mark Wahlberg, fresh out of the juvenile detention center in Boston Harbor (now closed), telling me to, “C-c-come on, swing it.” Yes, the hot teacher is calling the punches that you should throw and you’re punching a padded mitt that he’s holding up. Contact sports, yes, please! But seriously—if you find yourself in a situation where you need to defend your own life, throwing elbows is a good strategy, but nothing feels quite like landing a punch. Form a fist with your dominant hand and remember to keep your thumb outside of that fist. Do not fold your thumb into the center of the fist (even though it feels so natural to do that thumb tuck), as this will cause you to break your own thumb when you land the punch. I know that it feels weird to keep your thumb out, but trust me, you want to keep your thumb out. As you are swinging, aim to land your knuckles first, as the primary impact. Knuckles aren’t just for cracking to annoy others—they are big-ass chunks of bone that can do damage and should be used to your advantage. Another smart strategy is to wear rings that can help your cause, too. I wear big silver jewelry (and I joke that the only person who likes chunky silver rings more than I do is Axl Rose), and I often think that if I needed to throw a punch, my giant silver-and-turquoise rings would be helpful. Don’t be afraid to rock the boat, my friend. Sometimes you have no choice and you must defend yourself—be ready for that.

  Now you know about (or have received a refresher on) how football is played, how to read a subway or street map, how to pump your own gas, how to express a few crucial ideas in an assortment of languages, and how to throw a drink or a punch. You’ve tackled the basics and the advanced assignments—nice work! If I were an accredited university, I’d give you a diploma for being a jazzy cat. The modern blonde should strive to be informed, self-sufficient, and, above all, not helpless, and this information will help you achieve that. These skills, and a head of gorgeous blonde locks, are all you need in life! You’re welcome.

  CHAPTER 15

  RULE: Beware of Blond Bullies and Date Outside Your Color Group

  I only date dark-haired men, and my reasoning is a combination of eugenics, self-hatred, and a burning distrust for blond men. Yes, when it comes to light-hued locks, what’s good for the goose is not, in fact, good for the gander.77 I blame my fear of blond-haired men on the glut of blond bullies who populated television and film in the 1980s and early 1990s, the days of my towheaded youth. The blond bully was a ubiquitous character in the media of my childhood, and a handful of those characters are forever seared into my memory bank. This group includes the platinum Cobra Kai leader from Karate Kid (William Zabka), Dolph Lundgren in Universal Soldier (the guy who wears a necklace made of human ears, then delivers the line “I’m all ears”), super-snob James Spader of Pretty in Pink, and Dolph Lundgren (repeat offender!) in Rocky IV. That’s just the tip of the proverbial blond-boy, bad-boy, bully iceberg, but those are those ones who most traumatized me. The 1980s taught us that blond men are capable of, at the very least, making you feel poor (Steff of Pretty in Pink) and, at the very worst, brutally cutting off your ears to fashion a necklace (Sergeant Scott of Universal Soldier). The archetype of blond men as creepy bad guys was implanted in my brain long before I ever began dyeing my own hair to be blonder . . . and blonder . . . and blonder. And that characterization persists in entertainment even today. The brilliant Harry Potter book series features pale-haired evil wizard Draco Malfoy (played by Tom Felton in the movies) in contrast to brown-haired and bespectacled Harry and his dark-haired and red-haired best friends. J. K. Rowling created this bully character who possessed a pointed face, an elitist (to the point of racist) attitude, and, of course, white-blond hair. Another current-day blond bad boy is found in HBO’s wildly popular series Game of Thrones. Prince Joffrey Baratheon (Jack Gleeson) is a blond sociopathic brat.

  For a person who loves all things blonde as much as I do (I even prefer blondies over brownies when it comes to dessert), you’d think I would have more respect for blond guys. Sorry, Hitler Youth—I don’t. I love me an olive-complexioned, exotic, dark-haired (and often quite hairy) man. Not one guy, specifically. One of that type. Someone in that wheelhouse, whatever a “wheelhouse” is. So keep it in mind when you’re peeping out potential dates for me, would ya? Bonus points if he’s a bit hefty. Heavier guys really do offer “more to love,” make you feel stick-thin, and appreciate your attention, ladies. Some might say that they are America’s greatest undertapped natural resource . . . after sola
r power. We should tap that resource . . . and tap that ass. (OK, that was cheap, but why else would you pick up this book, dear reader, if not for forced references to Guns N’ Roses and thinly veiled sexual metaphors aplenty?)

  My affinity for Italian, Greek, Albanian, Jewish, Mexican, or just any old dark-haired guy can be traced back to one hugely influential leading man of the ’80s: Erik Estrada. As a child, I was a pretty big CHiPs fan—as much as an eight-year-old can be a “fan” of anything other than her security blanket and juice boxes. CHiPs was on TV in reruns when I was a kid, and I would use my hour allotment of television time per day to watch the bizarre stories of the California Highway Patrol play out. (Live wires on the freeway! Women delivering babies in the darnedest places!) My sisters and I used to ride bikes and carefully coordinate simultaneous turns while shouting, “CHiPs Patrol!” Like the majority of the American public, I always liked the gregarious and kooky Ponch (Erik Estrada) better than straitlaced Jon (Larry Wilcox). Jon was a vanilla, white-bread California surfer boy; Ponch was a swarthy, exotic charmer whose smile could stop California highway traffic. Ponch and I would be the perfect couple: His Mediterranean looks would contrast with my alabaster skin and blonde hair in a yin-yang marriage for the ages. Sure, he’d keep crazy hours with his job as a California highway patrolman, but I’d keep myself busy in our beach bungalow, where I’d have closets jammed with vintage ’70s-style housedresses.

  I had inspiration from the relationships of Loni Anderson and Burt Reynolds, Christie Brinkley and Billy Joel, and Jerry Hall and Mick Jagger.78 All were blonde ladies matched up with darker-haired beaus, and that dynamic persists in plenty of high-profile couples today. Take current couples Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale, Kelly Ripa and Mark Consuelos, and Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds. These women are obeying one of the cardinal rules of blondeness: Date outside your hair color group. At the risk of sounding too much like infamous Nazi doctor Josef Mengele on opposite day, blonde-on-blond procreation often results in children who are practically allergic to the sun and must live under cover of darkness. But blonde-on-brunet/black-haired reproduction will build balanced children who can be exposed to direct sunlight without issue. So it’s imperative that natural blondes and fake blondes alike date partners with darker hair (for matters of potential procreation and aesthetically pleasing contrast, respectively).