The other day, I was tricked into going to Costco with my Mom. I just really wanted an excuse to wear my SWEET new rain galoshes, so I agreed to go on what I knew would be a torturously long errand. I soon found myself wandering the massive aisles, bored out of my mind, considering buying 600 plastic forks, just so I could use one to poke out my eyes. Maybe then I could go home?

I figured this was a bad idea, so I meandered over to health and beauty, where I knew I could find something to occupy myself with. And then I saw it– a Smashbox Picture Perfect Kit with eyeshadow quad, mini lip gloss trio (with pink leather mirrored case!), mascara, and face highlighter– for $19.99!! The kit came with detailed instructions on how to apply the makeup, much like other cosmetics brands that are now taking the guesswork out of makeup application . I snatched it, threw it inconspicuously into Mom’s cart and tore it open as soon as we were in the car.

Opening up the new makeup kit felt exactly the same way it did that very first time. My Grandma (against my mother’s desperate pleas not to) bought me a GIANT pink and purple kit full of awful pink lipsticks, hooker-blue eye shadow, fake mascara, fucshia blush and glitter, glitter, sweet glitter when I was three. It was then that I fell in love with makeup. I put on all of my face decorations, just like mommy did, every day before I left my house. I sometimes had loaded my face so full of makeup that it couldn’t take anymore, and, consequently, I applied some to my helpless baby brother.

Which brings me to my point. Read More »

While perusing (and by “perusing” I mean obsessively checking and re-checking) Facebook for the fourth time yesterday, I noticed that no one had done anything since the last time I logged in (an hour before). In a fit of never ending boredom that made signing off impossible, I decided to look at pictures of me.

Of the 300ish photos of me, 250 involved drinking and 249 of those involved me making some sort of awful face. Not like “I wasn’t ready for the camera” awful; more like, “I am going to make the ugliest face I can think of” awful. The sad part is that I can distinctly remember taking most of those pictures and consciously making the faces that are now staring back at (and horrifying) me.

I even giggled as I made one of my uglier faces and poked my head into what would have been a cute picture of friends. Why did I ever think that was a good idea? Read More »

Nothing ruins my morning quite like hearing a leering stranger mutter his commentary on my appearance under this breath. If you’re a woman who’s ever walked a block or two in a city, you can probably relate.

Trading stories of street harassment with friends, I learned that it doesn’t stop at lewd mumbled comments. I have friends who have been flashed on the street, and even treated to a one-man self-pleasure show while riding the subway. Read More »