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All that pain and I still look like this.
Posted by The Red Devil
on
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
in
Death upon me,
Everyday Life,
Funny,
My showbiz life
Women has always had it much worse than men. I mean, sure, getting kicked in the nads hurts more than getting punched in the boobs but try giving birth to a watermelon from your urethra, then we'll start talking.
This going back to the limelight business has gotten me panicky and a bit unsure of myself. I mean, it was a great idea in my head. Then again, my head is a very curious and dangerous place. First order of business was to "upgrade" my looks (or what's left of it). So, I chickened out for the first couple of weeks - sticking to my tried, tested and true fashion of looking like a demon slathered in classic rock and leather. Yeah... that's cool and all but not during the summer and not when you're trying to show people your depth and range as a person and an actor. Because, hello? Stereotyping and typecasting ring any bells? Inevitably, the wardrobe was the first to go.
I said a temporary farewell to my favorite red bomber leather jacket and my beige one too. I lovingly folded and tucked my Lynyrd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, Led Zep and AC/DC shirts in the bottom section of my drawer (still visible when I open the said drawer, as I have separation anxiety issues). I buffed, polished and stored my grungy boots away, with a little sob and a small kiss. Then, the panic started. What in Middle Earth was I going to wear now? *Gasp* I have to wear colors...
The wardrobe done and though I will not verbally admit to it, I felt relieved and satiated over the clothes I must wear now. Nothing near the borders of slutty or trashy. It was classy and respectable, actually. Plus, the accessories are awesome. Next on the list was a freaking makeover.
***
I can pride myself with the knowledge of putting paint on. I think I'm okay with that department. But sweetie, make up is just one aspect of the spectrum. So, I went to the nearest beauty salon and gave myself to the hands of the neighborhood gayster.
"A trim, manicure, pedicure, foot spa, facial, waxing and threading." He said in one breath. Now I know how lab rats feel.
The trim and manicure were tolerable enough. The foot spa was heavenly. The pedicure, facial, waxing and threading were ascending degrees of pain respectively. I had a mantra in my head to keep me calm and sane (and to prevent me from ripping the gayster's head off with my bare hands) "There is no beauty if there is no pain..."
***
An hour and a half later, I felt I was duped. There is no beauty, only pain...
Man! All that freaking pain for nothing? I still look like me with less hair, less skin and the ends of me are glazed shiny!
It's got to look better with make up tomorrow or I'm most definitely pulling out that AC/DC tour shirt and my crappy holey jeans just to make a point.
This going back to the limelight business has gotten me panicky and a bit unsure of myself. I mean, it was a great idea in my head. Then again, my head is a very curious and dangerous place. First order of business was to "upgrade" my looks (or what's left of it). So, I chickened out for the first couple of weeks - sticking to my tried, tested and true fashion of looking like a demon slathered in classic rock and leather. Yeah... that's cool and all but not during the summer and not when you're trying to show people your depth and range as a person and an actor. Because, hello? Stereotyping and typecasting ring any bells? Inevitably, the wardrobe was the first to go.
I said a temporary farewell to my favorite red bomber leather jacket and my beige one too. I lovingly folded and tucked my Lynyrd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, Led Zep and AC/DC shirts in the bottom section of my drawer (still visible when I open the said drawer, as I have separation anxiety issues). I buffed, polished and stored my grungy boots away, with a little sob and a small kiss. Then, the panic started. What in Middle Earth was I going to wear now? *Gasp* I have to wear colors...
The wardrobe done and though I will not verbally admit to it, I felt relieved and satiated over the clothes I must wear now. Nothing near the borders of slutty or trashy. It was classy and respectable, actually. Plus, the accessories are awesome. Next on the list was a freaking makeover.
***
I can pride myself with the knowledge of putting paint on. I think I'm okay with that department. But sweetie, make up is just one aspect of the spectrum. So, I went to the nearest beauty salon and gave myself to the hands of the neighborhood gayster.
"A trim, manicure, pedicure, foot spa, facial, waxing and threading." He said in one breath. Now I know how lab rats feel.
The trim and manicure were tolerable enough. The foot spa was heavenly. The pedicure, facial, waxing and threading were ascending degrees of pain respectively. I had a mantra in my head to keep me calm and sane (and to prevent me from ripping the gayster's head off with my bare hands) "There is no beauty if there is no pain..."
***
An hour and a half later, I felt I was duped. There is no beauty, only pain...
Man! All that freaking pain for nothing? I still look like me with less hair, less skin and the ends of me are glazed shiny!
It's got to look better with make up tomorrow or I'm most definitely pulling out that AC/DC tour shirt and my crappy holey jeans just to make a point.
