I started a new job at Ulta Beauty.
A bit of a switch for me. People who know me know that I'm don't wear make up very often.
*ahem* or at all.
Yet here I am, really excited about my new job at a beauty store.
First, I want to talk about why I am don't typically wear make up.
I'm awesome as hell without it.
For some... there is some questionable junk in make up, hair product, etc.
It's a lot of work! Ain't nobody got time to “get pretty.” Especially if you're already pretty.
I am awesome as hell without it. I don't get any more awesome with it. BUT I do get to look different. Smokier. Sexier. Sweeter. Sparkly-er.
With a simple black line on my eye lids I can let you know, by a look alone, if I'm in NO mood for your shit (melted/smoky line) on your mark, get set, go- ready for anything (simple line) ready for anything as long as it leads to the bedroom (cat eye-- peek variation relying on your mood, tease-fest to eat you alive)
I can say it all with just a look. But I've gone ahead and played the English Major card for... a good long while. I'd rather just use The Words. If you can't get it into your earhole that I want, I need, I'd like, Let's GO... then darlin'... that's YOUR fucking problem. Not mine. Because I've used The Words to demonstrate as such. And if you need a girl to passive-aggrisive spell shit out for you... then you're not for me.
This dynamic is easier with my female (and a few male) friends. Again, not my problem. Me and my Vs? We already know how to translate our shit. A smoky eye won't tell anyone close to me that I'm in no mood... because they know me well enough to tip toe around my fit and fussing. That is why we're friends.
Feminist card. That's why I roll hard and ugly when random idiots tell/yell me to, “SMILE!”
Or whistle at me. God, help them, if they actually SAY anything. Because I will KNOCK THEM DOWN ALL OF THE PEGS.
So. Awesome as hell without it. To a point of annoyballs. Why do men think they can come up on me and talk their game when I WANT NONE OF IT? Smoky eye or no, son, get UP OFF MY SPACE.
2. For some... there is some questionable junk in make up, hair product, etc
Carmine. That's been my thing over the years. I mean. Do I really want bug butt on my face? In my food? Um... for a long time the answer was NO. And it was a difficult decision because it means giving up my Burts Bees tinted balms.
Recently I've started thumb through reading “The Perfect Red” by Amy Buttler Greenfield. And... yeah, part of me is a little horrified. Bug Butt. Ick. And another part of me is horrified... Spain taking yet another thing from the Aztec. Seriously. The Aztec were BRILLIANT creators. They discovered and supplied the world with the truest red that we'd ever seen. And you know... like... they did it NATRUALLY.
And then we come into my other arena of nervousness with beauty products. What side of the fence am I when it comes to Natural, Organic, Vegan, etc. Is there such a thing as Fair Trade Argan Oil? If local beauty options aren't available to me how much do I want to spend in Commercial Industry?
That's even more work! So it looks like I'm on Team Make it up as I go along.
I can go back to buying Redken, on a semi-strict rule of rationing. I need to figure out if my store has the Redken Cleanse Bar available. Because that bar is LEGIT. I'm not even going to worry about it. It's that good. No questions asked.
And that's how it's going to be.
3. It IS a lot of work.
It's a lot of work to wake up early and set my curls or knock them out. A lot of work to shellac my face, contouring features that I'm pretty sure no one near me even cares about. I mean, do y'all seriously care where my cheek bones are?
Honestly. I want to forget my cheeks. As the ONLY woman in my family to NOT have been issued Aztec Peak High cheek bones... I am so fucking OVER my cheeks.
I'm over my nose too. Which is cute and all... but when I'm standing next to the row of Sanchez noses in my family... it hurts my heart that I was not given a Power Nose.
What was I given? Curls that didn't set until my 30s. Ageless, black-head resisting T-zone. Under eyes that yellow/green at noon. “Break Outs” that consist of maybe two or three zits. But God Bless them... My family did dote upon me DNA that gave me... bangin' ass and tits. Awesome tits if I weigh 100 or expand 200 lbs. My tits always look RIGHT.
Honestly it's already a lot of work to figure out which bra will keep my Blouse Bunnies for hopping up, out and all over. And you want me to do my hair and face too?
Nah. I'm good.
Last July, after the accident, once the rehabilitation started I told my mother, “I can either re-learn to walk OR fuss with the mountain of hair on my head.”
She cut it quick. #PRIORITIES.
That's not saying I'm not up for a little work. I'm just... down on my luck in the self esteem apartment. My current boyfriend is one of those guys. He actually likes me for my PERSONALITY. Seems like a joke, right? I mean, seriously, he's not all up on the bangin' T and A? NOPE. He's not. He, for some odd reason, likes my personality-- as shit talky as that is. That's what he's into.
So my only option in strategically “keeping him interested” is to... what? Keep talking shit?
I mean, that's, like, totally easy. It's just... it's sad, sometimes, most times, to be only “pretty.” He only ever calls me “pretty” and only ever with that word. I am not beautiful or breathtaking. There is nothing exceptional about me. Nothing divine about what he sees that is different from the divinity of anyone else.
I couldn't draw anything out on my face that would entice him any further. I am “pretty.” And without telling the long story of how men have treated me in the past decade... I'm at that point in which... I'll just take pretty. I'm pretty sure I can't get anything MORE than that. Would you want to work at being “pretty” enough to hold that station? Because that's where I live. It's a delightful bummer.
I don't have to work. But.. I'm not getting paid. So. Yeah.
That's where I... urgh... I guess just have to get beautiful for myself. And that's hard for me, because honestly I've never HAD to. I already felt beautiful without any work and I had the positive reinforcement that I was not wrong about that confidence. So getting all beautified is a complicated process for me. I'm learning as fast as I can.
I've learned how awesome lip crayons are. So my years long battle with lipstick... is over. I concede! Crayons are just better. Truth.
A bit of a switch for me. People who know me know that I'm don't wear make up very often.
*ahem* or at all.
Yet here I am, really excited about my new job at a beauty store.
First, I want to talk about why I am don't typically wear make up.
I'm awesome as hell without it.
For some... there is some questionable junk in make up, hair product, etc.
It's a lot of work! Ain't nobody got time to “get pretty.” Especially if you're already pretty.
I am awesome as hell without it. I don't get any more awesome with it. BUT I do get to look different. Smokier. Sexier. Sweeter. Sparkly-er.
With a simple black line on my eye lids I can let you know, by a look alone, if I'm in NO mood for your shit (melted/smoky line) on your mark, get set, go- ready for anything (simple line) ready for anything as long as it leads to the bedroom (cat eye-- peek variation relying on your mood, tease-fest to eat you alive)
I can say it all with just a look. But I've gone ahead and played the English Major card for... a good long while. I'd rather just use The Words. If you can't get it into your earhole that I want, I need, I'd like, Let's GO... then darlin'... that's YOUR fucking problem. Not mine. Because I've used The Words to demonstrate as such. And if you need a girl to passive-aggrisive spell shit out for you... then you're not for me.
This dynamic is easier with my female (and a few male) friends. Again, not my problem. Me and my Vs? We already know how to translate our shit. A smoky eye won't tell anyone close to me that I'm in no mood... because they know me well enough to tip toe around my fit and fussing. That is why we're friends.
Feminist card. That's why I roll hard and ugly when random idiots tell/yell me to, “SMILE!”
Or whistle at me. God, help them, if they actually SAY anything. Because I will KNOCK THEM DOWN ALL OF THE PEGS.
So. Awesome as hell without it. To a point of annoyballs. Why do men think they can come up on me and talk their game when I WANT NONE OF IT? Smoky eye or no, son, get UP OFF MY SPACE.
2. For some... there is some questionable junk in make up, hair product, etc
Carmine. That's been my thing over the years. I mean. Do I really want bug butt on my face? In my food? Um... for a long time the answer was NO. And it was a difficult decision because it means giving up my Burts Bees tinted balms.
Recently I've started thumb through reading “The Perfect Red” by Amy Buttler Greenfield. And... yeah, part of me is a little horrified. Bug Butt. Ick. And another part of me is horrified... Spain taking yet another thing from the Aztec. Seriously. The Aztec were BRILLIANT creators. They discovered and supplied the world with the truest red that we'd ever seen. And you know... like... they did it NATRUALLY.
And then we come into my other arena of nervousness with beauty products. What side of the fence am I when it comes to Natural, Organic, Vegan, etc. Is there such a thing as Fair Trade Argan Oil? If local beauty options aren't available to me how much do I want to spend in Commercial Industry?
That's even more work! So it looks like I'm on Team Make it up as I go along.
I can go back to buying Redken, on a semi-strict rule of rationing. I need to figure out if my store has the Redken Cleanse Bar available. Because that bar is LEGIT. I'm not even going to worry about it. It's that good. No questions asked.
And that's how it's going to be.
3. It IS a lot of work.
It's a lot of work to wake up early and set my curls or knock them out. A lot of work to shellac my face, contouring features that I'm pretty sure no one near me even cares about. I mean, do y'all seriously care where my cheek bones are?
Honestly. I want to forget my cheeks. As the ONLY woman in my family to NOT have been issued Aztec Peak High cheek bones... I am so fucking OVER my cheeks.
I'm over my nose too. Which is cute and all... but when I'm standing next to the row of Sanchez noses in my family... it hurts my heart that I was not given a Power Nose.
What was I given? Curls that didn't set until my 30s. Ageless, black-head resisting T-zone. Under eyes that yellow/green at noon. “Break Outs” that consist of maybe two or three zits. But God Bless them... My family did dote upon me DNA that gave me... bangin' ass and tits. Awesome tits if I weigh 100 or expand 200 lbs. My tits always look RIGHT.
Honestly it's already a lot of work to figure out which bra will keep my Blouse Bunnies for hopping up, out and all over. And you want me to do my hair and face too?
Nah. I'm good.
Last July, after the accident, once the rehabilitation started I told my mother, “I can either re-learn to walk OR fuss with the mountain of hair on my head.”
She cut it quick. #PRIORITIES.
That's not saying I'm not up for a little work. I'm just... down on my luck in the self esteem apartment. My current boyfriend is one of those guys. He actually likes me for my PERSONALITY. Seems like a joke, right? I mean, seriously, he's not all up on the bangin' T and A? NOPE. He's not. He, for some odd reason, likes my personality-- as shit talky as that is. That's what he's into.
So my only option in strategically “keeping him interested” is to... what? Keep talking shit?
I mean, that's, like, totally easy. It's just... it's sad, sometimes, most times, to be only “pretty.” He only ever calls me “pretty” and only ever with that word. I am not beautiful or breathtaking. There is nothing exceptional about me. Nothing divine about what he sees that is different from the divinity of anyone else.
I couldn't draw anything out on my face that would entice him any further. I am “pretty.” And without telling the long story of how men have treated me in the past decade... I'm at that point in which... I'll just take pretty. I'm pretty sure I can't get anything MORE than that. Would you want to work at being “pretty” enough to hold that station? Because that's where I live. It's a delightful bummer.
I don't have to work. But.. I'm not getting paid. So. Yeah.
That's where I... urgh... I guess just have to get beautiful for myself. And that's hard for me, because honestly I've never HAD to. I already felt beautiful without any work and I had the positive reinforcement that I was not wrong about that confidence. So getting all beautified is a complicated process for me. I'm learning as fast as I can.
I've learned how awesome lip crayons are. So my years long battle with lipstick... is over. I concede! Crayons are just better. Truth.
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