MEAN AND PETTY, BUT...EW

Sorry, but I just don't get it. I mean, on her body, it isn't the worst thing I have ever seen, but it is still really, really ugly. It's like "I Dream of Jeannie" goes to the prom in the early 90's.
I'm not a big celebrity follower at all, but sometimes I see something that makes me look twice. I saw this photo of her in a magazine I picked up at the gym when I realized I had left my ipod at home.

And I still don't understand why she cut off her hair. Short hair is one thing, but every part of her is starting to look more and more like her husband. Weird.

OUCH

I'm not writing much this weekend...I'm in the middle of my Pilates reformer I & II teacher training. 22 hours of Pilates in four days.

Yeah. Ouch.


I'll be back soon.
With more photos of Piper (her ears are both standing now!) and some stuff I finally got in the mail.

ANGRY FACE

Let's talk about...having "work" done.

(I know. Such a surprise coming from OCD Chemical-Free Girl. I know.)

I've had a love/hate relationship with my face throughout the years. (Doesn't everybody?) I think everyone has a gripe about their face. It could be their eyes, their neck, their complexion, scars, broken veins, blackheads...whatever. Usually, if it bothers you enough to affect you negatively, something relatively simple can be done to improve it. At one point, I hated my nose. I was 11. It got better. I hated my big forehead. Then I got a clue about the fact that those early-90's Alice bands were not for me. The list goes on...when I was young, I looked TOO young (being 16 and mistaken for a 7th grader?-not fun!). Now that I am starting to get little lines on my forehead (too much worrying, too much refusing to wear my glasses or contacts and squinting) I feel like they are HUGE WRINKLES and make me look 40 (if you don't know, I'm 29). Some days, it bothers me a lot, but mostly, I am okay with it. Your face is supposed to age. You smile, you cry, you laugh...you get lines.



But the one thing that I truly hate about my face is not caused by aging, and can't be fixed with Botox or a facelift or anti-wrinkle cream or chemical peels.

I feel like I have no lips. And looking at my mother, I am afraid for my future.
Sure, big lips are sexy, "in," and a necessity for porn stars. But over the years, I have realized that people think I am making a face at them, when in reality, it is just my face. My ridiculous, tiny, doll-lips, at my age, just make me look angry or bitchy. Not the kind of person you would want to approach. Not the kind of person you would want to work with.
I realize that in most photos, you want to be smiling. However, most people can get away with a candid in which they are not smiling, and not look like a serial killer contemplating her next hit. I, however, look like an angry psychotic with HUGE eyes and a pinched mouth. And yet I am not pinching it. That's just my face. When I was 14, I went to Glamour Shots. (It was highly popular in 1993. The pageant cowgirl hair and all.) The photographer took only one shot of "serious face" and that was it. The rest turned out great (if you can ignore the 90's clothing, stupid poses, and above-mentioned hair). The "serious" one? I looked PISSED OFF. I wasn't. Come on, I was 14 and pretending to be a model. Think I was mad? NO!
A couple of years ago, my ex posted some photos from a club's grand opening on his website. I made him immediately remove all the candids of me...talking to a friend, buying a drink...not because my outfit sucked (it did, but that was the least of my problems) but because I looked like a petulant, angry, crazy person.
I never wear lipstick, because contrasting the color between my lips and face make them look even smaller. I have been known to mix flesh colored powder with shiny clear gloss. That's it. No darker shades, ever.
I don't want Angelina Jolie's lips, I don't want porn star lips, I don't want people who have never met me to look at me and say "wow, your cosmetic surgeon sure is good!"

I do, however, want lips. Ones that stay around long after the lip plumper has been licked off, ones that make me look content when my face is relaxed (as opposed to angry).
I realize something like "having work done" is a big deal. It is not cheap, it can be botched, and some options (I already know) are not for me. I am not positive I will even do anything about it. I have, however, started a "lip fund" in which I place 2/3 of the money that I would normally spend on stupid things (junk food I don't need, books I would read in one day and then donate to the Salvation Army which can easily be found at the library, a stupid tank top that I might wear once and then send to the back of the closet, etc...and the other 1/3 is for credit cards, but I digress).
It is an incentive. I am trying to reach a goal (more on that some other time) and once I am there, I plan to go for a consultation. No promises, no deals. Just to see.
Because even though I am generally happy, people always ask me what is wrong. Aging is going to happen, and I'll decide how to deal with that as well. But feeling as if the world completely misunderstands you because of something like your mouth? Unacceptable to me.
So we'll see...

SPOILED

I know, so many of you will think this is ridiculous, but I can't resist these.

I think Piper is going to be more spoiled than me!

...but she's so cute, it doesn't matter:

sleepy Piper




a really unflattering photo of Ben in workout gear...but they are so cute together!


passed out


she has a really long tongue...sometimes it pokes out when she is sleeping

she just has the weirdest sleeping positions EVER

She really is our little baby and as badly as I wanted a dog, I had no idea I could love one so much. Not that I didn't adore Gabby and Marley, but Piper is OUR baby and she has already made me so happy.

PISSED OFF WEEK

I'm pissed off at other people, and pissed off at myself.
If there is one (non-physical) thing I hate about myself, it is that I can't tell people NO, can't tell people when something is none of their business, can't stop feeling guilty for even wanting to do such things.
This week has been...bad. I usually don't even know the people who put me in such a position. I need to learn to deal with it in a different way.
The most recent example:
Yesterday, I went to Sephora in the nearest mall. I bought a bag of stuff and walked out.
Usually, I pull out my phone and call someone (or pretend to) so I can avoid those *#$&#(@_@ing @)(#*$()*$#holes at the kiosks (I apologize if this is or ever was your job. For being a bitch, and for the fact that this was your job.) I absolutely hate when people I don't know and have not asked/given permission to touch me, put something on me, or get into my personal space. HATE IT. This is not a new friend, an old friend, a relative, a fitness professional, a chiropractor...this is a stranger, usually coming at me at warp speed with some shitty, cheap, odoriffic lotion or ugly, garish, nasty makeup.
Yesterday was no exception. I didn't do the phone trick because I was balancing a Sephora bag in one hand and trying to put my jacket back on.
A girl comes running toward me. "Let me see your worst nail!" she says. ("Here, see my little pinky toe. The nail constantly peels off from too much activity in running shoes, and I just left the gym...ENJOY!!!')

As she says this, she is moistening a cotton ball with something that looks like polish remover. WTF??? I don't want my damn nail buffed, and I don't want you to put some shitty lotion with god-knows-what in it (that will likely make my arm red and swollen and itchy for a few hours) on my hand. I know you say it smells 'like the ocean' but to me it smells exactly like Glade air freshener, which makes me want to hork all over.
Besides, I just got my nails done on Monday.
I tell her this. By this time she has a hold of my hand and is hungrily eyeing my pinky nail.
"It's clear!" she says.
(NO IT IS NOT. IT IS LIGHT PINK. JUST BECAUSE IT ISN'T GARISH GAMBLING GRANNY FUSCHIA LIKE YOUR 3-INCH TALONS DOES NOT MEAN IT ISN'T A COLOR.)
"No, trust me, it's light pink," I say.
"No one will notice. And how much can it cost to go back and get it fixed?"
(THAT IS NONE OF YOUR &#*$&#ING BUSINESS. I DON'T HAVE THE TIME, AND REALLY SHOULDN'T HAVE TO. THANKS VERY MUCH.)
"I'll notice. I don't have another appointment until next Friday."
"Can't you fix it yourself?"
"No, I didn't buy this color because I was in a rush. Look, I come here all the time."
"It will look better after I do this."
(REALLY? WELL, NOW YOU HAVE HARRASSED ME AND INSULTED ME. YOU NEED TO WORK ON SALES SKILLS, SWEETIE.)
"I have to go, RIGHT NOW, I'm late for something."
She is still holding my hand, but ROLLS HER EYES at this point and lets go.

Oh, man. See, it really doesn't matter if my manicure was $100 or $15, or if I was a damn manicurist and did it myself. That is the kind of thing that really makes me mad...at myself. (The eye roll...well, if I didn't feel like an old biddy for reporting her to someone higher up, and if I felt like they would even care, I would have. But I didn't. When I had jobs at 18, I hated those bitchy, well-dressed "older" women...you know, those over 25. God.)
I should have told her "no" and yanked my hand away and kept walking. Instead, I usually feel the need to either become passive-aggressive or feel the need to make excuses for myself. I hate that. HATE IT. I mean, why?

At least I saved my nail. I just found my ideal nail girl: cheap, close, and willing to listen. Does not think I am a freak for asking her to buff, polish, done. No scrubs, no smelly lotions, no problems for me. Think I am going to let a kiosk worker with a buffer and some oily, salty scrub and some reeking lotion ruin my nails, now that they finally look more like the nails of a 29-year old and not a 12-year old? NO.

But yeah. Need to find a better way to deal with stupid things like that. Because the whole week/day then came back to ruin my shopping buzz and I called my husband crying--worried about the dog, mad about people, mad at myself for not sticking up to Miss Hand Grabber.


Stupid, stupid me.

I VOTED

I know. I must be very mean! But I couldn't resist.

I promised more puppy stories and shopping posts...but I am exhausted. I promise to write more when Ben gets home and takes over babysitting duty.

I'll close with one more photo...don't be fooled. She is not always this sweet and innocent. Right now she is alternating between enlarging a hole in a pair of True Religion jeans and eating a Sigerson Morrison sandal.

Great. She has quite demanding taste, for a 9-week old.

Oh, by the way...we named her Piper. It was the one name both of us agreed on.

A NEW BABY

i like fingers
layin' on ben's belly
GIVE ME BACK THAT TOY!!
where're the target and petsmart ads?
giving ben a kiss

I am exhausted, so I will write more about her tomorrow. She does not even have a name yet!
She is 100% chihuahua...her ears will stand up straight when she is older!