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Until this past weekend, I never knew that eyeliner could be blown out your nose.
Perhaps I should start over.
I am a firm believer that words matter. What we say, and what words we use to say them, affects the way we think about things – can actually form the way we think about things. I also believe that actions and visual cues are powerful mediums for changes in thinking. With this in mind, it was time for me to make changes to my external self that reflected the changes I hope to see in my future internal self.
This meant changing the way I look in several areas, starting with a groundbreaking concept; makeup.
Yes, of course I’ve worn make up before – and I wouldn’t put myself down as a complete failure. Sure, I was a bit afraid of eye shadow but I don’t walk around with a big orange line around the bottom of my face either. What I wanted was to have good quality supplies, in the right shades for me. I wanted to get a solid understanding of the best application techniques. I wanted to start using the makeup on a regular basis, not just birthdays and the rare night out. I wanted to feel more mature, more feminine.
My process began on Friday night. I left work and headed with resolve to a local branch of a large beauty supply store. I had decided that while it was a bit more expensive, I wanted to take the fool proof approach of sitting through one of the makeovers offered, so I could look at what they did, confirm on the spot that a given product was the correct shade for my complexion, and buy exactly that one.
An hour later, I walked out of the store with a large bag, hooker eyes, and three hundred less dollars. I had purchased virtually everything they threw my way, but in lighter tones than they had applied in most cases. I opted for soft brown mascara and eyeliner instead of the jet black they had covered my eyes with. Eye shadows were selected in shades of peach, as opposed to brown. Still, I had bought the whole package. I knew I was a complete sucker, but I was hoping the fact that I knew I was a complete sucker and had willfully decided to be one counted for something.
I’m still hoping that.
I went home and was feeling pretty good until, due to the cold I’m still recovering from, I blew my nose and found that the black eyeliner had somehow traveled from my tear ducts to my nasal passage, and come out onto the Kleenex.
I sat there marveling at the odd bits of information that can pass you by. Did others know of this strange phenomenon? I lurched to my laptop and headed for Google, typing in “eyeliner” and “nose” and found that yes, this was a factoid known to many, just not to me. I determined that I really am a woman now, since I have joined the sisterhood of ladies that knows this.
My pride is immense. There should be a greeting card for this situation.
The next morning, I was ready for step two; a manicure. I never wear sculptured nails, but I felt the time was right. I work at a desk all day, and type a great deal. I felt that looking down and seeing hands that clearly belonged to a woman rather than a girl could help reinforce this idea subconsciously – so on went the nails, French manicure and all.
From there I headed to a salon where I
