The art of beauty

As the wedding grows closer, I find myself attempting, often in vain, to somehow correct the years of bad habits and master the unlearned arts of beauty maintenance. On my list this week:

1. Fade embarrassing tan lines
2. Curb insane sweating
3. Artfully shape brows

The tan lines are going to be an issue, because for some reason, my tan never really goes away, which is really great, except that I have tan lines from my past three bathing suits threatening to draw attention away from my sassy dress. Solution: go tanning ($7).

As for the sweating, I figure-- outdoor bridal shower? Outdoor wedding? Many hugs from people who do not want my constant patina of perspiration on their nice dresses and suits? Solution: procure prescription strength Secret deodorant ($8).

And my brows? Manly and wild, like the great forests of Tennesee, they must be contained. Solution: plucking (free!).

Sounds like I have it all under control. But you would be wrong. So, so wrong.

For all three beautification rituals collided in a shocking miasma of decline on Tuesday, when, armed (no pun intended) with a liberal coating of prescription strength anti-stink and sporting a bald spot in my left brow that apparently no one can see but me, I entered the stand-up tanning bed, only to learn that even the most powerful anti-perspirant is no match for the 100-watt bulbs of fury, and that, when exposed, the skin under your eyebrows can burn.

So now I am a stinky, piebald, sunburned mess (although I will say that after my stinging all-over burn subsides, my tan lines WILL be almost gone), just in time for my engagement photos, which were earlier tonight, and my shower and bachelorette party, which is this weekend. After which I will be sealing myself in a large Ziploc baggie to prevent any further damage. But you might have to let me out after awhile, due to the stink.

The people you came in with

Today was the last day at work for one of my co-workers, a guy named Todd, who secretly fed me most of my information about the Cavs so I could go home and look smart in front of Ben (it was Todd who tipped me off to the fact that Daniel Gibson was nicknamed Booby long before everyone else started calling him that). In the old building, I sat diagonally from Todd; in the new building, I sat right across from him. We were never really friends, but I really liked Todd-- he was funny, and a good worker, and a very smart guy. And now he's gone, and I'll probably never see him again.

In fact, a lot of people have left my office lately, mostly because of the drive, as my new office is about seven hundred miles from everywhere, and you must drive around something called Dead Man's Curve to get there. In fact, of the original group I worked with at the old office, only two people remain, other than my boss and the other supervisor. We've got new people, and they're awesome, but there's something to be said for the people you came in with.

I've always had a lot of friends-- not to sound pompous, but I am insanely likeable. But co-workers are a different breed of friends. They're like stealth friends-- you don't even realize how much you like them until they leave.

And if you think about it, you probably spend more time with your co-workers during any given week than you do with any of your other, outside-world friends-- even, probably, more than you spend with your significant other or family. So the sudden void left by Todd's absense is troubling.

The sudden fact that there is now only one dude in my entire department is also troubling, because now we could all begin crying at a moment's notice, with no dudes there to hold us back. On the plus side, I don't have to hide the secret departmental tampon supply anymore, but that is but small consolation.

Farewell, Todd-- you will be missed.

Two Random Mix CDs, and what they say about my life at the time of their creation (roughly)

Random CD 1:

1. Come On Over-- Christina Aguilera
2. Wonderful-- Everclear
3. Simple Kind of Life-- No Doubt
4. Music-- Madonna
5. Why Does It Always Rain On Me?-- Travis
6. Absolutely (Story of a Girl)-- 9 Days
7. Don't Change Your Plans-- Ben Folds Five
8. Anyway-- Dynamite Hack
9. Faith-- Limp Biskit
10. You're a God-- Vertical Horizon
11. Boys in the Hood-- Dynamite Hack
12. Hero-- Foo Fighters
13. Thong Song-- Sisqo
14. Everything You Want-- Vertical Horizon
15. Sour Girl-- Stone Temple Pilots
16. Say My Name-- Destiny's Child
17. Superman (Kryptonite)-- 3 Doors Down
18. These Are Not My Pants-- Five Iron Frenzy

What it says:

1. I must have been in college at the time, because had I known I had a CD like this among my possessions while I was in graduate school, I probably would have destroyed it so that no one would find out that I had a CD with "Thong Song" on it.

2. I had not yet developed (and subsequently gotten over) my short-lived but intense hatred of Christina Aguilera.

3. I likely listened to the radio a lot more, as this is mostly top ten hits (with the possible exception of "These Are Not My Pants").

4. I apparently liked a band called Dynamite Hack, and even owned their CD-- I just went through my collection and found it as proof.

Random CD 2:

1. No Such Thing-- John Mayer
2. Ohio-- CSN & Y
3. Lose Yourself-- Eminem
4. Yesterday-- The Beatles
5. Push-- Matchbox 20
6. Cool Blue Reason-- Cake
7. How You Remind Me-- Nickelback
8. Somebody To Love-- Queen
9. Margaret-- Jill Sobule
10. Trunk Fulla Amps-- Self
11. Song Sung Blue (Live)-- Neil Diamond
12. Blame It On You-- Gin Blossoms
13. Who Will Save Your Soul?-- Jewel
14. Go Tell It On the Mountain-- Harry Simeone Chorale
15. Misery-- Green Day
16. Piece of My Heart-- Janis Joplin
17. Forever In Blue Jeans-- Neil Diamond
18. As Is-- Ani DiFranco
19. 45-- Elvis Costello
20. These Apples-- Barenaked Ladies
21. Leave the Biker-- Fountains of Wayne

What it says:

1. I must have been super depressed when I made this CD, because the only time I ever put "Song Sung Blue (Live)" on a CD was when I was super depressed. Same with "Go Tell It On the Mountain," unless it was a Christmas CD.

2. I must have been in graduate school at this point, because with the exception of Neil Diamond and the Gin Blossoms and Nickelback, this is a somewhat more socially acceptable group.

3. I liked Fountains of Wayne WAY before "Stacy's Mom" came out.

As a side note, on a second listen, I have determined that this is the CD that Ash, Pen and I were listening to when we got stopped by the military convoy on the way to my birthday party, and I got the ominous feeling that something bad was going to happen, and then it did. Creepy.

Today: two massive thunderstorms, with actual lightning, not that crap lightning that just lights up the clouds. Two near-power-outages, a great deal of really loud, teeth-chattering thunder, and a car abandoned on a flooded street (not mine). Oh, the glory of it all!

I love, love, love thunderstorms, to the point that it's probably unhealthy. As in, I wish it would thunderstorm every day. I wish for thunderblizzards in the winter (does such a thing even exist? If so, I must be a part of it). I like to hang out in the Rainforest at the zoo, just for the simulated thunderstorm. I even like it at the grocery store when they have the fake thunderstorm over the produce.

I do wonder where my love of thunderstorms comes from-- somehow it seems romantic, or exciting, like I might suddenly be kidnapped by a handsome and well-meaning stranger who takes me to his castle and makes me his love kitten. (This would only happen during a thunderstorm, as it would be highly anticlimactic to be kidnapped by a lovestarved castle-dweller on a hot, sunny day.) Or maybe it's just a break from the ordinary-- sunny or rainy, windy or humid, or whatever, you must admit that a storm really breaks up the monotony.

And I especially love power outages, although they seem to happen less and less frequently. In fact, I couldn't really tell you when the last storm-related power outage I experienced was, although Ashley can tell you how pissed I was when the power didn't go out during Hurricane Isabel, the Lamest Hurricane Ever (I nearly had to fistfight an old woman for the last flashlight in Walmart, and did I even get to use it? No.).

On a side note, I must admit distaste for fully grown adults who act like they're afraid of storms. If my cat can sit through a thunderclap without flinching, so can you. There. I said it.

Fanscots of Glory

This weekend, Ben and I had the enormous privilege of being invited to the official NFL Fanscot reunion, held in scenic Canton, Ohio (home of the Football Hall of Fame-- because that's right, bitches, we have two halls of fame to your none, unless you live somewhere where there's a hall of fame, which you probably don't).

This was due, in large part, to the fact that Ben's sister is dating the Philadelphia Eagles' fanscot Birdman, who, in real life, is an awesome guy named Joe. Awesome enough, in fact, to lend us these Birdman beaks and masks, so we could experience the sensation of being a fanscot, if only for a few moments. (The sensation was that of being stared at a lot.)

Following the Hall of Fame parade (in which many bands appeared, although none of the trombonists had the good sense to keep their horns up, nor did any of them perform horn swings, much to my chagrin), we went back to the hotel where the fanscots were staying. There, each fanscot had decorated his or her door with team paraphernalia-- Joe, for instance, was stationed across from the Hogettes, who had covered their door with Hog Balls. Which is highly upsetting.

Throughout the day, I learned many interesting things about the Fanscots-- what they do, where they live, what they look like without their pope hats on. I learned that Big Dawg was at a wedding and couldn't make it (although a very strange fellow named Brownie the Elvis Elf was there in his stead, giving me horrible Aurora Greenman flashbacks), so that kind of dashed my hopes of meeting my own personal Browns Fanscot, although Joe promised to arrange a meeting one of these days, which will probably just make me pass out, because I have a weird mascot fetish that I don't care to discuss.

All in all, I learned that Fanscots really are just normal people. Who really, really like football. And dressing up. Which, when you really think about it, couldn't that be said about any one of us?

It lives

I really am sorry for the lack of communication lately-- I know I got on a roll there for awhile, and even extricated myself from the You Should Blog More section of Pen and M's blog. But I am sorry to report that absolutely nothing of interest has happened to me lately, with the exception of the following things:

1. Ben's sister and her boyfriend are coming tomorrow to take us to the Football Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Which, as you know, I would not normally find interesting. But it just so happens that Becki's boyfriend is the Philadelphia Birdman, Eagles superfan of high local acclaim (so I am told-- as a some-time Browns fan, I recognize only the superfandom of Big Dawg). I have been informed that there will be many other superfans there, which will allow me to indulge in my lifelong love of mascots, both official and unofficial.

2. I picked up a copy of my mentor Joe Mackall's newest book, "Plain Secrets," which is about the Amish. I happen to love the Amish for many reasons, among them the fact that I personally know two people that lost their virginity to an Amish, which you have to admit is totally interesting. Anyway, I will read this book soon, in theory, so long as I do not first die from a massive paper-cutter wound while attempting to assemble the final pieces parts of my invitations. But you should read the book right now. Go on! What are you waiting for? You're not going to learn about the Amish sitting here reading this! Except for the fact that, aside from the virginity thing, I'm also obsessed with the Amish because they got rollerblades before I did, which I thought was totally unfair.

But other than that, my life has mostly consisted of handwriting addresses onto envelopes, struggling to learn how to print things on both sides of a piece of paper ("Why the fuck is it printing upside down now? I will kill you, bastard printer of Hades!"), and staring forlornly at my bike, who it appears will remain locked in my garage for the rest of the summer.