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A Tale of A Hot Chick, Reality TV and Censorship

Disclaimer: Last night I wrote this post and used the real names. My husband (maybe rightly) freaked out over the legalities of me naming a former client. So in the interest of protecting the innocent, I made a few edits, and all names — except mine and my hairdresser’s — have been changed. My husband will hereafter be referred to as PARANOID HUSBAND. IN ALL CAPS.

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Years ago, I was laid off from a job I loved. I was part of a staff that launched a teen magazine and we were passionate about what we were doing. It was the first magazine for girls that encouraged them to be who they were and to no worry about following the crowd. (For Girls Who Dare to Be Real was our tagline). It was actually kind of revolutionary at the time.

After four years, the company I worked for decided the magazine wasn’t profitable enough for them and they shut it down. It wasn’t anyone’s fault—it was just business. But for those of us who were there from beginning to end, it was personal. And it hit hard.

I was out of work for about four months before I was hired back to the same company on a different magazine. In the meantime, I enjoyed my first month off. I had a decent severance, so I wasn’t worried about much at first and just relaxed and tried to decompress. I caught up on books and movies. And sleep. The second month started to get stressful as I tried to drum up freelance work. By the third month, I had some bites for jobs, but the economy was slowing and no one was jumping to hire anyone. I started to panic and my panic spiraled into a horrible depression.

Somewhere around this time, I broke the cardinal rule of depression. I went for a haircut. Everyone knows you don’t make big changes to your hair when you’re not in your right mind. But I’ve been going to the same guy for years and he has always done a great job, but that day, we were chatting and he sort of lost track of how short he was cutting my hair. The next thing I knew, my hair was shorter than PARANOID HUSBAND’s. I immediately burst into tears in the salon. My hair wasn’t that long to begin with, but I was trying to grow it out. Add this trauma to the fact that I was gaining weight because I was too lazy (read: depressed) to get off my ass and go to the gym. Plus, I went through a phase where I felt like I needed to “pull my weight around the house,” so I was baking and cooking these big, over-the-top dinners. Big dinners that I ate. And ate.

A few days after I was scalped (sorry Jared), I was having a big Pity Party for One and decided to include PARANOID HUSBAND in it. Misery loves company, right?

I called him up at work and asked him if he’d take me to lunch (his office is just a few miles from home). He hemmed and hawed and finally admitted that he had a lunch meeting. Normally, I wouldn’t press but I was so insane that I asked if he could reschedule with his client. After going around like this for a while, he finally admitted that his client was a Well-Known Sex Symbol Who Is Famous For Frolicking On The Beach [NAME CENSORED BY PARANOID HUSBAND. MINE. NOT HERS], and no, he couldn’t reschedule. Of course, I immediately became enraged. “No! You don’t WANT to reschedule. You want to spend the day with a hot chick who has long, sexy hair and isn’t a fat-ass. Fuck You!”

Well, duh.

I knew I was being totally irrational. I knew I was feeling sorry for myself. As I was having a major meltdown I had one of those out-of-body experiences where I was hovering above, watching myself turn into Sybil. My head spun I was so angry. Fortunately, I married one of those rare men who knows when it’s time to back off and play down the fact that he’s going to be working with a stunning woman. He reassured me over and over that he loved me and I had nothing to worry about. Blah, blah, blah.

Flash-forward about 3 months. I had started my new job and was back to “normal” (I’m sure PARANOID HUSBAND would say my earlier behavior was normal, too). I was feeling confident, my hair was growing back and I had dropped the weight. Ever so delicately, PARANOID HUSBAND told me that he received an invitation to a birthday party at the Hot, Sexy Former Client’s house, and that I was invited, too.

It briefly stirred up that jealousy, but I agreed to go. PARANOID HUSBAND kept telling me that he dealt mostly with her staff before, and he’d be surprised if she even remembered him.

We pulled up to the house and PARANOID HUSBAND barely stepped out of the car before Hot, Sexy Former Client runs over and gives him a big hug. “Oh my God, PARANOID HUSBAND’S NAME, it’s so good to see you again.” I shot him THAT look. You know that one. The You’re an Asshole and I’ll Deal With You Later, Motherfucker look.

He introduced me to Hot, Sexy Client and she was so sweet. In fact, she could not have been any nicer. And she was beautiful, but not in the way you usually see her. She had no makeup and her hair was under a cowboy hat. Her skin was perfect. I felt like a bitch. I wanted to hate her, but I couldn’t.

As PARANOID HUSBAND and I walked through the house, we passed Hot, Sexy Client’s Rocker Boyfriend. He stood there and appraised me from head to toe and seemed to appreciate what he saw. When PARANOID HUSBAND and I were outside, he was so mortified over her greeting. He swore he didn’t expect her to remember him, that the invite was extended by her assistant. He apologized 150 times. I told him all was forgiven—that Rocker Boyfriend checked me out. Self-confidence re-instated.

So (and this is the longest build-up ever) last night I decided to watch Hot, Sexy Client’s new reality show. Once again I was prepared to hate her. But oddly I didn’t. I appreciate how she doesn’t pimp out her kids (um, Denise Richards are you reading this?? I can use HER name because she is NOT a former client) and I like the fact that, unlike some of the ridiculous reality “stars” (or even real stars) out there, she doesn’t take her self too seriously. She seems to acknowledge that she’s playing a role (sex symbol) but she’s also unapologetic about who she is.

It’s one of those delicious TV treats, and it’s probably no surprise that I will keep watching.

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3 Responses

  1. LOL — Too funny. And Rocker Boyfriend? How can someone so NOT cute come across so sexy? It has to be the ‘tude, right? If I’m the only one who thinks he’s sexy, then please disregard. (hangs head and slinks out of room)

  2. It’s that dirty boy ‘tude. You can’t deny it.

  3. Clearly, the removal of said hot chick’s name has rendered it just impossible to figure out who we’re talking about here! 😉 So it’s censorship…only kinda!! (“HI PARANOID HUSBAND!”) I have always liked (NAME STILL CENSORED EVEN IN THE COMMENTS). She plays her persona but it’s not who she is. PLUS? She does a lot of great work for needy animals. What’s not to love about that?

    Debra: We are alllll in agreement on the sexiness. Stand proud!

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