It's not just my pride...

Bonjour mes amours!  I have a painful story to share with you today... painful for me, hopefully not for you.


I decided to take a field trip on my lunch break today.  I went to Oak Court mall to get my eyebrows did.  I have been wanting to try "threading" for quite some time.  I know several girls that have it done and love it.  "It feels like a slight pinch," one girl told me.  "It doesn't hurt any worse than waxing," said another.  I was hoping these bitches were right since Gracie told me it feels like getting a tattoo.  Here is my story:


I arrive at the mall right around 1:30.  Before I get out of my car, I decide to slip on a pair of flats in hopes that my trip will be a little quicker.  I get all of my shiz together - phone, keys and purse in hand, and once my second foot hits the concrete I face plant.  I'm talking my phone flies out of my hands; my keys fly under the car next to me; the contents of my purse scatter all around.  Apparently the people responsible for paving the parking lot decided to stop right where I parked.  I rolled my ankle?  Who knows.  All I know is that this only happens when I'm wearing stupid flats.  I should have taken this as a sign.  

I pick up all of my stuff, dust off my bruised legs {and ego} and make my way to BrowArt 23.  The place is empty.  No customers.  No employees. Nothing.  I sit and catch up on my twitter.  Five minutes pass, still no one.  I should have taken this as a sign.  But I'm bound and determined to do this so I wait ten minutes until the only employee finally comes in.  Homegirl doesn't apologize, she tells me to sit in the chair and assures me that it will only feel like a pinch.


She lied.  Homegirl LIED to me.  She starts doing whatever it is that she does and I immediately want to run away.  Actually, I want to punch her.  That's my initial reaction when confronted with pain - punch whatever/whomever is responsible for said discomfort.  I wish I could describe what it feels like but I can't seem to find the words.  It kind of feels like someone is slicing my eyebrow.  The pain causes my eyes to clench shut and start watering like whoa.  Homegirl keeps telling me to "relax."  What I wanted to say was, "Are you KIDDING me, bitch? I feel like I just slid down a slide full of razorblades ON MY FACE and landed in vat of lemon juice and hot sauce and you want me to RELAX?!"  Instead I just sit there and wipe the waterfall of tears away from cheeks. She finishes with the threading.  Homegirl then does the unthinkable.  She takes a cotton ball soaked in- what I imagine - could only be somewhere along the lines of pure grain alcohol and proceeds to saturate the poor eyebrows she just sliced and diced with an X-acto knife?  It's at this point that I honestly think about projectile vomiting all over the place.  In stupid her face.  On her stupid thread.  On the stupid chair.  ALL OVER.  I don't.  Homegirl finishes and hands me a mirror.  I some how manage to pry open my eyes to see that I'm not actually bleeding and that I DO, indeed, have eyebrows left.  She is standing there, looking at me with this shit eating grin.  All I could manage to say was, "Well that sucked."  And I walked away as fast as humanly possible.


Needless to say I will never, ever, ever, EVER be doing that again.  I can't imagine why anyone would do that more than once?  I know I'm a big sissy but give me a break.  This level of torture MAY be on par with water boarding.


In other news, it's Wine-sday and I WILL be celebrating.  Even if it's by myself.

Tell me a story.

I'm not sure what it is about me but people like to tell me super weird things.  Things they definitely maybe shouldn't tell anyone else?  Especially a stranger.  Here's a sweet little example...


My sinuses suck.  I get sinus infections quite often so I frequent the Walgreen/Take Care Clinic down the street from my work for some serious antibiotics.  They are always stupid busy so I get to eavesdrop on people's conversations and spy some majorly delish daddies.  I finally get taken back to see the nurse practitioner?  I'm not sure if that's what she is... regardless, she writes me prescriptions and her name is Erin.  We're talking about what's wrong with me... boring, boring, boring.  Erin mentions how "adorable" my shoes are - since she is charge of giving me what I need I do not tell her that, perhaps, she means "smokin' hot" because there is no way in hell 5 inch black suede heels are in the same category as puppies and babies.  Erin starts telling me what prescription she is writing me, yada, yada, yada... she mentions my new birth control and tells me gross things I won't mention here.  Then she tip toes ever so gracefully up to the "too far for strangers" line.  She proceeds to tell me that if I don't eat with my antibiotics that I'll get "the shits."  Yes.  The person in charge of my well-being used the term "the shits."  Something tells me that isn't in any medical books.  Erin shoots me a truly bizarre look and continues on like that didn't happen.  {Ignoring the awkward is a personal favorite of mine.  I like her style.}  She goes on to tell me that some people like that.  Yup, still talking about poo here.  I don't know if Erin is aware that she is rapidly approaching the way too far line but she keeps on talking.  The next words out of her mouth confuse me, as I'm not even sure what it is or where it's located.  "A gall bladder," she says while looking at me like I should get exactly why she said this.  "{Awkward 30 second pause} I think people should get gall bladder removals if they suffer from chronic constipation... after you get that done you go 30 minutes after you eat."  Crickets may as well be chirping in the background because I have no idea why she is talking about this... apparently she could tell from my face and then it happens.  She jumped across the line.  Erin tells me that she "only poops every ten days."  Erin continues on for an extremely odd length of time.  Telling me all about her "rock hard" shadoobs.  Once she finished sharing the details of her bathroom habits she hands me my receipt, I tell her she needs to talk to a doctor about that and walk out the door.  I need to find a new Walgreens...


In other news, I have a new addiction.  Nail polish.  I'm completely obsessed.  I cannot walk into any sort of store that sells it and not walk out with at least one new color.  Case in point:  I went to Walgreens  twice today and left with three bottles of polish.  I got another new bottle last week at le Kroger.  Here's a taste of my newest and most favorite colors:

Revlon, Hot in Chocolate

Sally Hansen, Pacific Blue

O.P.I, Vodka & Caviar

Sally Hansen, Rockstar Pink

Now to decide what the color du jour will be... yum, yum, yum... love.  And holy shiz, sweet Lady Gaga, praise be all that is holy... Urban Fucking Outfitter is opening a store in the Cooper Young area.  Maybe I should go to church and praise baby jesus.  Or I can just pray at the altar of fashion when the store finally opens.  Yes.  That sounds like a much better idea.


P.S.:  I think vanity license plates are really stupid.  I know several people who have them.  I'm not really afraid to tell you I think it's fucking stupid.  I saw one today that was just dumb.  Unfortunately I was unable to get a picture but I did remember what it said.  It was on a new black Lexus LS10.  Blacked out windows.  Being driven by a... um, particularly suspect man.  The plates read: "IP8D4IT"  I wanted to flag him down and tell him the "8" was superfluous.  "Pah-eight" is actually just pronounced pād.  And something tells me, by the way you're driving, that you didn't actually "p8d" for it.


P.P.S.:  The website we use at work has daily inspirational quotes.  The one posted today said something along the lines of "Aim low and you'll never be disappointed."  Nothing like selling yourself short to make your life really worth living.


Happy Thursday!  I hope you all have a b-e-a-uuuuu-tiful Friday!