LUXURIOUS

I salute YOU, Mister and/or Missus Gloriously Different Person of Interest. I applaud your ability to take those things that make your fabulous and kick it up to eleven. Yes, you march to the beat of your own drummer, and sometime you ARE the freaking drummer. I celebrate your ability to be separate from the pack. To stand out. To revel in being a rebel and calmly raising your middle finger in a gentle salute to all things conformity cries for.

Funny Pictures

Yes, you are lovely and I am completely jealous of your eyelashes, your ink… the thing that gives your brain the time off from worrying, “Oh dear, what will the neighbors say?” That right there is the crux of the matter. I was raised to be overly concerned about what my neighbors, fellow church goers, school mates, neighborhood families and teachers and most importantly MY family thought about every freaking thing I did, wore, said, ate ect. It is exhausting being that aware of exactly HOW MUCH people really don’t give even one tiny little nugget of a shit. I’m fat. I like piercing and tattoos. I like my hair long and sometimes it is colored oddly. I like music that spreads across centuries and tastes. I like food that the adolescent me would have run screaming from. I will try almost anything. I use big words sometimes… and most of the time, I use them incorrectly. I am a smoker. I am physical. I am affectionate and I am LOUD. I want nothing more than to make you laugh and for you to be comfortable. Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink? Here’s let me put a pillow on the coffee table for your feet. For all of these things I could be any person, anywhere, anytime, in any country. I am one of the herd. I am a motherfucking lemming. Of this I am aware. BUT. For the past few weeks the pollen in Texas has been off the freaking chain with the sheer amount of tree sex in the air at any given point. My eyes refuse to stop watering. So I have been forgoing the make up most mornings I come into work. I look like a startled burn victim. My face pink and splotchy, my eyelashes and eyebrows blonde, my light eyes having no definition and generally floating in the sea of a sweaty, weak featured orb of what I call my face. Sure, post make up… I’m pretty fly for a white girl. I look horsey. Also? Nay. BTW.. My mother would say this picture makes me look stuck up. But pre make up I look startled and very, very shiny. So this morning, as per the norm… I showed up at the office in my work clothes (flats, black pants, top… DONE) with my make up not on my face, but squirreled away in my purse. Where it wasn’t doing anyone any good. I have been forgoing the whole “face primping thing” for weeks now. I have blonde eyebrows, so it’s not like I look like Bert from Sesame Street up in this bitch. When it comes to face grooming, I keep it to the minimum. Don’t hate me because I don’t pluck and tweeze and fret over the hair on my face. I just don’t. You could send me some love and a little “Oh BABY!” (pat pat pat(s)) because I look like the blank canvas that someone spilled a freaking pink wine spritzer* on. *Is this even a thing? Thank goodness for the AVANI soap that I have been using religiously for a few months, my skin is as soft and blemish free as a baby’s ass. So I don’t have to look too closely. Or I didn’t have to before. OH HO HO HO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hello FORTY. YOU SON OF A BITCH. ::sigh:: I went to throw some powder on this morning, maybe a little eyeliner? Some lip gloss, if I was feeling lucky. (OMG, remind me to tell y’all about the most awesomest lipstick/lip liner/gloss (2 different looks) on the planet… NOM!) I pulled my make up bags, yes two, out of my purse and found the powder, fluffed it on my face without the use of a mirror. Then I went to put on a little color on my lips. Without a mirror. Then the eyebrows needed a little color… I opened the mirror. I did my eyebrows, and then a little eyeliner, mascara business… and when I went to check my lips and do a full “circle around the face with the mirror” thing to check to make sure I didn’t look like an errant clown… I saw it. I have NO IDEA how long it’s been there as I haven’t looked at myself closely in a mirror in … days? Weeks? I know, I have told you all about my interesting wee little weird hairs in the past. But this? My beard hair. The lone little hair had gotten cocky. I had not seen hide nor hair (har) from it in months. So I figured it went into hibernation or something. Oh fuck, was I ever wrong. It was LUXURIOUS. And about a quarter of an inch long. ON MY MOTHERFUCKING FACE!!!!!!!!!!!! I jumped, startled like I had just been goosed, and made this little “oh no” noise, then dove face first into my makeup bag to find my tweezers. I pulled that one sonovabitch out by the root and then looked at it. Y’all… I should have taken a picture. WHO else has seen my beard hair and not mentioned it? I have been having SEX with a hot ass man! OMG! What if HE saw it!? Can you twirl just one beard hair? Gah. Also, I got the sweetest message from Trixie earlier today. This really is in apropos of nothing; I just thought I would share.