So There May Have Been a Quarantine Eyebrow Waxing Incident….

Today I decided would have some self care peppered in. Since I have been unable to get my hair colored at the salon with the stay at home order in place, I decided to do it at home. Luckily because my stylist is a friend, he dropped off my formula for me in my mailbox. Afterwards I blew out my hair, and I was feeling pretty awesome. Since I had done my hair, I decided to wax my lip and brows too.

I got everything ready and set to work. Things were going smoothly. I waxed my lip (a “stache isn’t cute, even if it’s a quarantine ‘stache) and everything was fine. I did my left brow, and it looked pretty damned good. I’ll be honest, my eyesight Is going downhill, so I can’t see my brows super well unless I am right up near the mirror anyway. All was well, until my daughter came to see what I was doing. She began chatting away, and as I was trying to answer her, my attention faltered on what I was doing. Somehow while addressing my unibrow, which is all blinding light hair, I went too far over. Wax got into the start of my eyebrow hair, and unbeknownst to me, when I pulled the strip, I yanked off the beginning of my damned eyebrow.

My eyebrow now begins WAY too far over.

I looked in the mirror and I just KNEW. This had not gone well at all. My daughter paused in mid sentence, looked at my eyebrow and said “oh”….”ohhh” softly. She knew. I knew. We had had an “incident” with my eyebrow.

I’m sort of a girly girl, and sort of not. I normally wear makeup every day. Not a lot mind you, but I do wear some. I’ll put it this way…I wear enough that when I didn’t wear it and my best friend saw me, she thought I looked sick and not like myself. I told her to wait a few moments, ran upstairs and put my makeup on. When I came down she looked confused and said “what did you do? Now you look totally healthy and normal!” When I don’t wear any makeup I feel I look like a Victorian child struck with the influenza. Now that being said, I’m not what I consider good at makeup. I wish I was and could do all the cool things on the YouTube tutorials, but I just can’t master it. Maybe it’s that my eyesight is going down hill, maybe I’m just not artistic. I’m just not good at it. The thing I am worst at? Brows of course!

What’s funny is that I mentioned it on social media and my girlfriends all commented “evidence please!” And I obliged. Where I had hoped that maybe it would be only me that really noticed it, they all responded in a manner that made me realize everyone would notice my now wonky brow. “Pencilling them in should take care of it!” Clearly these friends have more faith in my makeup skills than I do. Thank goodness for online ordering. I reached out and got recommendations on an eyebrow pencil to help the situation. My female friends were all over it, trying to console me over the loss of my eyebrow, recommending items, and cheering me on.

I surmise that tomorrow night I will be researching “eyebrow videos” and trying to figure out how to hide the fact my face looks shifted to one side. If I squint and furrow my brow, it’s not so obvious, but who wants to walk around looking angry all these time? So now it looks like my face is trying to flee off my head.

As you know, I always look for silver linings. Mine for today is that I shall find it easier to maintain life staying at home so I can hide the waxing tragedy on my face. Please keep your fingers crossed my eyebrow grows back.

Wide Eyed, Like, REALLY Wide

Did I ever tell y’all about my bestie’s wedding? I may have. After a while the days start to slide into weeks, and posts come and go. (Yes, I am still working on the big post I keep mentioning. You have no idea how much time and effort it takes to get all the info aligned and put together). In the meantime though, it’s often fun to look back and laugh at all the chaos that life throws at you. Today someone posted a video on FB from Cian Twomey. If you haven’t seen this guy, he’s usually hilarious. He usually performs as a character named Emily. You kind of have to see it to understand, because I’ll never do him justice describing it.

Anywho, the video appears, and Cian is doing his Emily persona, and is doing a makeup tutorial. Cian is in full beard, doing a purposefully terrible job doing the makeup, but talking himself through it. Now I know that made that sound horribly boring and uninteresting, but I promise you might get a chuckle if you go look him up. Anywho, I digress. Cian gets to a point where he attempts to apply false lashes, and it’s just a hot mess. There is glue where it shouldn’t be, the lashes aren’t where they should be, and the whole thing is utter chaos. I laughed way harder than I should have, because it’s a perfect representation of how things went at my friend’s wedding, only he did a better job than I did.

The wedding was a destination wedding, and we couldn’t afford for both my husband and I to go, so I went while he stayed with the kids. I flew down to Florida for Valentine’s weekend. I arrived at the rehearsal dinner immediately after checking into my room and racing to the location. After racing in, I plopped down and my friend came over to sit next to me. “I need a favor….I need you to iron my dress” she said. “You can’t iron a wedding dress!” I laughed. “I have faith in you” she said. She wasn’t joking. Now, I had gave her all the info…how to take the dress on the plane, how to contact the hotel concierge to get it looked after/steamed if necessary, and all the other travelling bride tips I had learned. She did not of it. Instead, she put her wedding dress in a suitcase.

Let me repeat that. She put her wedding dress….IN.A.SUITCASE.

The next day, I headed to the bridal suite. My friend, her sister, and her old best friend from when she was in elementary school were the bridal party. I asked where the dress was. It was an utter disaster. I was armed with a steamer I had purchased from Walgreens. The dress was hanging in a closet. I sat down on the floor and started steaming. I steamed, I steamed, and I steamed some more. The brides sister announced she didn’t want to do a speech. I saw my friend looked panicked. “I’ll do it if you want” I said, and kept working on the dress. My face was bright red, my hair frizzed, and I was sweating heavily, but by the time that dress was done, it was exquisite. Not a wrinkle in sight.

The 3 women were getting hair done and getting prepped. I headed back to my hotel room to get ready. I now had to get glammed up, plus write a speech. That’s when the cramps started, and I ran in the bathroom. Something set my stomach off, and there I was, having to write a speech while on the toilet. Classy lady, I tell ya.

I get myself together, and now feel a lot better, so I hop in the shower to start the process of turning my swamp creature self into something passable enough for a wedding. My makeup looked cute, my dress looked cute, and I had a few extra minutes.

That’s when I got cocky.

I should have known better.

I decided to put on false lashes. Now let me preface this by saying that I rarely wear lashes, and I don’t know how to put them on easily. Every time is difficult, and while I love the look of them, I hate how inept they make me feel. I was about to be a big ol’ hater, because the lashes and I went to war.

I trimmed them, added my glue, and went to apply gently. Something went wrong, and next thing I knew, my eyelash was stuck to my lower lashes, meaning I had effectively glued my eye shut. The glue went into the corner of my eye and then spread across my eyeball. The pain. OMG, the pain. Now I am left trying to pry my eye apart, but it keeps sticking back to itself. I decided to break from that side and try the other. I gently go to apply the last, and I wish I could explain what I did wrong, but all I can say is that the last somehow stuck to my lashes, and then stuck up by my eyebrow.

I now have one eye WIDE open, with the last connected almost to my brow, and one eye almost glued shut, with glue in it. I look like an old, creepy, broken doll. I pry my eyes apart, and somehow manage to get the lashes in the right place, however I still ave glue in my eye so it’s extremely red.

I throw on my dress, my sky high heels, and teeter downstairs. I say teeter because as I said, I am but a jeans and t shirt swamp girl on the daily, and not the high heel wearing goddess I was hoping to be for just one night. I finally get the hang of the heels and I head to the wedding. Or, at least I tried.

The car never came to get me. The hotel called some guy who showed up in a very dirty minivan. I wasn’t sure if he was a serial killer, but I had a wedding to go to so I hoisted myself right in and off we went. The guy drove like a bat out of hell, which I appreciated. I arrived, flustered, red eyed, eyes sticky, but happy, and set out to find the wedding. That’s when I realized the wedding was on the far side of the hotel, and the hotel was HUGE. I slipped off my shoes and started running, not wanting to be late.

I arrive, winded. My chubby, mediocre bodied self huffing and puffing. I am starting to surmise I am not looking as cute as I had attempted to look.

I see a familiar face, and am promptly asked “oh my god, are you ok? why are your eyes so red?”. So there’s that.

The rest of the night? Pretty awesome. Lots of drinking, dancing, celebrating. There was a Cirque de Soleil performer. There was laughter. There was, however, the incident. You know, the one where we are all stumbly drunk and being silly. I am pushing my friend’s aunt in her walker that has a seat on it. She is laughing and yelling, and I am doing a fast walk, until I hit the lip of carpet, and we both toppled over, crashing to the ground. She gets a head wound, I almost broke my foot. The next morning, I awake still drunk, my foot black and blue, and one of my favorite shoes is cracked in half. I pack, sober up, and race off to the airport to fly home. Not my best choice of travel plans, but I digress.

Now, did I mention the part where I am a terrified flier? Ridiculous, I know, especially as I practically grew up on planes. Yet suddenly, I became a scaredy-pants and get very anxious on planes. I am sitting at the gate where I see a handicapped boy in a wheelchair being pushed to the gate. I noticed that periodically he makes a shriek. I suddenly realize that he will likely be sitting near me, which doesn’t bother me at all except I know if he shrieks and it catches me off guard, with me being so tense, I might shriek too, and then I’ll look like an asshole. I get on the plane, and frankly I may still be a little buzzed from the night before. The boy is a couple of rows up. I settle into my seat. I am trying to get my nerves fine before we take off. I look casually to my left and see an Asian woman with a mask on…the kind doctors wear. I glance around and suddenly notice I am surrounded by people with those masks on. I start to wonder why everyone has a mask on. I fall asleep and start to laugh that perhaps my friend is pranking me. I wake up as we are in mid air, and I awake to a shriek by the boy a few seats up. It was also at the exact moment we hit turbulence and the plane dropped a bit. I SCREAMED. Like, fear in all it’s glory scream. All I felt was my seat drop out below me and heard someone scream, so I screamed. Then I realized what happened. I peered around sheepishly and saw an endless sea of masked faces looking at me. Some looked concerned, some looked angry. I realize I now look like I was mocking a handicapped person. I slink down in my seat, cursing my stupid fear.

I arrived home, hobbled with bruises all over my foot and leg, still unable to apply lashes like a grown up, but having had a hell of a time.

Adventures in Mommyhood

Just a little story I though I would share for all you parents out there…..

Tonight, my dad came up from another state to visit, He, the kids and I all go out for dinner, which was good except the kids were excited he was here and so were a bit hyper. At the end of the meal, my 2 year old slid under the table. I thought she was coming under to come get her coat on. “Come and get your coat on” I said. A high pitched yet loud voice announces from under the table “I can’t, I’m pooping!”. I thought I must have been mistaken, and called to her again. “Mommy, I am pooping down here! I’ll be done in a minute!!”. Awkward silence. My father said “oh yes, she is most certainly pooping”. We sit, and we wait. Finally she emerges, and as I put on her coat and pick her up, she begins to cry. “mommy! I pooped…Change me!!! I pooped! I did a huge poop…change me mommy!”. This occurs all the way to the restrooms, getting louder and more frantic, while people stare at me and Tiny Dame Crappedalot. I just mumbled “enjoy your salad ” and “the bread is good here” to the patrons.