Read The New Rules for Blondes Online
Authors: Selena Coppock
Now let’s talk dismount. Once your gas tank has filled to capacity, the gas will automatically stop. Magical robots, huh?
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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.
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?”
S
PANISH
“¿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?”
I
TALIAN
“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!”
G
ERMAN
“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?”
F
RENCH
“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?”
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.
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.
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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 solar 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.
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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).
But where can you meet such swarthy (or at least light-brunet) suitors? Where do dark-haired dudes hang out? It’s a question that has boggled the minds of scientists for millennia. Let’s break it down.
Who are dark-haired men in terms of heredity? Many have bloodlines that connect back to the Mediterranean, India, Africa, and the Caribbean. So a smart blonde (not an oxymoron!) would find herself at cultural gatherings for these groups—Italian street festivals, Caribbean parades, Indian restaurants, Greek Orthodox churches, Catholic masses, or your city’s own “Little Italy.” It’s a law of averages: There are simply more dark-haired potential partners at these types of events—they’re more concentrated—so you can chat up and be noticed by more of them than you would if you walked into a random pub. I’m nothing if not efficient in my dating rules.
If you don’t have the guts to storm a Greek Orthodox church service for the purpose of scouting “talent” (and I wouldn’t necessarily blame you—my strategies are pretty shameless), what are some other locations where you might meet dark-haired men? Dance clubs on the Jersey shore, the Sunglass Hut in your local mall, your local tanning salon, and nail salons that offer waxing services. Or really anywhere out in the world—they walk among us.
Dating any nonblond hair color is acceptable, though. Give redheads a spin! Test-drive a gray-haired dude who used to have brown hair. Go out with a bald but swarthy beauty! The options are limitless! Just do not engage in blonde-on-blond romance, or you and your mate will end up resembling the painful blond spectacle that was Hulk Hogan and his ex-wife. Or, worse, the brassiest blonds to never blow on a brass instrument, Dog the Bounty Hunter and his equally brassy wife and partner. As evidenced by these two couples, blonde-on-blond dating is not synonymous with class and taste.
My dreams of ending up with Ponch never came to fruition, in part because Ponch is a TV character and therefore not real, and in part because I was eight when I had a crush on him and even Appalachia won’t permit that type of generational mixing. But he did set the template for my ideal guy: tan, dark, and hardworking. To this day, I’ll take an overweight, hairy, brunet guy over a conventionally handsome blond guy every time. And you should, too, unless you want your family’s holiday cards to resemble promotional photos for
Dog the Bounty Hunter
.