who the heck knows anything, anyway

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Makeup Adventures, pt. 1

I generally consider myself to be a pretty low-key tomboy. Some of it is natural inclination, some of it is lack of experience with mysterious rituals like 'contouring,' and some of it is possibly (probably) a result of dating at least one guy who hated when I wore makeup. However, I've learned something important about myself--particularly after being sick for a week and a half and feeling like a lump dump every time I look in the mirror: I like how I look when I wear makeup. I like it a lot. It makes me feel more beautiful and confident.

Like many of us, I grew up under the impression that, as a girl, I could like pink, or I could like dirt. I chose dirt. But in the past few years, I've realized that I kind of like pink. Yeah, I almost exclusively wear jeans and I still get into who-can-punch-harder fights with my brothers, but I also love Justin Timberlake and Covergirl's Lash Blast mascara. I used to view my occasionally well-manicured nails as a sign of fragility (and not going climbing enough), but now I like the fresh look and feeling of painting my nails every few days. I've discovered the world of color theory as it relates to clothing and accessories (finally. You'd think that for someone who likes art, I would have understood this long ago). I've made the jump into looking for a fancy perfume to wear when I want people to drool over me. It's nice. I like it. I'm sad that it took me so many years to understand that I'm allowed to like whatever I like because ANYONE is allowed to like whatever they like.* I know a lot of people that like a variety of funky + mainstream things, and I don't judge them for it, so why do I judge myself?

This is all of my makeup** (forgive the photo quality--why did I decide to do this at night?):

Maybe I'll do a post about it sometime, but I really like it!*** I did research on some beauty blogs I dig--like XO Vain--and also spent a lot of 15-minute post-meeting breaks scrutinizing the goods at Boots. Three of these were purchased in the states over the summer: the Almay black-brown eyeliner, Covergirl Lash Blast, and NYX Indie Flick lipstick. I'm hoping to expand my collection more when I move back.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I'll probably do a post reviewing all of my goods once I've decided on a nice perfume. Notes on the hunt: I'm increasingly fond of Gucci Guilty as a winter/fall/nighttime scent (it's lasted about 8 hours, it's not overly invasive, and it mellows real nice--I keep sniffing my wrist happily) and I think Honey by Marc Jacobs is the nicest spring/summer scent I've tried. Touch by Burberry smells terrible on me, and Cool Water by Davidoff wasn't great with the top notes, but the base is surprisingly nice. I should be getting a sample of Eau de Protection by Etat Libre d'Orange in the mail, and I am really excited about it because some person on the internet said it would deffos be the signature scent of Claire Underwood, and I was like IT IS IMPERATIVE TO MY SURVIVAL THAT I SMELL LIKE CLAIRE UNDERWOOD.

*not including hurting themselves/others in a nonconsensual or dangerous fashion, obviously
**and my glasses?
***I actually don't know how I like the three Maybelline eyeliners, bc I just bought them today. I tested them on my hand, and they are awesome, so as long as the liquid liners don't make my eyes itch, I think we're good!

Friday, February 13, 2015

a poem on a weird, emotional day

I don't usually share my creative writing online, because the way that the publishing world works is so insane and I fear the plagiarists. But (1) I am becoming less uptight and more rebellious in my attitudes towards publishing, and (2) this is a finished poem and not a piece of fiction that is still in-progress. So, here you go. A rare gift of artful (not just spontaneous) words from a month or so ago, which I am finally presenting to you on a day that's been a little too heavy for me.


In the grass, there are white stones
small enough to swallow.
Bitter powder.
Don't let them touch your tongue.

Saint Joan,
I was only twelve
and already pinning windows shut to keep the eyes out.
Telephone poles, pulling hair out by the roots.
Teach me how to bear the pain of the burns on my back--
I never learned my lesson about sitting in the sun.

Eight legged creatures crawling into me,
For Every Car You Pass
You Must Lift Your Left Shoulder
(feel the wing bones flex).
The airplanes take off and land.
So vividly
I watch them

O, hot flash of light
O, sound that lags behind;
I forgot to kiss my husband goodbye.
Instead, I wait on my elbows--
still half in bed--
to be burned alive.

There are poems that benefit from having a little explanation--I find them more enjoyable when I know what led the poem to where it is. This might or might not be one of those, but if you prefer a little concrete beneath your feet: it's about having OCD. This is the closest I've ever come to conveying what it's like to be in my head on bad days.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

A semi-professional assessment of recent changes in the English language

Daniel was telling me last night about how "like" is probably going to be an official part of speech, as in "My dad was like:..." or "Her boss was like:..."

At first, he was like "I don't know about this." Oh, shoot--you see what I did there? I actually think this is a useful distinction in English. When you say "X person said Y," then you are basically relaying a quote. Even if it isn't a quote, that objectivity is what you're going for. It's straightforward. It's the reliable narrator. If you say "X was like 'Y'," then there's some implied wiggle room. The "like" suggests that what comes next will probably be an approximation  of a quote that is [slightly/majorly] changed to fit the mood of the story or the storyteller's agenda. It's less reliable, and a lot more conversational.

So there you go! Don't feel bad about "like"! Embrace it! It's the unreliable narrator of our lives! And don't worry about the blah blah ruination of the English language blah. Daniel agreed with me. He'd never thought about it that way. Then he told me I was a genius!* (*After I asked him to tell me that I am a genius.)

I've got a graduate degree, so I am an authority.