Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Hot snot sundae with a booger on top

Not one to give a real rat's ass about my appearance I really don't spend a lot of time primping in the mirror. If all of them were covered with newspaper it would probably take me a few days before I decided to have a peek.

I own 1 tube of mascara, maybe will put it on a half dozen times before the year is up and then toss it out. There are some other miscellaneous beauty supplies but I find them troublesome and not worth a lot of effort.

Long ago there was a boy that I had a super monstrous crush on. My older brother unwittingly introduced us when I was a tender age of 12-13 years old.

He was a unique young man (you might say a nerd) a few years older than I was. The fact that he'd have anything to do with me was simply an astonishing, I felt gifted.
We would get together and hang out with his friends. Most of the time I'd just sit in awe as they tapped away on keyboards, using false steering wheels and bopping about joysticks while playing games and whatnot on their computers (can you imagine those dinosaurs from the mid-80s!?)

I came up with super romantic scenarios about how he would find a reason to stay alone with me for a little while and then ...brush his hand over hair to expose my green eyes and then lean in and kiss me tenderly on the lips.


Instead,he set me up with his friend who was a real fox, a real cocky punk that I soon fell head over heals with. Funny thing though, physically when I look back he still was never my type and I imagined him more like my 1st crush.

While dating Mr. Hottie I continued to think about that little wish, that secret kiss but he burst my balloon one weekend afternoon while we were loitering.

So many years later I'm not certain exactly how the conversation began but something that devastates us will stick in the farthest reaches of our psyche like glue. It is with us for a very long time, if not forever.

Just the 3 of us talking about nothing in particular when he leans in very close and we're just inches away from one another. (my mind is screaming KISS ME KISS ME KISS ME) His mouth so close to mine and then he looks me in the eyes and announces, "You know, you have beady little eyes that are close together - like a rat"!

My heart had been pounding in anticipation, my lips tingling and waiting for that touch and instead my insides turned into hot Jello and I wanted to run away in disappointment.


I was mortified that he likened me to a rodent, not just a rodent but a bubonic carrying vermin that was atrocious to look at! From that moment on I developed a self consciousness about certain parts of my appearance, not enough to make myself up like a clown to hide the ugly rather I've forced myself to accept what I've been given and believe that we all have a little beauty (even if it's not on the surface).

Ever since that day I've always thought my nose was too big, my eyes too small and my hair ...well, mousy.
My husband says to me frequently, "you have a cute nose" which only aggravates me because CUTE by definition is 'attractive, esp. in a dainty way; pleasingly pretty.'
Nothing 'dainty' about me.

Girls want to be told they are beautiful.
If you find us attractive, good - tell us we are beautiful but not cute. Cute is for puppies, toddlers and Pixar animation.

Now on to the thing that I do like about myself, I have great hair. Or, in certain neighborhood vernacular - Gurl, you's got gud hair.

Medium brown with highlights of red and gold, he (husband) once told me very early on in our dating ritual that it looked like it was touched by the sunset. It has a natural wave and I even get ridiculous Shirley Temple curls (in the right amount of humidity). It's abundant and grows like a weed and because of that I've always been able to do nutty things to express my personality and my rebellious nature.

You name the cut, the color, the length and even the type of braid style and I have tried it at least once.
I've kept it shoulder length or longer overall which receives accolades to it's loveliness.

Never occurred to me how lucky I was until a few years ago. After starting a new medication and then watching long clumps sticking to my fingers when combing conditioner through it in the shower I realized that the days of radical haircuts were long passed.

Before this thinning change I'd gone to stylists times and time over to chop it off from a pony tail then send it to the charity LOCKS OF LOVE.

3 years ago I spent time with my mother as she was losing her battle to cancer, during that visit with her I had an awful version of a faux-hawk. It was poorly received by friends and an agreement was made that I'd look like a 'girl' again and grow it out.
At the same time the husband was still shaving his own head completely bald. He would have to do the same for me!
He'd been shaving his head to resemble a cue-ball for too many years and I was tired of seeing my reflection off of his forehead.

It doesn't take long for the 'do to start growing. Like Jack watering the beanstalk it's started on an adventure of growth, quickly sprouting over my ears, to my throat, to my shoulders and now even after a haircut of an inch or so every 6-8 weeks it is midway down my back.

There are only a couple of luxuries I allow myself, going in for a wash and cut is one of them.
Not only are you getting the stress reducing friction of firm fingers scrubbing through your scalp, the warm water sluicing away the foamy suds but you get to have a few minutes with someone that spends that hour with you saying nice things to buoy your mood.

One other item I like to do while I'm there is reduce my resemblance to Fred Flintstone by having my eyebrows waxed. Torture really, not necessary if I were to just accept the way I look but when cleaned up (smiles) my eyes aren't so obviously ratty.
If someone else is doing it then that further reduces my need to look at myself in a mirror. The stylist cleans me up, jams a small mirror in my hands to which I only focus on my eyes and proclaim success or if further attention necessary.

Last month I decided I was tired of trimming other facial hair, oh man I'm definitely going there...nose hair. It's gross, right?
When it gets too long you look like you have a family of Daddy Long Legs trying to creep out of your nostrils.
Using tiny scissors and snipping away but never fully getting the results I want I finally decided that someone else was going to do this.
Guys do it at the barber why not me?

Asking the gal that takes care of me (whom by the way is a real doll!) if she's ever done nostrils? ...she takes on the challenge!

So here I am, pivoted back in the hair washing chair staring up into the ceiling while she readies her wee pot of hot wax. With a stick akin to a Popsicle, she pulls a glob of the goo up and twists it, rolls it into a workable ball and approaches my face like a sinister Tootsie Pop toting maniacal murderer.

(she's actually very serious and trying not to giggle because I'm stirring her up in my own nervous anticipation)

"Oh your nose is smaller than I thought", she says a breath after she's crammed this warm ball of wax into my booger shooter. The stick is hanging out, limp and half mast - laying fully on my pouting lip.

Here I am with a salon full of strangers, me kicked back into a less than comfortable position and a 4" wooden pick is lodged up my schnozz. She asks me to hold it steady so that it can dry while she finishes cleaning up the sticky from my caterpillar removal.

If it isn't dry when she tries to yank it out, none of the shorties are going to stick for immediate removal.

This wax feels like I've got a toddler's finger crammed all the way up my sinus! Lucky for me, I'm not a nose-breather and I can still inhale with my mouth - so far I'm not showing any real fear but reconsidering doing this stunt ever again.

A few moments pass into what feels like a short eternity, the wax has been proclaimed dry enough and with a count down of 3, 2, 1 (or shit was it 1..2...3) she gives a good yank!
I swear this is a stylists reaction each and every time - eyeballing and scrutinizing how much has actually STUCK to the wax and then peering back at the subject to re-address the new plan of attack.

When that ball of goop came popping out of my nose I almost felt like my head popped. A balloon had been pricked with a needle. PING! BAM!
Eyes welled up, watered..tears and I am pretty I swore like a sailor. She is apologetic and ready to clean up the rest and stop where she is but I say NO, finish it up.

Did I happen to mention that at least one young man/friend of hers came in to say hi to her while I was laying there? Tell you what, if I was self conscious I'd have been really disturbed but instead I just laughed and we went on to the next one.

Both caverns were picked at, mild success was had and I left pretty much pleased that I gave it a try.
It took me a little over a month to return and would you believe that today I had her try again?!
We had to stop with only half success on one side - my body temperature was proclaimed to be too damn hot and the wax wouldn't dry. The hot furnace of mucus kept melting the wax and made it impossible to complete the mission.

some people just never learn from their mistakes.