How eyebrows can define your face?

So, as some may know, recently I have been in hot pursuit of regrowing my eyebrows. Why? Last October I made the decision to "attempt" to save money in numerous aspects of my life. One of the biggest arena's was in beauty supplies. I decided to use all those random, half empty bottles of Shampoo, Body Wash, Lotion, all hair products, make up, and basically all that other crap that causes 98% of all females bathrooms to be come a cluster of fruity goodness that we have grown tired of. It is now March and I have not purchased body wash in close to 8 months (this is also thanks to receiving about 5 bottles for Christmas) So, when I decided this I also made the decision to "attempt" to pluck my own eyebrows rather than pay the completely asinine $10 a months to let the Chinese lady wax them while, also, asking/attempting to wax my non-existent lip hair ... aka...mustache as well. Obvi, I decline. By the way, if there is a mustache, an no one has informed me, all of our friendships are over.
So, here I am, in my bathroom, tweezers in hand ready to begin the process of tweezing and shaping a rapidly growing uni-brow. While I have always been able to do the standard week to week clean up, being in charge of my own prettiness was never a forte. I pay people for that, it took this defining moment for me to realize I will continue to pay for that.
Actually, I should have never embarked on this adventure anyway, especially after living the bad haircut hell for 3 months. See this one time, after having my haircut by a new hairstylist, I was not a fan of my bangs. You know where this is going; of course I decided that because I had watched hairstylist go snip, snip for years, I too could go snip, snip. WRONG! I snip, snipped side swooping pangs to the exact same length straight across my forehead. I screamed as soon as I made the cut, I immediately knew a baseball cap was about to be my best friend. The next day I went to the hairstylist begging, pleading, practically crawling on my knees and only receiving a laugh in return because there was nothing she could do for this catastrophe except say "It will grow back!" Did I learn my lesson from this? Of courssssee not!
So back to the eyebrows, here I am, sitting in my sink, knees to my chest with mouth wide open ( I have a tendency of making the OH! face when focusing) so I can capture as much light from the bathroom mirror as to not miss anything. I am being as delicate as possible, trying not to rush because one wrong pluck, much like my bangs, can make a grown woman cry in complete dismay.
Then, as if Edward Scissorhand's had over come me, I made that one, ill-fated, wrong pluck and "accidentally" grabbed an entire section of tiny hairs and pulled; next thing I knew....my eyebrow's were two different lengths and I was sitting in a sink contemplating crying a river. I immediately stopped, went to the bitchy Chinese lady who talked about me in some Ching Chong that I didn't understand, possibly calling me a silly white girl for trying to do my own eyebrows. (I still love the little Chinese lady, but in this moment I was not a happy person). She, much like the hairstylist, attempted to play damage control, but they were to far gone. Accidentally shaving off an entire eyebrow, would have been the only thing worse.
I tried to grow them out for months, but I would get too frustrated by how horrifying they looked with all the little random hairs all over the place and would get the wax and pray that China didn't comment on them. She did, she said I needed to grown them out, I never listened, I just went to new salons and blamed the lack of symmetry on the previous person. Actually, I never blatantly stated that this was all my fault, just never said it wasn't another person's either. The worst part, thanks to my red hair and that no cosmetic supplier makes strawberry blonde/red eyebrow pencils, I could not even draw them in without it being blatantly obvious.
With all this being said, for future reference, It takes roughly a month for completely botched eyebrows to grown back in... and I am getting them waxed back to perfection this weekend!!!

Exploitations of a skanky girl...

Ok, so I may not be skanky. Scandalous may better suffice. Ok, so maybe not scandalous, I do have a reputation to uphold here.Well, that is, if there is still a reputation to uphold. I think there are few Saturday nights that could have ruined my reputation or created an entire new one. I'm not so sure, they were a bit hazy. None involve the stereotypical going home with a person I don't know, but most involve waking up with a phone number I'm unsure of, some have involved meeting a new guy when I'm out with another, and once or twice may involved dancing on a bar. But in terms of reputation, really why should I base my sole existence around some nonsense others think about me. Wouldn't we all be a little bit more free if we were not trying to maintain a reputation. Personal opinion, I don't think you really begin to live until you remove the bars that are surrounding your existence. Why do you think the skanks of the world can thrive in a celebrated fashion?
So here's what I say.....Live on skanks... live on the white trash, trailer park hood rats. I will be forever indebted to your cut off jorts, Pall Mall smoking, Natural light drinking, baby on your hip, K-Mart feet, chewing Big Red, with Johnston County hair (sincere apologies if that offended you, but it is a cross between the Kate Gosselin and the mullet), and rouge lipstick. You have perfected the art of embracing your skank-tastic reputation of looking dirty and cheap while flaunting your Tweetie bird tattoo and tramp stamp to a man that has no desire to even give you a quarter to call a person who cares. You find your self fascinating to everyone, when really it is only Bubba down the street with the beer belly and one tooth. And think about, what is the perfect vacation for the skank...a trip to Graceland wearing Jorts with their Camera and Pall Malls in an acid wash fanny pack.

whats the point of no return...

So, just out of curiosity, at what point are you supposed to open up to someone. At what point are they supposed to see past the face value bullshit and know the real you. Ok, so maybe some people allow the true them to show at all times, from day one. I'm not saying that I have an issue with this, but there are things about me people are unaware of. Its not because I am scared of admitting these things, but rather, I am unsure of when is the most appropriate time to bring up more personal subjects. And is there really an appropriate time, or do I just miss the segue in normal conversations with a significant other that can lead to more in depth topics.

For instance, I have 2 big fears in my life. They have absolutely nothing to do with monetary happiness or success in my job. I know I will do well in both of those arena's, mainly because I am a workaholic and will go through every possible facet in order to be the best and move up the quickest. And in terms of monetary happiness, when you are cheap, and you will always have dinero, at least that is my opinion, and plus, I have a strong relationship with Goodwill Industries.

So for me, my two fears are that, one, I will not find someone to accept me for the forever aspect. Maybe, this is because I don't put out the vibe that a I am ready and willing for commitment and maybe its because my fear that someone will not accept all the positives and negatives about me, and this inhibits me from disclosing all the personal information about myself that allows others to get in my inner circle. I do realize that I have to have a certain aura about me, but I'm fairly certain no matter how ready I am I will never have that aura. I have always said that I never had issues getting the guy, but never had the appeal to keep them around once the honeymoon/physical chemistry subsided. To be honest, maybe only twice in my life have I a been completely honest about who I really am. Once ended due to irreconcilable difference and there are no ill feelings.
Anyone is able to sabotage their own relationship, and I have come to the determination that I have a very high success rate at sabotaging relationships. At times, I believe others are unable to see past the face value.....hello, its their fault not mine. Classic single girl response. But really, why should I want anything to do with someone that can only see me for exactly what I present, shouldn't I want that person that see's more, that is able to look past the physical aspects or the image that I portray. I'm a balla... I know this, thus everyone else should know this.
Secondly, I'm petrified of being a good mother one day. Actually, I'm just petrified of being a mom in general. I don't get that warm, fuzzy feeling at the thought of being a mom. In hindsight, I'd rather take a butter knife and slowly disseminate my carodit artery while shoving a cold ice pic in my eye at the same time. Graphic...maybe. Really, you are trusting the life of another human being in my hands and expecting me to raise it to be a decent human being. It would be a well dressed object, but decent human...I think not. I'm fairly certain that I do not have that mother instinct....heck, I have a tendency of making babies and small animals cry. I am not only scared of raising something to be a just human being, but how do I do this and work at the same time. I can barely focus on fixing my own hair in the morning and you expect me to make sure something goes to school with matching shoes on it's feet. Teachers will hate me, I may even have the smelly kid one day whose name is Euripides because I decided that even if he was old and had the IQ of a 2 year old at least he would have a noble name. I'll give him a nickname, just so the kids won't call him a freak in attempt to protect his social development, but no doubt he will be scarred for life. To some extent, this could make me a good mom, I mean isn't part of growing up being completely scarred by something that happened in the forefront of you cognitive and social development. I was called Pippy, and told I was fat by some dumb boy on the school bus. At least now my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard now.

I'm fairly certain my quarterlife crisis is going to sabotage the rest of my life...

If I could write a parody of my life...

Why I will never be Britney Spears.

Yes, I am legit in saying this. In my mind, I was Britney Spears in a past life. Beyonce was my best friend. Miley Cyrus was my arch enemy. Do not try to discourage me in thinking this. Whenever my Ipod switches to "Womanizer" I feel as if this is the ultimate homage. But as many times as I have attempted to sing, I fail miserably. Inside there is this inner performer that wishes to break free, walk on stage scantily clad with a python wrapped around my neck while wearing 5 in heels. Like Britney Spears, I, too, am from small town USA where wearing cutoff Levi's, putting your kid on a leash is appropriate, and 17 year olds like Jamie Lynn have nothing better to do than get pregnant. While looking at Britney from this perspective, I should probably aspire to be more like Carrie Underwood, but she's sweet and wholesome and only sings of taking a Louisville Slugger to someone's car. Britney...is nuts. She broke out her entire career on the edge. She went from cute little Mickey Mouse Club and took the Catholic schoolgirl persona to a whole new level and parents questioned her, then busted out this red leather jump suit singing about the diamond from the Titanic. Miley tried to trump this buy posing naked in a magazine....well she did have a towel around her, but she still doesn't have it. She formally apologized for the image she portrayed. Britney and Christina have already been the once sweet, little Disney characters turned skanks of pop music, theres no place for you in this game of life Miley, so continue with your Hoedown Throwdown (which secretly I love). When Britney drove with her baby sitting in her lap, and bashed in K-Feds truck with a baseball bat, then shaved all her hair off, did she apologize..no! This is not One Republic, and there is no reason to apologize when everyone already knows your nuts. Can she actually sing, slightly, in the pop music world. She will never be able to sing with the likes of Aretha, singing with soul. Can she dance, slightly, in the I should have a stripper pole in my house and crawl across the floor with heavy black eyeliner/mascara duo swinging my wet wavy hair. As for me, I can only continue to dream.

Reasons this will never happen. I am tone death. Horribly tone death. As in, I make dogs cry. And I have no idea what pitchy means. I watch American Idol, and get confused when Randy always says pitchy, because I think the song sounded great. Is a falsetto a pitch, or a note in a song? I don't know the difference between a tenor and alto, except I know I am not a soprano. I learned this at Bible Camp, where half the girls could use this sweet little voice and hit soft high notes. I could not. I am not soft. Or Sweet. Nor can I dance. I am the epitome of white girl. The girl that in a club all the black girls talk about because she thinks she cool, and smooth on the dance floor, when in actuality all I'm doing is moving my hips in an obnoxious manner and rocking my head in a motion that makes me think I look sexy. What I do have, though, is stage presence. Granted, I have never been on a stage because some asshole would boo me off, or I would make a scene that is straight out of P.S I Love you and would fall off and break my nose. So I have deemed the inside of my 12 year old pick up truck as my stage, as well as, my bathroom with my bottle of hairspray as my microphone. I have fine tuned my facial expressions and know just when to put my arm in the air during the powerful part of the song and then bring it back to my chest with my fist and eyes closed. And, during an angry song how make my face mean and put the gusto behind the words. I have no ability to dress remotely close to Britney, except I do own cowboy boots. A. No body wants to see the extra baggage that is really going on. I don't wear tight form fiting clothing unless I have previously determined my baggage is well hidden. And yes, girls know how to hide their flaws. B. I have to strong of a friendship with JCrew and GAP and it is very difficult to skank up a cardigan. C. My mother would slap me.

So, when all is said and done, even though Britney is my homegirl, my lack of singing and skanky dancing ability enables Britney to retain the homecourt advantage. Plus, I'm not that physcotic....and not on mood stabilizer ... yet.

the bermuda triangle of vegetables

Why brussel sprouts changed my life.

Really, who decided one day, "Hey, I think I'm just going to pick this little cabbage looking shrub out of the ground and eat away". Brussel sprouts are not the only food I feel such disdain towards. Mushrooms hit fairly high on that list as well. Gah, the thought that some divine individual felt the need to eat this little dirty object that has no smell, essentially no taste raw, and has a slimy texture when cooked....I still refuse to eat them cooked. Oyster as well.

Obviously, I have a complex about food. I am not picky but the texture and visual appeal of a food completely outweighs the actual taste. I didn't eat a mushroom until I was 22, avacado and sushi until 23, smoked salmon less than 3 weeks ago, and have refused to eat oysters since my mother shoved this slimy, steamed, vinegar covered, mucous that just fell out of my snotty kid nose looking object down my throat. Oh! The damage that one oyster did to me.In my mind, I remember her holding my nose and telling me to just eat, but she would claim I was willing...she lies, all mother distort facts about the tramatic moments from you childhood. I think it's mother code.. they have to. Ok, back to the snot....the feeling still sends shivers down my spine at the thought of cracking open this shell that can grow a beautiful pearl and sucking out the mucous. It bothers me that this same shell can harvest something that looks like snot and I have to eat. I'd almost rather swallow my own snot when I'm sick...ok, maybe that was excessive, but you see the point.

So, brussel sprouts. They are small, green objects, that closely resemble cabbage. They have 45 calories and 8g protien in six. A good source of fiber and all this other nonsense. But they are still these scary green objects. Movies, commercials, and tv shows instill a fear of these in younglings by always showing images of children feeding them to the dog or spitting them out in their napkin. And for me, that moment occured while watching America's Funniest Home Video's...the old school Bob Saget one with the bad voiceovers...where this redheaded girl with thick bangs was throwing her brussel sprouts in the trash and lying to her parents about them. I didn't know this girl, but I immediately identified with her and decided I would hate them as well. I, too, had a thick mange of red hair, and, at times, lied to my parents about my brothers; her and I were destined to be bff's. So, ultimately, I refused to come near them, or even acknowledge thier vegetable existense in the food pyrmiad. In my mind, they only existed in the vegetable equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle, where things go but never come back.

And then (insert the dun dun dun) three days ago, as I am leaving the gym, I decide make my way to the local Kroger, more vegetable friendly than Food Lion, in search of Spinach salad, avacodo, raw mushrooms, and cucumbers to make a quaint little dinner. I aquire the ingredients and begin perusing the aisles for other delicacies. I stumble upon the frozen vegetables, I lock eyes with this bag of Brussel Sprouts, I give it the stank eye, and I walk away. Then, I stumble upon another bag and we lock eyes again. In this split second, I decided to slip on my big girl, unnamed, non victoria secret panties and dive into the unknown abyss. Next thing I know, as if Satan overcame me, the scary baby cabbage is in my basket, being scanned, and then ...being paid for....with my own money.

So, here I am standing in my kitchen, with this bag of grossness, that I have no idea how to cook. I take the easy way....microwave. Someone should be playing the Rocky theme song right now. 7 minute countdown begins and movie quotes are running rampant in my head :

Minute 7: "man down, man down, run for cover"

Minute 6: "This is no democracy. It's a dictatorship. I am the law"

Minute 5: "Boobie traps"

Minute 4: "Someone didn't love you enough when you were little did they?"

Minute 3: "I may have been bad. I may have kept you chained up in that room, But it was for your own good."

Minute 2: down to the wire.

Minute 1: "The key to change is to let go of fear"

Minute 0: Ding

The life changing defining moment has come. I take the bowl out, disperse of the water, grab the salt and pepper determined these two seasoning can over power any terrible flavor. Stare, eye to eye, woman to sprout, and stick my fork into its center, close my eyes, suck in fast, open my mouth, refuse to breathe, chew, let all the flavors arouse themselves, and swallow. And now I can say TOTAL DOMINATION!

Now, for the culminating moment....brussel sprouts are this shit! ( w/o the salt and pepper they could have been bad, but I will never know) And how this changed my life....for so long this was the last food I adamantly refused to try, and now.... on my own, I have overcome my fear of baby cabbage.

I will never eat snot though. Or fried snot. Or stewed snot. Oyster's = snot. Forever.

“He liked to observe emotions; they were like red lanterns strung along the dark unknown of another's personality, marking vulnerable points.”

All personalities are different. While there are things that correlate personalities and create likenesses between people, no two people are the same. I somewhat believe in astrology, not necessarily daily horoscopes, but more in terms of your birth year or month or day and how that affects you the individual mainly because all the stara collided at a given moment and your were born thus creating a complex you would live with the rest or your life. And we do all have a complex, they define aspects of our psyche. Because of these reason's not everybody has to get a long. We are not 5 year old's in kindergarten where the teachers are trying to make us share and play with each other or sticking us in front of the sad face when we are mean to the girl that stole your giant pencil or making us buy valentines day cards for the entire class when in actuality I hate selfish Susan and smelly Stan! But selfish Susan and smelly Stan also had friends, I just preferred not to speak to them. And really, what is so wrong about that! We all have personality styles that we gravitate towards. For me, I prefer the slightly awkward, inappropriate d'bags who underneath everything are nice people. The reason being that I like these people, they say how they feel, they push limits and push boundaries as see what they can get away with. These people dont hold themselves back, they take what they want and break rules and apologize for it later. I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not with them, they tend to see right through your buillshit and immediately call you out on it! Who wouldn't want friends like this! But if you are in their inner circle, and you know the real them, you realize they are genuine, kind, and sometimes the biggest softies ever! And quite frankly, if these type of people don't fit in the persona you prefer to be around then dont be around them, and if you can't understand why they do the things that they do, do not deem it necessary to speak negatively of them!

Ain't no rhyme or reason

Have you ever thought about living your life in the gray area? That small sector where things don't necessarily make sense, where black and white are not clearly defined colors. I once read in a book " Life isn't always black and white, and sometimes the gray areas are the ones that work best for us." The minute I read this statement I knew it was spectacular ( well maybe not for the prudish or wretched individuals that thinks there is no in between) but for me, it was one of those defining moments.

For my well-being, things don't have to always make sense nor fit into some cookie-cutter standard that god knows who came up with. I mean really why in the hell should I live in this mold that another person has a created. I was created in my own unique mold, that is not for another person to determine or even understand. But mothers and fathers are constantly saying that God broke the mold when he made their precious baby, then turn around and shove a silver spoon in their mouth and put them into a given category. We expect people to talk a given way due to where they are born, and to wear certain clothes based on if they play golf or live in the hood, and act in a certain way based on their social or racial class. Really hypocrites, think outside the lines. Things are not so black and white!

Thus being said, I think I am going to dread my hair, wear seer-suckers and boat shoes with a rebel flag tshirt and drive a hooptie!