Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Take a Brow

It ain't always easy being a girl! One day you look in the mirror and notice your eyebrows are slowly taking over your face or maybe even meeting in the middle to form the dreaded unibrow. Okay, okay ... men have eyebrow issues, too, but somehow it seems that theirs build character ... you know, the bigger the better, size matters and all that good stuff. For women? Not so much.

For years I had dealt with mine on my own; that being said I know my limitations and knew I was doing an F- job. They would be too high, too low, uneven, too thick or too thin. I did manage to never completely zap one, though I am sure with my waxing and tweezing skills, and a little time, I could have easily done that! I threw up my flag of surrender and headed to a local salon that had come recommended (by someone whose eyebrows looked great!).

Without an appointment I fearlessly bolted through the door and made my way straight to the receptionist. Do you want a manicure? No. Do you want a pedicure? No. I mean, look at my face, right there above the ol' eyeballs. See that? Yep, it's a retirement community for a happy pair of caterpillars, and moving day is here. Time to thin down, shape up and ship out.

I was quickly taken to a back room, where another patron was already reclined back in her dentist-like chair wincing in discomfort. I thought about running for the nearest exit. It seemed like a doubly bad idea, and when I saw the vat of hot wax, I really began questioning the sanity of my decision. Hot wax on the face? Where did that idea originate? Who was the first person to say, "Hey, let me put hot wax on my face and see what happens!!" They had to be drinking. There is no other way.

Anyway, I managed to give in to my 10-second internal pep talk and throw myself into the chair. The good thing is that with a procedure like this, it's perfectly acceptable (and likely encouraged) to close your eyes. I did so without hesitation. Things were going pretty good; I was beaming with pride at how brave I was! I mean, what's a little brow pain when you've had two kids naturally, no luxurious epidurals? Things were wrapping up, then my tiny waxing technician dropped the big bomb on me by saying, "Would you like me to wax your mustache?" WHAT MUSTACHE? Enough was enough for the day. I had to go home and regroup, deal with the emotional trauma that not only did I have hairs plucked and waxed off my face, I also had a mustache.

Getting old and growing hairs in all the wrong places is not what I would call a fun time, but I think I've got a few more good until I get confused for a sasquatch.

That's all for today! Enjoy the day and kick some butt!


Friday, January 16, 2015

Boxes and Boxes

The other day I rented and actually watched the movie Boyhood. Since this isn't a movie review blog, I'll spare you all the details about the movie, but suffice it to say, there was a line in the movie that pretty much summed up my life as of late: "You spend the first half of your life getting stuff, and the second half of your life getting rid of it." AMEN, sister!

WHY WHY WHY do we save the things we do? What makes us do that? Don't look for me to answer that ... I'm asking  YOU! I think our intentions are good. We pack our favorite work coffee mug in a box the day we leave the job. But why save it when we probably have a dozen other (better) coffee mugs at our disposal? We carefully pack away the 953rd finger-painted drawing from our kid, one that looks exactly like each of the 952 drawings that came before it. Why? Most of it is sentimentality, I'm sure. It's like there is a flood of memories that will come rushing into our head when we touch that mug, or peruse that painting. Problem is, the more miles we tack on the ol' life odometer, the more boxes we accrue, and the heavier these boxes become.... and you know, cardboard doesn't last forever!

If it's not obvious by now, yes, I'm in the middle of a big cleaning project; the attic to be exact. And while it might seem that there are boxes filled with books, baby clothes, old TVs and broken Christmas lights up there, what I am dealing with is an attic full of regret ... regret that I went through a decades-long pack rat phase and have to pay the piper now. One way or the other, the attic has to get cleaned out, and now is the time. I'm not getting any younger, so while I still have a trickle of drive to do it, and a moderate amount of flexibility, I decided not to put it off any longer. Phase One is complete, with piles out the door to the curb for garbage pickup, a few miles west to the technology recycling center and one for Goodwill. SURE, a FEW things will be carefully repackaged for re-storage, things like old high school mementos, cute things boyfriends of long ago made for me, concert programs and leftover blankets. The attic is probably one of the easiest parts of the house to ignore, but I am facing it head on, hoping and praying for a big payoff down the road, mostly like making our next house move easier, as the kids leave the nest and we move onward and outward from our humble abode.

All I can do at this point is to chip away at the piles of memories (and garbage) and make an oath to myself that nothing new will EVER EVER EVER go back up there. No. Matter. What.

Here's to a clutter-free 2015!