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Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

15 March 2012

Not Just A Pretty Face

I woke up this morning with the back of my hair looking like the top knot feathers on a cockatoo.




Where the fuck is my coffee?


Dan greeted me, as he always does (because he's an asshole... have I mentioned that?) with, "Good morning, baby... nice hair."

(Yeah... that NEVER gets old.  NEVER.)


As I was taking my personal inventory in the bathroom mirror (Make-up smeared from forehead to chin?  Check.  Brown spots from wayyyyyy too much sun exposure?  Got it.  Chin hairs appearing to the naked eye?  Check AND mate!)  I was suddenly knocked to the floor by a blinding revelation:

I AM NO LONGER A NATURALLY PRETTY GIRL.





Wait... WHAT??!!


I knowwwww, right??

It shocked me, too.

Don't get me wrong; I had a good run.  I got by on my looks for wayyyy too long.  (Contrary to popular belief, you don't actually need brains and a personality if you come wrapped up in pretty paper.  Sad but true.  Well, not sad for me, but sad for the people who don't have brains, personality, OR a pretty face.)



And ugly people.  Don't forget about them.

I'm willing to wager that the Natural Beauty Ship sailed a few years ago without  me on it, but I was too busy being in denial to notice.  As long as *I* could look in the mirror and see a fresh faced 18 year old looking back at me, that's all that mattered.  

And since no one told me differently, I carried on as if it were actually true.

(Denial is a beautiful, beautiful thing, people.  Hang on to it as long as possible!!)

I started to notice little things, like people didn't always look as shocked as they used to when they found out I had grown-up children of my own.

I put it down to jealousy.  Whores.

And one time, when I was shopping with my friend's toddler in tow, a former co-worker had the audacity to ask if he was my grandson.

Oh.

No.

You.

Di'int.

I decided it was because she knew I had grown kids of my own and had made a natural assumption that literally had nothing to do with my apparent youth (bitch).

THENNNNN a former high school classmate was looking through my pictures on Facebook and commented on a photo that was taken at a friend's wedding in Vegas:

"Wow... your daughter looks just like you!  She's beautiful!"

My... my...  my WHAT?

SHE'S IN HER 30's!!!!!!

After I recovered, I came to the obvious conclusion that he assumed she was my daughter because he knows how old I am (seeing as how he's the same age but looks 100 years older, asshole).


But then, last night?

This happened.

Dan and I had to go to a birthday party for one of our nephews.

Which was fine... I'm all about eating pizza and birthday cake.

HowEVER...

If I must be truthful, I've been slacking a little on the hair and make-up.  A lot of the time I figure I'm not ever going to run into anyone I know in this town, even by accident, and as long as my husband loves me just the way I am, why spend the extra time dolling myself up?



BULLSHIT.

For future reference:

If you have a man who tells you he "prefers" you with no make-up, it's because of one of two reasons:

1.  He knows better than to say otherwise and/or

2.  He wants to get going and he knows it's going to take you a while to get ready.


I would never lie about something this important.  

Anyway, so even though it went completely against my religion (I worship at the Church of the Cosmo Girl, under the Spiritual Guidance of my Lord and Savior, Helen Gurley Brown) I started to get lazy and rock the "natural" look.

I managed to convince myself I looked just fine.

No one did an intervention.

Those BASTARDS.


You look beautiful!  No, really!  I love what you've done with your hair!!
 
Anyway, last night, I hauled out all the paint brushes and hair product and made myself look presentable for the big Fam Damily Get-Together.  (I still have some standards.)  I was all dressed up and ready to go when Dan came home from work.

Dan:  *stopping in the hallway and staring at me*  "Wowwwwwww, baby... you look amazing!!  You can really tell you've lost some weight!!"

(No you can't... I've only lost 6 lbs.  But really?  Five pounds of make-up shaves 15 lbs off my ass?  PERFECT!!!!)

When we got to the pizza restaurant, my nephew greeted me with, "Hi Aunt Dani!  You look beautiful!" followed by my mother-in-law, "Wow!  Look at you!  You look so pretty!"

Hmmm.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about the compliments, but really?

It wasn't MY birthday...  and come to think of it, the last 50 times they saw me (the 49th of which was just last week, when I cooked them all dinner) NO one said a WORD about how stunning I am.

Ponder, ponder...


No shit.



Have I been... LYING to myself??

Is it.... possible?

DO I ACTUALLY LOOK LIKE A 49 YEAR OLD WOMAN WITHOUT MY MAKE-UP???

Fuck.

Me.



Which brings me back to my jaw-dropping knees-buckling head-exploding boltfromtheblue epiphany in the bathroom mirror:

Holy Mother of God, I look like shit.




Your tits aren't always gonna be enough, Pamela.



 
My eyebrows are so light as to practically be non-existent, my eyes sag, bag, and do the limbo, the sun spots on my face are starting to resemble leopard print and the gray streaks in my hair, which I've been telling myself look like blonde highlights, give me a distinct resemblance to Kitty Bartholomew and/or Pepe LePew.


God help me.

In no uncertain terms, I need to wear make-up.


I've passed the point of no return.


My youth is a ship that passed in the night.


Screw you, Youth.


Eat shit, Natural Beauty.


Bite me, Dewy Young Skin.


Kiss my ass, Plump Lips.




Oh, Goldie....  no.  Just... no.  Even MY mirror isn't that big of a liar.







I feel your pain, Sharon.

I've decided to become a crusader for those of us who woke up suddenly one morning and discovered a haggard middle-aged woman staring back at them in the mirror.

JUST SAY NO to leaving the house without make-up!!

JUST SAY NO to aging gracefully!!!!

IF YOU CAN'T DEFY YOUR AGE, LIE ABOUT IT!!!

AND WEAR LOTS OF MAKE-UP!!


I'm talking to YOU, Brooke.



Finally... I have a mission.  This is my Reason For Being.  At long last, I know what my Special Purpose is...



Go away, Andie McDowell.... no one is talking to you.
 


What was I saying?  I got distracted by fucking Andie McDowell and her even more fuckingly fabulous unmade-up face.  I heard she's a real bitch.


You can leave anytime, too, Eva Longoria.  No one invited you.


AS I WAS SAYING...

There comes a time in every woman's life where she needs to know that she's not ready to face the day without at least 6 different kinds of make-up.

In order of importance:

Anti-aging foundation

Translucent powder

Eyebrow powder

Eye-shadow (at least two different shades, fyi, but I'm only counting this as one)

Eye liner (if you're over 30, please... PLEASE don't put it on your inner lower lid.  Unless you're a chola.  Mmmkay?)

Mascara


Now you can walk downstairs, stick your head out the door, grab your mail, and come back inside, and look good doing it.




We get it, Heidi.  You're a freaking super model.  Now go get ugly or something.
 



I'm getting annoyed by these bitch celebrities who look amazing without make-up or air-brushing.  Who do they think they are, making me look ugly?

Ahhh.... here we go:


I love it when Kirstie Alley shows up and makes my point for me.