Kiss and make-up

All yesterday I was in this terrible funk.  I thought, when I saw the sun for the first time in weeks, that my funk should have lifted, but it didn't.  It settled, a fog of discontent smothering my head.  And I thought, "Damn it!  It's always on these days when I have to go to some social function or party or whatnot and I SHOULD be perky and party-animalistic and all.  But instead I have this irritating ire under my skin!  What is wrong with this universe?  And Yeah, I'm talking to you: god or planets or higher self or whatever!"  Ah but the answer was in the question: that type of funk only happens on days when I have to go to a party where I didn't plan it and I don't know anyone.  Huck's holiday office party.  Could you invent a worse nightmare?

I remember one of my coworker/friends bringing her boyfriend to the clinic's holiday party one year (which we had in January because the party planner sort of forgot about December and all).  And all I could think was, "Suffering succotash! Why in the world would you bring someone you love to a work party?!!" Unless you are conjoined in a surgically-defying way, this just seems like the worst form of cruelty.

The problem is they're Huck's coworkers.  And they're his coworkers.  This means that I don't know anyone there and can't drink enough to alleviate the awkwardness.  And people you don't know are crazy.  A room full of people you don't know is a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get:  is it a moldy cherry covered in chocolate flavored poop?  Or is it a cream-filled lecher?  Does it look all fancy, a gilded delicacy who thinks you might be the same but then upon closer inspection is turned off by your unplucked eyebrows and cow-milking hobby (pure projection on my part, but you reach to explain behaviors sometimes)?  And what could be worse than having to behave yourself and not embarrass your spouse in front of his coworker? Not that Huck is particularly embarrassable...

I was simultaneously helping to plan a party at church (which is now a comfort zone) while also arranging for a babysitting swap with another church family without once connecting the dates to be the very same.  It's like the hemispheres of my brain are two ships passing in the night. So that got all kafoofled.

And what should I wear?  A friend gasped at my empty closet.  I don't buy clothes I don't love and I can't afford one's I do.  So it leaves me wearing the same mostly lovable thrift store finds again and again and again.  And then, what was I going to do with my face?  Is make-up expected at these things?  It's been two years, at least, since my last attempt.  All I can really do is a little mascara and a little lipstick which both seem to sit on top and refuse to integrate.  And the rest of make-up-dom is some foreign language I've never learned.  I come from a long line of cover-up being interpreted literally: what's so bad that you have to cover-up?  What are you hiding?

I tried once, when I had a pixie cut that made me look like a man and/or Liza Minelli and I tried to make up for it with make-up.   And then in a powder room one day this 14 year old goes, "Ohmygod!  Not like that.  This is how you apply that!"  I was simultaneously grateful and offended and ashamed.  Application is apparently rocket science.  I put the big girl tools away and haven't looked back.

In Mexico, I let my friend take me to an eyebrow shaper.   And there was one incident at a spa in Seattle that left me with a red, swollen unibrow for days.  And that's pretty much the extent of my experiences in beauty.  That and these photos of Miss Teen South Carolina doing me up (she convinced my eager mother to let her) for my Junior/Senior in my Junior year.  She also let me rent the dress from her! The look on my face is unrelated to my date, MQ, who was obviously just a nice, normal kid.  And, probably deserving of a blog post in and of itself, the night commenced with a heated debate among people who knew me over who MQ's date could possibly be.  One emphatic that I would NEVER be dressed like that and another pretty sure that underneath it all there lurked a Sarajoy.  And also, boys who hadn't even glanced at me were scooping in on MQ's time.  And they got an earload about how shallow they were. And here are photos at 18 (look at that glowing baby-skin) with a growing-out crew cut.

Last night, Blue donated some eyeshadow that she got from a spa party (the absurdity!).  I didn't know what to do with it, so I artlessly smeared the most invisible-looking powder I could find on my eyelids.  And then I suddenly wanted my eyebrows shaped, maybe a hair do, or nail polish, or some thing else...  I didn't know.  Maybe I could look a little more lively than I do.  But where to start?  Meh.  Forget it.  I live in the Northwest where 1/2 the women never wear the stuff.

The party was fine.  I had enough wine but not too much.  I purposefully got cornered by an extrovert who seemed not the least put off by a room full of strangers.  I clung to Huck at times.  I laughed with the room.  And I kept silent otherwise.  And I actually enjoyed myself here and there and we all made it through the mine field of the office party.  Phew.

Except I still can't figure out how to get the mascara off.