Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Beauty hurts...




I am an idiot when it comes to girly things like styling hair and make-up. I love buying products but can never seem to get them to work the way they are intended. Any time there is a major event that I am invited to attend, my little sister swoops in and takes care of things like curlers, eyeshadow, contouring, all that. I sang at a friends wedding...she swept my hair into an updo and added baby's breath. I participated in a Rock and Roll karaoke contest to win $10,000...she picked the tank top, cropped leather jacket, and black knee high boots. I went on my first date after a long time recovering from a bad relationship...she covered all my blemishes and gave me smoky eyes. She introduced me to skinny jeans and layering. She's really my guru when it comes to all things fashion or cosmetic.

Recently, I decided I wanted to try and be more...something. Girly, put together, professional. Any set of words that when stringed together would negate my entire college experience which encapsulated a lot of plain T-shirts, overalls and too light highlights. Something that would help me recover from 3 years of working in a Rock and Roll club where black eyeliner and teased hair with fishnets and micro mini's were the norm. I have always been a casual individual, but I felt the need to be an adult and look like a 29 year old woman with her life together (no need to mention the fact that I live at home with my parents.)


So, one morning, as I was blowing my stick straight hair dry with a round brush and mousse (which has been my "look" for the last 3 years), I noticed a large barrel curling iron plugged into the outlet. I flicked it on. Images of luxurious waves streaming down from the sides of my face with rays of light radiating from the red strands smoothed by the heat of the instrument that I would instinctively know how to use started flicking through my mind. I clicked off the dryer. I grabbed the iron. I pulled half of my hair (still partially damp as I don't usually blow the back dry) into a hair clip. "How hard can this be?" I asked myself, not realizing that a lack of sleep and caffeine were going to be my downfall on this day.

Hair, meet iron. Iron, meet ear. The scent of perfume mingling with burnt flesh is not an appealing aroma.

I burned myself on the first try. The hair I had so carefully wound around the large barrel of the curling iron had a slight curl in it...at the top, near the roots, where I had inadvertently crimped it. The ear was only a minor burn, but still smarted enough that it was a constant reminder throughout my work day that I had lost my woman card that morning. In the days since I have tried it again, and have gotten to a point where my hair at least looks like I TRIED to do something with it other than allowing it to plaster itself to my skull. Someday, maybe when I am older and able to multi-task/learn new tricks, I will be proficient enough to look put together. For now, I'll call my sister. Good thing she lives just down the hall.

2 comments:

  1. I find that I just have no patience for curling irons. Hot rollers are more my speed; less burny, too. ;-)

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  2. I have done the hot curlers with success, though I usually have one area that I rolled the wrong way and it looks like I've just been ravished. Not a bad thing, right?!?! :)

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