blonder, blonder.... I said, blonder

I'm seeing my favorite man today: his name is John Rak. He is my hairdresser. He does my highlights. He is a genius. He works on Long Island. Seeing him necessitates getting myself to Penn Station, waiting for my train to come along with the refuse Long Island spits into the city each day, fighting my way through the crowd to get a seat when the train does come, putting up with other people's loud, gum-cracking cell phone conversations once aboard the hour-long ride to Huntington, and then finding my mother's white SUV amongst all the other white SUVs in the parking lot. Hint: hers is the one with the blond woman sitting in it. Oh wait-- they're all blond.

No but really. My mom loves me so she gets out of the car and waves and gives me big hugs when I reach her. And that's the best part of coming to Long Island. Apart from John Rak.

Anyway. John Rak gave me my first (and last) perm when I was 10. That's how long the man knows me. And now he is the reason I am the blond(ish) goddess that I am.

Yes that's right-- blondISH. Everytime I see him I tell him "more blond this time... a little more blond." and it always comes out exactly the same as last time. It always looks fabulous-- but I always feel like there's that perfect blond, just out of reach-- oh wait, there it is on my sister's head... who also gets her blond on with John Rak. How come he can do it for her but not for me, my inner jealous sibling wails.

So-- today we'll try it again and see how it goes. He is really the best-- I wouldn't trust anyone else with my blond. Fekkai and Sally Hershberger can keep their waiting lists and snobby socialites.