Tuesday, August 03, 2004

I hate going out.
Well, thats a lie. I like actually being out. It's the getting ready to go out I hate. Seriously. The guys I know take a shower, get dressed, throw on some deodorant and shave. Maybe throw a little bit of gel in the hair if needed.
I wish it was that easy for me.
I normally start with a shower, in which I have to choose between 4 different conditioners so I can decide what I want my hair to smell like. Then comes the shaving of the legs. Not only is it impossible not to miss a spot, it's time consuming. Atleast 15 minutes. It normally takes me longer because I always nick this one spot on the back of my leg (I have a scar there from it) and spend a good 20 minutes trying to stop the bleeding. It's like hitting a fucking artery, I damn near bled to death in my bathtub once.
Once out of the shower, its a choice between lotions. Flowery or fruity? Shimmering or regular? Once I choose one, and slather it on, I spend about 15 minutes writhing around in pain because I'm a dumb fuck and just put lotion in that one spot I always nick on my leg. It hurts like a bitch. If you don't believe me, try it.
When I regain conciousness, it's makeup time. The goal here is to look as good as possible without having the makeup wear off a half an hour into the night. This is impossible without looking like Tammy Fae. I've given up. Once I have a beer my eyeliner just runs down my face anyway. I just pretend its a trend. Lipstick is pointless, too. All it does is show off how perfect my teeth are, because thats where it always ends up. On my fuckin teeth.
Then there's clothes. I'm a chunky ass, thus making dressing difficult. Try finding something sexy that covers your fat ass at the same time. It's almost impossible. I've taken to lowcut shirts and anything dark enough on the bottom that helps hide the fact that my ass is so big it looks like I'm trying to smuggle two midgets into the club.
Technically I should add a paragraph on purses. I don't do them. It's just one more thing for me to lose when I get shitfaced drunk. Thus, I wear pants with pockets so I can shove my ID, credit card, cash, cell phone, lipgloss, compact, and inhaler in them. I was thinking of investing in a tool belt.
On to shoes. There are 2 options here. Slut boots that are damn sexy but kill my feet and make me look taller than everyone else, and the heels. You have to be damn good to wear heels. Heels were designed by Hitler as a form of torture. I have a ton of them, I'm still not brave enough to wear them to the club. Too many exposed toes. Not to mention, running in heels doesn't happen. Try running from the skeevy guy in the club in a pair of Manolo Blahnik heels. Actually, try standing in Manolos. I dare you. So it's the boots. Which are actually damn sexy, but come up to my knees. Thus my legs are sweaty, sticky and itchy the entire night. Which is fine. They add so much height that I can ask someone else to scratch them for me, they are about at everyone else's arm level.
The hair issue is my biggest downfall. I can leave it curly, and let it do it's own thing and look like Don King for half of the night...or I can straighten it and weigh it down with shine serums and straightening balms so it can get curly and look like shit for the other half of the night. No matter what I do it ends up the same way. In a messy bun that I sculpt out of a hair tie, a little bit of lotion and the beer that every idiot seems to spill in to my hair. I'm like MacGyver when it comes to hair.
This getting ready shit is supposed to be easy, right? Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Does any one else almost bleed to death in an attempt to go out to the club? Perhaps I just frequent the wrong places. Give me a place where I can throw on some ripped jeans and a t-shirt, and throw my hair in a ponytail. I'll probably be much nicer.

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