I’m a natural brunette. I have some serious red undertones, but there is nothing “blonde” about this girl. That said, I have envy of girls like my little sister and a few of my friends who can pull off platinum like they were born that way. Recently, I decided to undertake a mission to gradually go a little more golden. In September, I spent some cold hard cash on a bayalage treatment, which still left me more brown that blonde. Last week, though, I went to a different stylist on the advice of a friend, who not only didn’t do a great job, but left me looking a little washed out and not that great.

And then I started having the worst histamine reactions of my life. My eyes itched, my nose ran, and I could barely wear contacts without wanting to cry.

A few years ago, I had a few highlights and had the same reaction. I’ve dyed my hair several times before – I once even went red. But I’ve only had an allergic reaction to the bleach process – and once we dyed me back to brunette, the allergies almost instantly subsdided.

The problem? I’m allergic to Ammonium persulfate

Ammonium persulfate is a chemical used to “boost” peroxide hair bleaches. From the Archives of Dermatology, it:

produce a variety of cutaneous and respiratory responses, including allergic eczematous contact dermatitis, irritant dermatitis, localized edema, generalized urticaria, rhinitis, asthma, and syncope. Some of these reactions appear to be truly allergic while others appear to be due to the release of histamine on a nonallergic basis.

I’m sure some blondes have plenty of fun, but this girl apparently does not. I’ll stick to being brunette. If it works for Leighton Meester, who can rock a brunette hairstyle with class, fashion, and a bit of that you-know-what, it can work for me.

This year I celebrated the 4th of July all-American style with some friends near Gasworks Park in Seattle. We took over the street in front of my friend Molly’s apartment and picnicked, barbequed, and enjoyed kegstands in front of fireworks. (OK, they did the kegstands. If you know me, you know I don’t like beer. Or kegstands for that matter.)

Early in the afternoon we were all taking a little breather inside the apartment when one of our friends noticed someone was having a really difficult time parallel parking across the street. She had barely tapped the bumper of the car in front of her once, and after working with Chris for almost a year, I knew what this meant – time to take out my iPhone and record the show – and the running commentary from all of us.

Enjoy.

I spend a fair amount of time working in coffee shops. Though I try to choose coffee shops that encourage an environment conducive to working and meeting (my favorite is Uptown Espresso), some people slip through the cracks and don’t understand they aren’t at Starbucks. Or, that they are actually in public. Sometimes I don’t understand why these things not to do in a coffee shop aren’t taught in a life skills class in high school. (Do they even still have those?)

Take 10 minutes to order

Coffee is generally the same wherever you go. If you have ordered it once, or generally know what you want your coffee to consist of (milk, espresso, ice?) you can order coffee without staring at a menu board for 10 minutes. What amazes me is that people can walk into Starbucks and rattle off a 25 word drink, but in any other local coffee shop, people are clueless was to what to order – and end up with a “mocha”. It’s as if the lack of a familiar Frappucino on the menu stuns even Seattle natives into a deer in the headlights when it is their turn to order. Please, if you honestly can’t decide between a breve or a latte, step aside until you can.

Talk to the barista for 10 minutes after you order

I understand a good latte takes a few minutes, and I appreciate pulled espresso (rather than the machines at Starbucks.) But that doesn’t mean you should carry on the conversation with the barista for 10 minutes after you have your coffee and hold the line up behind you in the meantime, exacerbating their wait time for that latte. While people have a patience for a good cup of coffee, there is a limit to how long they will wait while a jackass to tries relentless to get a date with the girl behind the bar.  And yes, that means if you’re that guy, you’re a jackass. Get your coffee, and move on with your day.

Drum on tables

Smartphones and iPods are great. We can stick in our earbuds and listen to our favorite songs, tuning the rest of the world out. Here’s a note for those dashboard drummers out there, though: a coffee shop is not your car. I know that song is probably your favorite, and I’m probably actually a little curious what it is, but I have work to do and am trying to concentrate. Please don’t drum on the tables in the coffeeshop as if you’re playing Rock Band. Save it for the drive home.

Talk really loud

A coffee shop typically has a nice hum to it. The music is on one level, and the conversation at a low murmur. But there is always that one guy who has to talk louder than all the other noise in the room. You can hear every word he says, which actually sounds like he’s talking to himself since you can’t hear anything from his meek girlfriend. Does he not see people staring at him? Does he not realize everyone else is working and he’s rocking back in his chair laughing at his own (not funny) jokes? Or does he enjoy being an asshole? (He’s probably actually the same guy who hit on the barista for 10 minutes holding everyone else up in line.)

What are other annoying things people do in coffee shops that they shouldn’t?

It was Thanksgiving, and she said she wasn’t hungry. With enough food to feed a small army, she chose a small slice of turkey, a spoonful of stuffing, and five or six pieces of veggies. Underage, she turned down the offer of wine in lieu of iced water. Later, I’d realize that drinking iced water helps burn extra calories.

It was midnight, and we were on our way home from work. After four hours on our feet, any other friend would suggest hitting up a bar and look for a cute guy or two. Instead, she asked if I wanted to swing by my apartment to grab my sneakers to hit the the gym for the second time in the day. She weighed herself when we got there – she had “finally” hit double digits.

It was her Facebook status that said she was skipping dinner to save the calories for binge drinking beer later that night.

Do you know her? These are all women in my life, and they all suffer, albeit each in their own way, from eating disorders. It hurts me that while I enjoy eating and drinking, they hurt themselves for it. And they do it because at some point in their lives, someone made them hate something about themselves. Sometimes it’s about body image, and sometimes it’s about control, and while I don’t care about the statistics, I care about them. I care about them because I love them. And I care that they don’t love themselves.

Because they should. Because they are awesome, inspiring, and loving women themselves. They deserve better.

And for the woman I wrote this for, you deserve better then to spend your nights hugging the toilet puking up your dinner. At least save it for your 21 run, girl.

Visit: National Eating Disorders Association