Make-up trials

I’m getting married, and apparently, as part of the “ritual” of getting married, you go to the salon and have people do a trial run of your hair-do and make up. I had the hair trial last week and I was honestly quite pleased. I went back yesterday for the make up trial, this was a different story altogether. I walked into the salon and was greeted by a frazzled, silly-looking girl with bad hair and even worse make-up.  She introduced herself and sat my down on the ridiculously uncomfortable but obviously stylish loveseat in the waiting area. She started to ask me if I had any style in mind when the phone rang–she jumped up while huffing and puffing and rolling her eyes and stomped to the phone, stating “I have to answer the phones because WE don’t have a receptionist!!!” She returned 5 minutes later to inform me that she was going to “make your face look like my face!!!” yay? This was my first cause for concern. If my face ever looked like her face (and I know how this is going to sound but) I would jump in a time machine and be born to someone else. In other words, this is not a good introduction for a make up trial for the one day that it really matters what your make up looks like!

Then she took me in, sat me in a chair and said “I have to run out to my car and get my personal make up bag, because I think our faces are so similar, my make up would work great on you. A) this is NOT hygenic, whatsoever because she looked like regularly experienced massive landmine explosions across a majority of her face and B) I am a brown haired, fair-skinned brown-eyed girl, she was a blue-eyed, fraggle-haired oompa loompa from wonkaland via the tanning salon, I am still having a hard time finding the similarities ANYWHERE. But, if you may recall (reference back to my first blog I think it was, where I explained my amazing shit-eating capabilities…), I am not the type to protest, so I grasped the arms of the chair and took it like a wimp. My mom was with me, laughing the whole time. At one point, she swiped some white goop across the lower inner eyelid (and informed me that she would NOT be doing that on my upper inner eyelid—well DUH, even I know that). I began to feel like I was looking like some sort of Amsterdam working lady. When she whipped out her mascara and started swiping it on my lower lashes, I started to get nervous. I think she actually asked me if she was hurting me, this should give you an idea of the look on my face.

All in all, she did an ok job, mom and fiance approved so I guess I’ll go with it, although it felt like much more make up than I usually wear and the process to get there was more than a little painful. My only concern is having to see this whackjob on my wedding day. lol. But I guess that’s the price of beauty?

As long as I don’t look like this lady on my wedding day:(yeah, I said lady)

There’s a dually and a dick in my driveway.

WARNING: Explicit thoughts and words will follow.

My mom recently left her husband (hoorah, do a cart-wheel if you can) because he’s the king of Douchbag Island. And regardless of the fact that I know, and she knows, and everyone knows, that she will go back to him, I’m proud of her for standing up for herself for a minute. Here is how I feel about her husband: He is a tall, 61-year old baby with a smuggness I just want to rip off of his face with my fingernails (true, I keep them short–an old piano player habit – but they could still do some damage). I cannot remember a day of my 28-year old life that his ugly face hasn’t made an appearance. (Yes, he wrecked my parent’s marriage–not single handedly, I’ll admit, but he sure didn’t help keep our family together at all) He treats my mom like a slave, and doesn’t appreciate any of the things she does to take care of him. He invested all of their retirement money in a sour real estate deal (despite the fact that I shared my gut feelings about it long ago…), has known for a year that there is no money coming in, yet still sits on his flat ass playing a scintillating computer card game, Solitaire (anyone heard of it? It received the UGY award – Underacheiver’s Game of the Year). All the while, my mom, who has a reasonable head on her shoulders, decides to get a job so they can have some money and he can have his damn health insurance. This makes her day as such: 5:30 wake up, make Dink breakfast, take a bath, walk 1 mile through deep snow to highway where vehicle is parked (upon arriving she will discover that her work slacks are wet to her knees and she might as well have skipped deodorant and the curling iron), drive 25 minutes to town, work from 8:30 until 4:30 at a depressing place that smells, quite literally, like death, at 4:30, she will then drive to the grocery store to buy food for dinner, drive 25 more minutes home, walk through the snow, up the porch stairs with said groceries, only to walk in to fnd Dink at computer, with only his balding donut-head greeting her, breakfast dishes? still dirty. Dinner? Won’t be ready until she cooks it. Not only does she have to cook it, then she has to do the dishes to clean up afterward. (Go ahead mother, chime in: *But sometimes he does help me dry!!!!) I find this situation to be unacceptable. Mainly because I know that it’s not how she wants to live her life. If she could paint a picture of her ideal life, it would not resemble this situation one bit. And that makes me sad, because I know that while she taught me growing up that I should always be independant and rely on myself to get by, she can’t practice what she preaches and only stays with him because she is scared.

So, as I mentioned, she’s living with me and my fiance now (who, by the way, has been really wonderful about it all) but Dink is not out of the picture, oh no. She is dating him now–meets him for dinner here and there, goes up to take care of him, I’m surprised he doesn’t call her to wipe his ass every time he craps, honestly. This weekend, he had the nerve to pull his big dumpy truck into MY driveway and stand in MY front yard and act like a cocky fuck while my mom handed him the section of the newspaper where one might look to find a job – good luck you talantless shitstain. I want to tell her, so badly, that he’s not welcome within 1 mile of my home thanks much, but I know that it would hurt her, so I don’t. I guess I can’t be her backbone. But one thing I did learn from this: Blissfully, I can set boundaries in my OWN life that will not permit assholes like that to be in it, period. And that is sure a relief. I think I’ll start my list of people who won’t be invited for Christmas with:

Dink

Coincidentally, the list ends there. (for now)

For more information on how to get on this list, checkout: www.rnc.org, if you like what you see, you’re well on your way to a spot on my list. Congrats.

Ahem…

It was brought to my attention this morning that I am one of the lucky people who find themselves in love and loved by someone in return. This is huge, and while I know, have always known (on some deep deep level), that my fiance and I are a good solid match, we love each other, we make each other laugh, we can work through the hard shit (and we’ve had our share of stuff that would definitely qualify as difficult), it’s always comforting to know that someone else, outside of our “us” bubble, recognizes the love we have for one another.

This makes me feel really happy inside. I’ve been going through a tough time lately, family matters, an upcoming marriage, a crappy thankless job, health problems – both female and then your regular run of the mill crapfest, but through it all, my wonderfully tall better half has been optimistic, supportive and generally (almost annoyingly!!!) pleasant. I only say annoyingly because sometimes I just want someone else to see things how I see them, which we’ll just say, lacks the “bright side” of most things. I don’t think I’m as bad as some, but I think I tend to let one thing pile on the other and then everything is just “that much worse!”.

To get back to the point here, I don’t know what I did to deserve to have such a patient, gentle, caring person in my life (for forever, like, until the end of time and shit) and sometimes I feel like because I trend towards “Everything is a tragedy” mode, I am not good enough for him. But we’re different, see? I can teach him to be wary of people you can’t trust.  I can help him see the “problem” with this or that. He can help me give people a chance,  remind me of the brigher side no matter how much I want to ignore that it exists(!), be patient, to relax,  and to love the dewdrops on the leaves with the puppies and the fluffy kitties…etc, etc. Lol. Ok, so I don’t love those things, at least not in the form of annoying calendars, screensavers or framed photos in greasy spoon restaurants….maybe if it were our puppy…. But, more importantly, we have what each other lacks, and that’s why we are a good fit. I am slowly coming to realize that marriage is not the enemy, the ultimate love killer, and I can honestly say that I am looking forward to marriage and the whole bunch o’bananas that will come with it.

To you, I guess I can no longer say that we’re not a good match because I don’t blog.

Ye-AAH, kanka.

Let us just skip the introduction here. New blog, blah blah blah. <Insert statement about how my life is boring and you don’t have to read this if you don’t want to…> bah!

I am a young female living in a pretentious area in Colorado, somewhere in the lower left-hand corner of the state and that’s just about all you need to know about me for the time being.

Today, I came to the conclusion (as I have on many other days), that people are rotten. Example: My boss, typically works 1-2 weeks out of the month (the other two are spent on various vacations or skiing/snowboarding–yay for her, right?). This is fine because she employs me. She pays me a measly salary which makes her feel like leaving me to handle everything alone is A-ok. I am the sort of person who convincingly “enjoys” eating shit all day, so this arrangement “works” for the time being. I am also a competent person who finds worth in doing things competently, correctly and relatively quickly (aka, no job too big or fucking-off-the-moon ridiculous for me!!) so she feels confident in her absence extending well beyond a month at a time (did I mention I work in a commission-based career…you may guess where this is headed). All of this would be A-ok with me if it weren’t for two small details (damn us type-a personalities and our details): 1. I do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT get paid proportionately for the amount of work (and ass-covering) that I do in a day, hell in an hour. 2. It never fails that when she IS in the office, she whines (in her whiniest voice) that she hates having to come home from vacation and go right back to work. In my opinion (coming from a person who hasn’t had a week vacation since last April, and then it was just a week), she should shut the fuck up and be happy that she gets to go on vacation every other week. You didn’t make the silly assumption, did you, that these are somehow “working” vacations? I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt that you did not. So, you’re probably asking yourself how she stays in business, right? I have also asked this question, and the only answer I can manage to find is: me. Not knowing all of the circumstances, this might sound conceited, and maybe it is. But I know that I do a damn good job, I keep shit in line and make sure her ass and everyone else’s ass who works in our office doesn’t wind up in court. I can’t really describe what it is that I do, because knowing my luck, some shitstick from my office will find this blog and well then it’s all over, isn’t it? Anonymity is key my dear friends!

So, the even that leads me to truly believe that people are rotten is as follows: My boss just came back from a weekend camping with her worthless husband (literally, and this is being kind I think) and too-smart-for-her kids….last weekend, which included the Friday before. In the meantime, between Monday and now, my immune system has taken a dump all over my life, I have canker sores, a cold, I haven’t been thinking clearly on and off, am having some sort of reproductive problems apparently (we’ll know more tomorrow), and I sneezed on Tuesday and threw my back out. I have been appearing every day for work, to sit at my desk with a fucking heating pad cemented to my ass. Do you think that any of these events would stop her from taking the other nimrod in my office and going on a 5-day, no cell-phone signal rafting trip? (I should also mention that the “nimrod” I am referring to also just returned from a skiing weekend in Utah, two weekends ago, BOO!) Hell no! Don’t get me wrong, I received plenty of sympathy looks and useless remarks of the “I’m sorry” nature, but come twelve o’clock, those broads are long gone.

This is the result of letting the world use you as a stepping stone to get somewhere else.