Everything I Needed to Know in Life I Learned After an Ill-Fated Visit to the Beautician...

Lesson of the Day: If you happen to have a large, pink scar forming above your left eye, it will not help your looks to try and cover said scar with pink eyeshadow.

At worst, you create a pink, mottled effect that is really quite ugly.

At best...you create a pink, mottled effect that is really quite ugly but people don't really notice the injury and think you're just really bad at make-up or have suddenly started applying your face in the dark. Because of this, you receive no, "Oh my god, what happened to your face?" comments.

Maybe I should just wear dark, dark sunglasses for the next week or two.

Eyebrows, not Europe

I expected that my first post back would be about Europe but instead it’s about eyebrows. I favor the everyday and mundane.

Getting your eyebrows waxed has become fairly important in this day and age. Sloppy eyebrows are hardly tolerated. I have very light blonde eyebrows and I get them waxed. My father gets his eyebrows waxed (my mother, ironically, does not).

Today, I went to get my eyebrows waxed. I went to my usual place, which has become my usual because they only charge $8. The first time I got my eyebrows waxed, I paid $17. Mistake.

Eyebrow waxing is always slightly unpleasant, mostly because, at least for me, it never hurts exactly the way I expect it to. I expect pain, but it still always manages to surprise me by being different than how I remember. The same can be said for at least one of my past relationships as well: ‘Oh, it’s time for the scheduled pain, I’m ready…ow…OUCH! Now that’s different than I remember. I didn’t expect that.’

Anyway.

So when it hurt more than usual (or at least more than I remembered), I didn’t worry. Unexpected pain is to be expected. I looked in the mirror and my eyebrows looked clean and neat and, as usual, surrounded by red puffiness. It wasn’t until I got into the car and really looked in the mirror that I realized that long strips of flesh under both of my eyebrows had been completely ripped off.

So now I’ve got some kind of strange scar face thing going on. Excellent.

Anyway, on a different note, now that I’m back from Europe, I really need to get on my writing again. I feel kind of guilty about how much I’ve neglected it, recently. I’ve created all of these fabulous people and instead of giving them the happy or unhappy resolutions they’ve been waiting for, I’ve just kind of left them in the limbo of my laptop. Bad form.

Adventure on the High Seas

I am sitting at a desk overlooking the Mediterranean Sea through my balcony doors. Another ship is just a little white spot in the distance and besides that, it's all blue.

I am so happy to be on this boat.

My vacation with the sister in Spain was great...but it wasn't in any way a vacation. It was a trip and I was (except for one less than memorable incident) the tour guide, chaperone and camp counselor all in one. Here, I have a ship to glide me from port to port. There are no more maps and rushing to make flights and finding other travellers to share taxis with. Much nicer.

Anyway, tonight is the formal captain's gala and I must dress for dinner (v. Titanic). Later.

Another one from Madrid...

Today we visited the Prado Museum and the Palacio Real. There was shopping, as well, but no buying. Lunch in the Plaza Mayor- my favorite place in Madrid- was less than stellar. Having paella for dinner tonight and then going OUT...last night we were too tired. We are leaving for Sevilla tomorrow and we might not have internet access then. So...Adios, as they say in this country. Peace out.

A Quick Note Before Dinner...

Im in Madrid and I cant quite understand the keyboard. I took a massive amount of public transportation to get here- bus to NYC, metro in NYC, plane, metro in Spain. Having a fabulous time. My co-ed hostel room has only boys and me and my sister. This is not as fabulous. Not bad or anything. Im just saying.

Today was a lot of exploring, some cafe con leche, churches, shopping and sangria. Tonight we are having tapas and hitting up a jazz club...until the jet lag and the very little sleep in the past 48 hours destroys us.

Anyway: yay, Spain. Wish you were here.

Also, I feel uncomfortable attempting to speak the Spanish language. Its like lines in a play that I keep screwing up...

Sunny, Happy Days

A little update before I flee the country...

Wednesday night my boss gave me free tickets (FREE) to the Os game, and I went with two of my girlfriends. Though I had my first dirty martini ever with dinner (at the Camden Club, overlooking the field), I was sober through the entire evening. I very rarely go out with people my own age in the evenings and have all of us remain sober. It was a happy, silly time, the best part being when we sang all the songs we remembered from middle school during the car ride home. It's nice to know we can still go out in the evenings and have sober fun.

Yesterday was the day of the great Yard Fail. Though we dragged many, many belongings out into our yard, we made very little money. I may have sold my parents' house, however. This made us sad.

Today I attended the baby shower of a girl I grew up with, who is only a year older than me. She is big and glowing and (obviously) pregnant. What? Gah. As a party favor/game, we all had ice cubes with plastic babies in them. Whoever's baby was 'born' from the ice first got a prize. It was wonderfully disturbing. Though not as disturbing as the thought of my childhood friend being a mother.

It's not that I don't think she'll make a good mother. I do. It's just...we're so young still. Too young.

Tomorrow morning, at 10:30 AM, I get on a bus for NYC. Then I take a subway to JFK. This is how the poor travel. By noon on Tuesday, I should be in Madrid.

I'm doing a little happy dance of excitement right now.

Take a holiday in Spain...

A girl needs to see a bit of the world to understand herself.

And on Monday, I'm flying to Madrid. Cities for the grand tour include: Madrid, Seville, Barcelona, Messina, Naples, Rome, Florence, and Nice.

The scariest part of the trip? It's not staying in hostels for the first time or the tiny, city-jumping flights. It's not my complete ineptitude with the language or the fear that my credit cards won't work. It's not the fear of getting drunk and falling off a balcony.

It's my little sister.

Or, my not so little sister, I guess. She's eighteen and though we're meeting up with our parents eventually, we'll be on our own for almost six days. Do you know how much trouble an eighteen year old abroad can get into in six days?

I don't either. Yet.

My sister and I have, for a long time now, been friends as well as sisters. We enjoy each other's company immensely. We do not, however, party together. We do not drink together. We do not carouse.

I have trouble getting my mind around the fact that she is about to enter college...and probably do all I did (and more) in college. And I don't understand why I feel the need to protect her and shelter her from things that I very much enjoyed (and still do): namely, drink and men. Hombres y...sangria y vino.

And you can't keep someone safe from things they don't want to be kept safe from...especially if, when used responsibly, these things are not even dangerous to begin with.

Ah de mio.