Last night was a late night.
I didn't get home from the college lacrosse game until 10:40, and I
still had stuff to do before I could turn in for the night. The alarm, normally set for 5:05 (SOS) is now
set for 5:15 (SIS). I sleep from about
11:30 to 4:30 (five hours - an average for me) then manage a few more minutes
after convincing myself that I really didn't need to get up that early. I should've stayed up at 4:30 because the
extra few minutes just makes me feel like I ran headlong into a concrete wall.
I debate my hair. It
looked like crap yesterday (hence the whole "cut it, don't cut it"
debate), and I am trying to decide if I wash it and risk another Bad Hair Day,
or if I just straighten it and accept that it will be in my face all day,
bugging the living shit out of me. I end
up washing it and hoping for the best.
Blow drying does nothing but make it poufy, and gel just makes it look …
heavy …. thick …. wrong.
After washing my hair, I figure I might as well put my
make-up on. I usually put that on last,
when I'm wide awake and rushing to get out the door. Why,
I ask myself, why do I wait until 6:55
and then rush?
I take out the staples of my routine: eye shadow, liner pencil, and mascara. That's it.
I can apply make-up in less than two minutes. No foundation, no concealer. I'm a low-maintenance kind of gal (which is
why this whole hair dilemma is bugging the piss out of me).
The eye shadow goes on with no problem; it's a quick, easy
application of some powder. Even a
monkey could handle this. Then some
light liner, which I only use when I'm not going outside in allergy season lest
I want it all over my face like a raccoon.
Lastly, the mascara - waterproof, black gel mascara. This should be an easy application as it's a
wand. Should be. Easy.
Apparently, though, I am mascara-retarded.
I'm still only partially awake and semi-functional. Ah hour earlier than my usual time, my
hands and arms are not ready for the well-practiced routine. The wand whacks my upper right eyelid and
smooshes black goo under my eyebrow.
What the eff. Really. I wipe the crap off, turn the gooey blotch
into an ugly streak of tar, and attempt to use tissue and cold cream to repair
the damage.
After about ninety seconds of quick-fix, I bring the mascara
wand to my left eye.
Muddahfuddah. I do
the same goddamn thing to my left eye lid that I just did to my right,
including the lame attempts of clean up and repair.
Look, it's bad enough that I have to worry about my hair
before 6:00 in the morning, but this is too much. I decide that tomorrow I will not START with
make-up; I will finish with it, same as always.
I will hit up the quick shadow-liner-mascara routine at 6:55 like I
usually do, rather than 5:55 a.m. like I attempted this morning. After all, mascara is kind of expensive. If I keep applying it to my eye lid and eye brow
instead of my eye lashes, I'm going to tear-ass through the stuff and have to
sell my car to support my mascara habit.
Maybe I'll sell my son's car.
Either way, I should buy damn stock in the make-up company.
Or maybe get more sleep.
Nah. That would make
way too much sense.
