WTF?! (What the Face?!)

Makeup is hard. It really really is. It’s actually a bit mental just how much I struggle every day. I used to be confused when I was younger at why some people actually took classes in how to do their makeup. It’s a waste of time and money I would think and scoff at these supposed grownups. But now I am eating crow, majorly. To start this all off, I will bring up the issue that seems to be pretty constant amongst most of my make-up wearing peers. My eyeliner is never, ever, ever, ever, ever even on both of my eyes. It never was and never will be. Forever. And ever. Period. Also, what is a cat eye? I know what it looks like but I also think it is physically impossible unless you are ambidextrous.  

I know for a fact, that 90% of the time that my foundation does not match my neck. Even when I blend it (or attempt to blend it), my face is almost always a different color. I personally believe this is because my skin color changes every day. I know it sounds crazy but I really do think mine does. I am a relatively olive skin that can go back and forth between tan and pale very quickly depending on how long my drive home was and what and the sun was facing me in that short duration. I am not the kind of person who is able to buy a bunch of different foundations that are all just slightly off of each other. And even if I was and was, there is still a small chance of success of me still being able to match myself. Why do I wear foundation in the first place though? Because, truthfully it just makes me feel better. I have a lot of strange freckles and get very blotchy red patches all over my face when I am in any motion. And I mean basic every day motions. Examples include, going up a flight of stairs, laughing at anything slightly funny, standing up too quickly, sitting down too quickly, taking a too big of a gulp of water, pacing while trying to remember if I turned the stove off that morning, etc. So I like to put on foundation so that I have just a little more pigment consistency throughout the day. This the two tone is a problem that I am putting on myself but it is a problem none the less. And we can’t even get into the “cakey” foundation problem because it makes me think of cake and if I start talking about cake, this post will actually never end until I actually get cake. Also, raise your hand if you have ever sneezed into a tissue after you do your foundation and your snot is just foundation. That has definitely ruined my day more than once.

And to continue with the face in general, I do not contour or use blush, because I do not know how or even really understand it if I have to be honest. The first time I tried it via many many YouTube video, I scared a bunch of kids. Thank goodness it was Halloween or else that could have been awkward. I also do not need blush. Because as I explained with the foundation, I turn red in the cheeks all the time anyways. I have a few separate incidents in my memories of climbing up a flight of stair or sped walked to a meeting and getting complements on my “blush”. Nope, just my face. My nature blush forcing itself to be spot lighted under either too dark or too light layers of foundation.

Overall though when I examine my face as a whole, it’s mostly my eyebrows. How do you actually do eyebrows. Does anyone know how to do eyebrows? I actually think everyone is making this one as they go. I have always had misshaped, thick in the wrong was, sparse eyebrows. At some point in high school a friend took me to get them waxed for the first time which changed everything. Then this past year, I have experimented with filling them in with different powders and pencils. But I never seem to have a good eyebrow day. My eyebrows are never “on fleek” or whatever the kids are saying now a days. They look decent from a distance, but once you get a bit closer, something is always just a bit off. They say that practice makes perfect but for my eyebrows, I’m pretty sure that is the opposite. I actually think it might be getting worse. I can never seem to get the pencil or the brush to make the product do what I want it to do. I have gone full days looking perpetually confused just because I might have put one eyebrow a bit higher than the other, or just slightly anger because I drew them in just a little too close. The endless combinations have give my face brand new expression which would seem like a good thing at first glance but when you face is stuck like that for 8 hours and you don’t really notice until you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror right before take your make up off for the day. I could just quit. But as they say, once you add something to your make up routine, it’s hard to go back. With every new part of my face that I attempt to learn how to smush product on, I find that it has suddenly become embedded into my daily face painting routine. And the eyebrows are no exception. I do my eyebrows everyday even though I went years of not knowing that doing your eyebrows was actually a thing. So every day, I take a deep breath, grab whatever device I am attempting to configure that day and look at my eyebrows in the mirror. “Are you going to work today?” I ask them and in reaction,  my face moves on it’s own to the question I asked. They seem to spring upward towards my forehead like two puppies who heard the word “chicken.” The subsequent very wrinkled part of my forehead seems to counter with an “oh please” look of tiredness. I think even my face is done with me complaining by this point.

Putting the Fuse in Confused,

~C

Concerts Make Me Question my Relationship Making Abilities

I am normally not one to think about my single status. Not that I don’t want to be in a relationship or that I am actively avoiding it but in general it just does not cross my mind. It’s just kind of like it’s there.  It’s a fact about me that I am sporting that single statue and it does not bother me for the most part. I typically get on with my day just fine without a partner. But one of the times that I am the most aware of my single status is when I want to go to a concert. A concert that no one else in my life wants to go to. And all of a sudden, I wish that I had someone in my life that I can force this experience upon. But that is because, the role that music plays in my life…. is different compared to most. Almost freakish.

It’s not just the sound. It’s the experience as a whole. The feeling of the music pulsing through your body and it’s almost like your very blood comes alive. The bass throwing itself into your nerves, jolting your bones with ever beat. The hairs on your arms stand up and you can almost feel your pupils dilating. The way I’m describing my general concert experience right now, it may sounds like what happens to you when you get into a very lively club, which it sometimes true to some extent. But a concert to me at least is a whole different ballpark. For the most part, I will only go to concerts where I am devoted to the artist. And not to oversell the value, but having completely devotion to an artist is a big deal for me. Deal breaker quality stuff. It typically means that I had a connect to the music. And as I am writing that sentence, I know just how it sounds pretty fake on paper, I know but for me it’s the most real that I personally can get. There is a place/moment that I get to when I literally lose myself in music. (que Lose Yourself by Eminem) It’s almost like an out of body experience. I feel real and alive and strangely protected. Like I’m in my own sphere of sound and all that matters is me in that moment, listening to that music in this specific time of my life. I move, I dance, and as I mentioned at the beginning of this part, I fully throw myself into experience. So long story short, concerts are some of my favorite experiences of all time.

My only problem is that a combination of my strange taste in more unpopular music and my standards of seating (I will pay more than most of my friends for pretty terrible seats because the sound is all that matters to me, not always necessarily seeing the performer in question. Although that is fun too I’ve heard.) I normally have a difficult time finding someone to go with me. I have gone to concerts alone before (read the post about my first and currently last trip in a police car for an example) but it’s not always as fun. I also realize that my description of myself at the concert and what I go through out the show overall would make it seem that I would actually prefer to go to the shows by myself. And it also seems that normal people would not necessarily want to stand too close by me during a concert, even friends that I know and people that care about me. While both are true to some extent, I cannot help my fear of going alone. It’s human nature right? Or is it because I’m a girl and I partially worry about my safety. Part of my mind is constantly aware of my surroundings and I’m not able to fully put myself into the show itself. But in reality, if I’m going to honest with myself, it’s not just the companionship but the actual presence. The need to share the experience. Music should be shared….. but also and mostly the fear of being judged when seen going to a show by one’s self. How duplicitous is that statement from someone who just explain the impact that music has on her. Why should I care so much about going alone? What does that say about me as a person? A literal “losing of myself, in the music”.

Putting the Fuse in Confused,

C

The Existential Crisis

Have you ever thought about your existence. Like, truly thought about your existence. Out of thousands of sperm, you came to be because you were the strongest and got to the egg first. What if one had edged you out by just a little bit. You wouldn’t be here now. You wouldn’t exist in the same way. Or what if one of your parents was late to the date, or got caught in traffic on the way back from work and the plans for the evening were stopped? What if your father had not decided to go the college in state and never met your mother? What if your mother had decided to not go on that second date? So many tiny things revolve around your very existence in this very moment. Really think about it. When I think about it, my head starts to spin in all the wrong ways. 

It starts with me looking at my hands. Moving them, considering how I know how to move them. How to make a fist or flick something off or even just making the tips twitch individually. Then I will pace a little bit to think really about how my legs are actually moving in such a way. the bend of the knee. I slow that part down . Literally, just going back and forth, thinking too much about the joint. Then it gets dangerous because this is about the point where I start to go into my own head. My eyes are the beginning. The fact that I can see what’s going on all around me. The fact that I can take it all in even is just incredible really. The dangerous part is when I go even further into my identity. My name is the first think the comes to me. I obviously know my name, no question about it. But who am I really? Am I my name, or is my name me? Does that even make sense or is that pure nonsense? Or is it both. What if my name was different, would I see differently through these eyeballs? Would they even be considered the same eyeballs? 

This is the point where I end up closing my eyes for a little bit and my thought take over like when you pour just a little too much soy sauce in a bowl of rice. It spreads just a little too quickly and changes the contents and their purpose. Not necessarily in a bad way but it hit every crack and crevasse on the way down and soaks through each pieces thoroughly. That’s how these existential crisis thoughts take over my head. My once white rice head is browning, becoming salty and pouring as liquid in the bottom. I question everything about my life. And I mean everything. If I had said “But…” instead of “Well…”, could that have made an alteration in the conversation that completely changed an important aspect of my life? Did the red socks I wore today instead of the blue put me in the exact place I am right now?  Those sorts of question. If I had said one word differently in a conversation that took place a year ago, would I be somewhere else completely? I know that this is walking along the edge of that “butterfly effect” theory but think about it. Actually don’t think about it. Then maybe you can save yourself an afternoon of staring blankly, questioning everything thing that has ever happened to you. It’s not quite as fun as it might sound.

Putting the Fuse in Confused,

The Nook of Uncommon Books: Nimona by Noelle Stevenson

I have recently been gaining more and more appreciation for graphic novels. It used to not understand them as a whole and (embarrassingly and shamefully now) did not necessarily consider them actual “books” (loose definition). But when I found a forgotten copy of Maus by (Art Spiegelman) when cleaning out my brother’s book shelf, everything changed. But we are not here to talk about that book (as equally wonderful and moving as it is), we are here to talk (write?) about Nimona. To start off with, the first page of Nimona has the best dedication that I have seen. “For all the Monster Girls”. This one hit me straight in the chest. I was always a bit of an outsider growing up. I was that weird kid with not terrible social skills but still was defined as “socially awkward” and not exactly complete up there. Ya know? I never knew what to call myself and I did not want to be renamed to the stereotypical “That weird girl”. I cannot say what the other kids said behind my back, as obviously I was not there but I’m thinking it was not always positive. I grew up, changed a bit on the way but always solidified with this “weird girl” part of my life. She never went away and I never wanted her to in fact. But when I saw that dedication, I connected to these 5 words with such intensity and weight that I almost couldn’t turn the page. This book already took my breath away and this is only the first page. Everything, of course, just gets better from here on out.

As you can probably tell from my other “book reviews” (which I put in quotes because I do not know if you can count the way I review books as a traditional “book review”), I am going to do a horrible job of summarizing this amazing story and just talk about my overall thoughts in a word-vomit like format. Sound good to everyone? But in a way, that might be better so that you can go in reading it mostly blind but just with the remembrance of how it affect me, a random strange on the internet with a love of words and meaning. Nimona is a story of an unlikely friendship that seems to blossom out of evil desires, turning into true companionship when these two outcast realize the value of their relationship. A young girl with unusual power reveals the true nature of the people in her lives. With a drawing style completely unique to Stevenson, this graphic novel will have you laughing out loud and then crying within seconds. There is action, drama, wonder and magic to be found in the pages and a true sense of creativity to be found in between the pages. A story that will stay with you, please treat yourself to this amazing character’s journey of self acceptance and how it affects other’s along the way.

Putting the Fuse in Confused,

C

Buffy 20

Angel, Thank You for teaching me to never stop working to improve one’s self

Spike, Thank You for showing me how to laugh in the face of adversity

Tara, Thank You for showing me how the quietest person can sometimes be the loudest

Anya, Thank You for showing me that people can always change

Dawn, Thank You for showing me how to accept yourself no matter what new things you may discover

Giles, Thank You for giving me faith in mentors and safe places

Xander, Thank You for finally giving me a character to relate to, for showing me how to actually save the world (despite your friends thinking that they are saving the world), and redefining the words Trust, Devotion and Extraordinary

Willow, Thank You for reaffirming the value of knowledge and showing me that it’s okay to be a geek/nerd/bookworm. And also that it’s also okay to have a dark side and for showing me how to face and accept that part of yourself.

Buffy, Thank you for teaching me about strength, endurance and passion. Also for showing me how to love and how to let go and how to truly put everyone else first. Most of all, thank you for being my original “Nevertheless She Persisted”.

Food

I am in a very instable relationship right now. It has been going on for years, and it has become too big a part in my life to let go. I know that our relationship is bad. Terrible actually and getting a little worse every day. But I also know that it almost impossible to let go and change things. It is a relationship that has consumed my life in an almost indulgent way. It moved in my life a long time ago which incredible force and does not plan on leaving, even after I had said, out loud in fact, that things were going to change. It’s has truly taken over me in ways that affect my work, my friends, my family and myself. I have to end it. I know it too. My relationship with Food…is extremely unhealthy (pun intended. Wait is that a even a pun?). I have always known that my relationship with Food was no good and dare I say cruel? I have no intention on finishing that plate of fries that came with my order but it screams at me. “Bitch Please! Eat them all!” And I find myself obeying even thought I told myself that I was only going to have a few. I try to stop myself a few times but Food is not having anything and is even madder now, if at all possible. “What did I just tell you? I told you to eat all of them! IF you stop again, this is only going to get harder. It’s only going to get worse. Try it. I double dog dare you.” And then the plate is clean. I don’t even remember it happening. Had I blacked out? Food smirks at me because it knows that it won. Fries are usually the biggest problem. Breakfast foods are worse though because they gang up on me as a team and do it when I am weakest. The worst and most abusive of them all… is chocolate. I have tried to say no to chocolate my entire life but the sneaky little bastard will never go away. Even when it is not there, I think about it. I dream about it. I even fantasize about it. I know, it’s sick. Chocolate has taken control over most of my life and it knows it too. Chocolate knows that I will never say no to it and that is the problem and the source of most of my own issues. The problem is that I don’t hate it. I don’t had any of them. I love them and that is the problem. I love them too much to say good-bye. Also, they will always be there. I cannot get away as much as I would like to. There is an irresistible factor that comes with food that is the main driving point of this relationship. It’s beautiful, it smells intoxicating, you know you are going to feel good while you are with it. All I want is to be able to let go but I know deep in my heart, I am pretty much stuck in this relationship and it will always be a part of me for the rest of my life. They say that acceptance is the first step in admitting you have a problem. Well I accept that I have this problem, now please excuse me. I need to go get something warm, deep friends and covered in chocolate.

What? I’m told you that I was accepting this.

Putting the Fuse in Confused,

C

Anger.

“BECAUSE SHE IS A FUCKING MORON!!!!” I was screaming at the top of my lungs and actually jumped up in the air, hitting the ground hard with a resounding thump just in case my voice didn’t convey how angry I was. It was almost reminiscent of a child’s tantrum, if my anger wasn’t so great and intense and dare I say fearful. The second of silence that filled the hallways was almost loud. There is a weird pause that lingered in the air right before I forced myself to take a breath. My roommate looks at me in total disbelief. She has never heard me scream like that. In a truth, I actually don’t think I have ever screamed like that intentionally ever in my life. I yell all the time, don’t get me wrong. But that scream was very, very different. It erupted out of a seriously dark place in my soul that I did not even know actually existed. I was out of breath and my noses flares had a mind of their own. I could actually feel my heart beating in such a way I had previously only recognized from after a seriously hard multi-mile run in 90 degree heat. The heat was practically radiating off of my red cheeks. That was not normal to go from practically calm to… whatever this was in that short of  time span. I actually think it was not normal to feel this angry or to let my body take over in this manner, in general. As my mind came back to me I tried to evaluate how I got here. And then it hit me. I became my father. And that terrified me. But probably not in the ways that most people would interpret that sentence. You see, I idolize my dad. He is my biggest male role model and influenced me in the best possible ways my entire life. I love him as much as a daughter could physically love her dad and then some. I am the person I am today based on the ways that he and my mother showed the world to my brother and I. Some of my legitimately happiest moments are when I can make my dad smile. I want to take after Dad as much as I can. But this was something that scared me beyond belief.

The scariest words that I have ever heard in my life were “Dad’s in the hospital, it’s his heart.” I didn’t know at the time that it was what they would later diagnose as AFib (irregular heartbeats) and felt myself falling apart. Even that very day in the hospital, he was basically normal by the time my 13 year old self would reach his bed side  and the sight of him smiling, sitting up, still wearing his dress pants under his hospital gown and making jokes about how the hospital had better TV (we never had cable) were just enough to make me burst into tears even after the nurses kept assuring me he was completely fine and was not in any life threatening danger. And before this story takes any other dark turns I am just going to jump right to the end. Dad is fine and today is as healthy as he has ever been. I talk to him all the time, equal amount about politics, both of our workplaces, life and bowel movements. Our most recent discussion involved my poking fun at him at dying his salt and pepper beard that was just starting to grey. This poking only occurred after years of dad embracing old age and slightly shaming my mother for plucking out all her white hairs. Dad is fantastic. Dad is living life to the fullest. But more than a decade ago, he was not. He was a lot angrier back then. He took everything he was into himself and would have rapid bursts of rage. In his defense, Dad owned (actually still owns) his own business, he has people in his life that made life difficult at times and at the time of his heart attack, my brother and I were at the height of the worst of our combined teenage years. But after his attack, Dad changed everything. He completely changed his diet for one matter, he started to exercise more for another, but most of all, he smiled more. That is actually what he will tell people. He will point to his deep crow’s feet that decorate eyes and say that these are what saved his life, the many years of more laughing and smiling. He never took things as seriously as he had in the past. He learned to let go of the little things and just worry about what mattered the most to him, mostly Mom, my brother and myself. He shrugged more, and found the good in everything. A few years ago, Dad’s doctor said that his heart had improved so much, it was almost like he had never had heart problems in the first place.

I can tell you exactly why I screamed like that day. I greatly disagree with the opinions of said person I was screaming (obviously) about but the thing is, that person probably doesn’t even remember the disagreement. She probably shrugged and moved on with her life. I will not go into too much detail, but my deep disagreement with this person is actually a big deal. The decision she made reflects the decisions made by so many other people and that decision will affect lives. Many lives for the worst. So I wasn’t irrational going off about an outfit decision or lunch choice. Her vocal opinion was a big deal and hit me really hard. So yes, I almost felt in the right to feel the way I did. But my anger, that was making her problem my problem. I should not be fighting this person’s mind but their concept. I let her get under my skin, crawling deeper and deeper into my mind and letting her subliminal message rage havoc on me. I let this happen. I cannot let this happen again. So this post is for two reason. It’s a bit different from what I normally write. One it is to show my appreciation for Dad as a person. To show how much the will of a human can literally save lives. Second, it’s a reminder to follow in his example. I am putting it in writing and out in the open. I will refuse to let my demons take over me again. I will not other people define me. I will chose my life’s outcomes. Because I can. And I will.

Never giving up,

~C

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