Fake As A Three Dollar Bill

Ladies, can we all agree that it sometimes sucks how much we go through to try to be pretty? I mean, we do it to ourselves, but I can’t help but feel that we’re under a lot of pressure to look a certain way.

Look, I’m not judging. I am right in there with you. You’re not going to find me sporting armpit hair that has been died like a rainbow just to say “Eff you!” to the “establishment”. No ma’am. I came of age in the 80’s when body hair was strictly for men, with the exception of a neat little landing strip on Ms. V.

Yes, I’m aware that’s TMI.

I also came of age when both men and women sported more makeup and Aqua Net than a Walgreens cosmetic counter, but that’s beside the point.

Seriously, though, the things we torture ourselves with to get that Snapchat-filtered-perfect-skin look is ridiculous. God forbid you should look your age. If you’re fifteen, you want to look twenty-five. If you’re forty, you want to look twenty-five.

If you’re twenty-five…enjoy it. It doesn’t last.

We have this really interesting paradox, too, where we’re expected to nip, tuck, pull and fill every crevice that would make you appear like a normally aging human old, yet we aren’t allowed to look like we’re made out of plastic. God forbid we only get one thing done and not everything else, and eventually look like a Barbie doll that got left on a hot stove. Your face is melted but you’ve still got perky tits!

It’s a balancing act if a woman wants to fight aging, look cute and stay away from the plastics factory.

I can only speak for myself. I’ve always said I would NOT get any form of plastic surgery after watching my aunt recover from her face lift. A week straight of sleeping upright in a chair, with drains attached to either side of her head that my Mom had to empty and reattach for her.

No thanks.

Of course, I was in my early twenties then, so…never say never. Plus, I’ve always said I’d love a set of matching boobs, so you never know what the future holds…

I’ve managed to stay away from Botox, fillers, and other forms of cosmetic surgery, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t done my share of trickery. I’ve been going gray since age nineteen and have been dying my hair since about age twenty-five.

Damnit. There’s that number again. What is it about twenty-five?

I decided that while I was at it, I would just dye my hair a whole different color. My natural color is dark brown with some red undertones. I pretty much went all red, and with the exception of a couple of times I decided to try out strawberry blonde, I’ve pretty much been red ever since.

Let us have a moment of silence for The Husband Dude, who thought he had met a fiery redhead, only to find out the carpet and the drapes don’t match.

Yes, I know. Too much TMI.

Then there are my fingernails. I’ve been a nail biter my entire life. It’s a nasty habit, I know. I own that I will probably never stop and that I’ll have beautiful, strong, natural nails. My solution: acrylics.

I know. I know. I just snarkily remarked about staying away from the plastics factory. In my defense, the acrylic nails I’ve been enjoying for the last twenty years keep me from gnawing my phalanges down to the bone.

That’s an exaggeration, but not much of one. They’re pretty strong. I’ve been known to chew a little on them, but they stay strong and pretty, despite my best anxiety-ridden efforts. With my luck, I’ll probably break a tooth instead one of these days.

I’ve also spent more than I should on cleansers, toners, serums and moisturizers than any one human should, in an effort to stave off fine lines and wrinkles. I’ve bought expensive cosmetics and face primers to fill in the pores and the intital fine lines starting to creep in. That has pretty much been it, though, up until now.

I got the brilliant idea that I don’t spend enough time in a salon touching up solid white roots, or filling nails every other week. No. I got the brilliant idea that in addition to maintaining all of that, I now need to make my eyelashes longer.

I mean, that IS the current beauty bandwagon.

I tried a lash serum from a very famous direct sales company that gives away pink cadillacs to it’s top earners. I didn’t see a difference.

Then, I tried fiber lashes from another direct sales company, and found myself doing this all day:

Loose fiber lashes + eyeballs = no bueno.

Then, I tried another serum from yet another direct sales company. I really loved all of that company’s other products and still use the moisturizers and cleansers. The lash stuff worked too.

Until my eyelids started getting itchy and crusty and my eyelashes started breaking off – the EXACT opposite of the effect I was going for!

Guess who has a class action lawsuit against them now for itchy, crusty eyelids and lash breakage (among other things)???

Sooooooooo…I made the executive decision to get lash extensions. If you’re not familiar with lash extensions, they are fake lashes that are applied to your real lashes with special adhesive. There are three different kinds: synthetic (sort of the polyester of lashes), silk, and mink.

I drive a fifteen year old Chevy Equinox and only recently got rid of the 1989 pink floral wallpaper in my powder room. Clearly, I didn’t go with the mink.

The first time you get lash extensions, you have to lay down and be perfectly still for two hours with your eyes closed. You know, like when your husband is feeling romantic at 11 p.m. but you have to be up at 5 a.m. to get ready for work.

Clearly, this activity was tailor-made for me. Just sleep through it, right? Except that then my anxiety kicks in and I don’t want a total stranger (or in my case, someone I was acquainted with, but still don’t know THAT well) hearing me snore like a lumberjack and drool like I just saw Charlie Hunnam’s naked ass on an episode of Sons of Anarchy.

The lady who did mine has a very comfortable setup. Her table is pretty comfortable to lay on and she’s got pillows you can put under your legs, since you have to lay on your back. She’s playing music and she even has a blanket you can snuggle under.

I’m not going to lie, though. It feels REALLY WEIRD having someone messing with your eyelids. You have to keep your eyes closed, of course, so there’s no way to “peek” at what’s going on. After a while, I started to panic a little. What if I tried to open my eyes and they were glued shut????

No joke…one of them did kind of stick when I tried to open it. She had to help me out and I was just sure this was going to happen.

In the end, it turned out quite well and I’m very happy with my eyelashes! I’m going back tonight for my first “fill”, which shouldn’t take as long as the initial full set did. I’ll take a picture for next time since they’re looking a little sparse right now after two weeks of wear.

I don’t really have an ending to this story, other than I decided to make a couple of Snapchat videos to express my frustration with the whole beauty process. Enjoy!

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring!