Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Girly girl vice


I'm not particularly girly.

However, I seem to have developed a weird nail polish addiction. It's my one "girly" thing. Well, that and my weakness for perfumes by Chanel (and really, I just treat that as a "cost-benefit" thing - Chanel won't ever go out of style and I can't be bothered to buy the new scent of the moment every season). My mom is all about high heeled shoes. At least 3 inches per heel. Walking across her bedroom floor (covered in dirty laundry and hiding hundreds of pairs of shoes from the naked eye) is like trying to avoid pongee sticks - after you're impaled on those stiletto heels, it's really too late.

Me, apparently I'm about nail polish. I don't always wear it all the time - in fact I go through months long fits and starts of not - but I have a collection of at least 20 different colors. They range from weird 2 tone changeable colors ("car colors" like in "The Fast and the Furious") to colors that I hope to one day adorn the car of my dreams (like the dark green with blue tones that would look stylin' on the Jaguar I will some day own) to the "safe for meeting with parents" colors. These have names like "Dusty Rose" or "Opal". Those are the cosmetic equivalent of Carpenters music. Inoffensive, but ultimately soul sucking and most likely to lead me to try and control my life through some other drastic measure like anorexia or repeated banging of my head into a wall or kitten abuse.

Every color I've purchased has a story. The last last time I remember wearing the blue I have on now was in 1997. I hung out for the evening with the ex-girlfriend of my ex-roommate at an "entertainment complex (arcade games and pool!)" and got home only to realize I had a job interview the next morning so I needed to take off the nail polish so I'd look more "serious". Removal (while drunk and needing to go to bed) took about 20 minutes. I woke up hungover and out of sorts. I got to the interview on time, but got lost repeatedly trying to get to the school. Consequently, I was out of sorts and interviewed poorly. Thus goes the story of the blue polish.

I have a gun metal gray my sister left behind before she moved. She wore it only once for Halloween one year. She decided she wanted to be a fox, literally - not in the "hot" sense - and put on a metric buttload of stage make-up to achieve the effect. Then she had an allergic reaction to the make-up and got swollen like she'd been bee stung, with the added joy of general bitchy-ness for the rest of the party. Watching her pass out from Benadryl instead of alcohol was one of life's small pleasures.

In my possesion is a shade of turquoise that seemed like a good idea when I bought it from Bath and Body Works, but stains my nails blue even after I remove the polish. I keep it around because it's a reminder of the trip to San Diego during which I purchased it. I hung out during the trip with a great girl named Natasha, with whom I've lost touch since. It was one of the better vacations I've ever been on and the only time I've ever been to California. Some day I hope to go back.

So, I rationalize my girly vice. It is make-up for my nails, but apparently a scrap book of sorts as well.

And, I suppose if I'm desperate I can huff it to get high.

4 comments:

Latigo Flint said...

I laughed myself into a violent seizure at the part about your potential life control methods?

Which ended up not being very funny at all.

Dave Morris said...

I'm busy fantasizing about what might have made Natasha such a great girl.

Tell Mr. Scoop it's a harmless fantasy. Mostly.

Lightning Bug's Butt said...

I'll bet those look great surrounded in chest hair.

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