After yesterday's case of the greys, I forced myself to stay out of the house most of the day, which included an aimless journey to the nearest 'burb to the north to do a little holiday shopping.
For the first time ever, I went into an Ulta looking for a specific nail polish color that I saw in a magazine (well, it was in Pinterest, actually). They had one bottle of Esse's "Power Clutch" and one bottle of "Matte About You" top coat remaining. Now they have none.
I'm not sure if I'm more embarrassed that I went into Ulta with a specific polish brand/color in mind or that I'm so damn excited about it. That is such a girl-that-reads-InStyle-and-Cosmo thing to do. I'm not that girl. Or woman. Or am I now that all these bitches are posting pix of their nifty, trendy fingernails on Pinterest and I'm taking time to pin them myself and commit colors to memory?
To keep my Ulta trip real, I also bought a box of wax strips so I can handle the 'stache in house.
After my morning of retail beauty, I went to the salon and got my hair cut and styled -- again, Pinterest inspired. I actually had 5 pix of different hairstyles saved to a board (and accessed on my iPhone) so I could show my guy what I wanted him to do. My hair is a good 3-1/2 inches shorter and I have a swoopy bang thing going on. It looks kind of like it does in my profile picture (to your right), only a skosh longer.
Husband better notice.
Back to the house to paint my fingers. What a mess. The color is awesome and the top coat is amazing -- you watch a glossy, just-painted sliver of nail turn into a flat, matte finish in seconds -- but I still can't paint my own fingernails. My left hand is acceptable (at a distance) -- my right hand looks like I dipped my fist in a gallon of chalkboard paint.
Of all the various skills I wish I could just wake up and have (vs. investing money and time and sweat and tears to acquire), like playing the banjo, or being able to wail like Beth Ditto, or knowing how to fabricate metal, I also wish I could paint my own nails. Seriously. It's a skill. Don't judge.
After the nail painting fiasco, I ran back to the bathroom and put on make-up. A lot of it. The black eyeshadow, eyeliner, a reapplication of mascara (mascara is pretty much the only thing I normally wear these days) and even lip liner and lipstick.
I also put two of those wax strips to use.
And now I wait.
My hairs are did. My nails are ... laughable. The only sign of a stache I have is the irritated red skin from yanking those little hairs off my upper lip.
Won't I be the Belle of the Ball when I pick the kids up from chorus today?