Around my 25th birthday, my hairdresser announced that she found a gray hair on the back of my head. I was horrified. 25?? Really?? I shrugged it off and told her it was probably a blonde hair. She pulled it out.
When I was 27 1/2 years old, she laughed again and said, "oh I found another one!" I insisted it was one of my bleached hairs in my streak.
At 28 years and 3 months, reality hit me like a hurricane. As I looked in the mirror I saw something glisten. I looked closer at the front of my head, trying hard to separate the individual strands of hair. It was there, mocking me, a single silver hair. It was half the length of the rest. It had just grown in, independently free, without a care and full of confidence. It said to me, "Ha! my friend Time brought me. Hello. I'm not going anywhere".
As the years pass, we sometimes don't realize what's happening to us. We're caught in the middle of work and bills and life that we sometimes forget that we're getting older. Then one day we step back and see ourselves outside of our bodies, as people we see on the street. You know how when you have to describe someone you say, "...a lady who's about 40 years old, with the short brown hair". I don't think of myself as 28 years old, I'm Natasha. I've been the same person. But now I'm the lady who's almost 30 with green eyes and blonde streaks in her hair. Someone younger than me is describing me like that. Someone younger than me thinks I'm old!
We hear a click in our knees and we say, "oh I've been working out too much. I think I pulled something" when in reality, it's just us getting old. No one really tells you what it feels like. Things just happen to us and we adjust and take them to be what they are. I have gray hair, I get tired at a bar at 10pm, my knees are stiff when I sit too long, I'm getting older. Then I think, I remember when I was 5 years old. I remember standing in the stairwell with my Minnie Mouse sweatshirt waving goodbye to my mother. It can't be that long ago! That was 1990. And it seems like it was yesterday. You know, the 90's....that was over 20 years ago! That's insane. We've traded places with our parents, the people we used to roll our eyes at and say, "you were young like 20 years ago! You have no idea what life is like now!"
I don't feel like I'm old. I don't feel like I've done all the things I'm supposed to do. And now I realize why some people don't act their age, because they haven't really realized their age yet. We condemn people who are in their 40's and still acting like they're 25. We scoff when we hear that people are dating someone 20 years younger than they are. But it makes sense. George Clooney makes sense now. Time passes so fast that we sometimes miss our real age. One year just blurs into another at some point and it's all the same. It's all one continuous day, and we just live it.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
The Lost Art Of Friend Keeping
I was recently thinking about friendships and I came across an article in Women's Health which was quite apropos. It stated that because of things like Facebook, our generation no longer has real friends but acquaintances. Thinking of your "friend" list on FB how many can you say are REALLY your friend? Maybe 5? And even that may be too high nowadays. Or as Women's Health puts it, "How many of the friends hanging around in your feed would you bother to ask to brunch?". Even if we do have those 5, we often neglect them. There used to be a time when your only option was to pick up the phone to see how someone was doing. Or have someone over for coffee to just shoot the shit and gossip about the other girls. Everything's so impersonal now.
Forget the fact the we have so few real friends. My bigger concern is the neglecting part. The times when you don't see your supposed friend for 3 months and she lives in the same borough. Oh, you were just going to give me the 'I'm so busy' excuse? Yeah, I thought you were. We say that all the time. That we're too busy. But unless you're working until 9pm every single day, there's no way you can't carve out 2 hours of your time to have dinner or a drink. We've become a culture where we make room for our friends when it suits us, when they're useful for a time until we get bored of them or find something better. Now, I'm not saying that's everyone, but there seems to be a lot of this from what I've observed. Also, I'm not talking about the flaker. You know, that person who you never really rely on because they always cancel on you last minute or take two days to answer your text. That person, bless their heart, was made like that. You just have to work around their weakness.
I'm talking about the person who is attached to you (for about 2-6 months), who you go to dinners with and happy hours and is always free to do things, and then slowly disappears. And then reappears when it's convenient for her or him (some boys do this too!). She's bored or she broke up with her boyfriend. That one is the worst--the disappearing girlfriend act. We know, you're in love and you want to spend every waking moment with this person, so you stop going to happy hours and start becoming a craft beer expert (because that's the only thing your boo drinks) and are always too tired or busy to do anything--but then it ends. And you text your friend, "drinks tonight?". And she doesn't respond until tomorrow because she found someone new to have drinks with. Because you left her on her own and it's no fault of hers if you were the one who disappeared. And Women's Health makes a good point "when a great romantic date ends you'd never say, 'we should do it again sometime", and then let it go for three months. Why don't your girlfriends get that same courtesy?"
The older I become the more I realize that you need to hold on to the few real friends you have. We don't have the luxury of meeting new people like we did in College so why not make sure that the bonds you do have are fully strengthened. What people don't understand, and I've tried to explain it to a few who get married and then disappear, is that you got married. You're not 85 years old and bedridden. You don't have kids to look after. You have now locked that guy down and will get to see him for the next 50 years. You should go out with your friends as much as possible because once you have kids, it's all over. No one will ever see you again. They will have to come to you. And chances are you'll be trying to catch up over Sesame Street and Goldfish crackers and dirty diapers instead of over Cosmos and the creepy middle-aged man buying your group drinks at the local bar.
Forget the fact the we have so few real friends. My bigger concern is the neglecting part. The times when you don't see your supposed friend for 3 months and she lives in the same borough. Oh, you were just going to give me the 'I'm so busy' excuse? Yeah, I thought you were. We say that all the time. That we're too busy. But unless you're working until 9pm every single day, there's no way you can't carve out 2 hours of your time to have dinner or a drink. We've become a culture where we make room for our friends when it suits us, when they're useful for a time until we get bored of them or find something better. Now, I'm not saying that's everyone, but there seems to be a lot of this from what I've observed. Also, I'm not talking about the flaker. You know, that person who you never really rely on because they always cancel on you last minute or take two days to answer your text. That person, bless their heart, was made like that. You just have to work around their weakness.
I'm talking about the person who is attached to you (for about 2-6 months), who you go to dinners with and happy hours and is always free to do things, and then slowly disappears. And then reappears when it's convenient for her or him (some boys do this too!). She's bored or she broke up with her boyfriend. That one is the worst--the disappearing girlfriend act. We know, you're in love and you want to spend every waking moment with this person, so you stop going to happy hours and start becoming a craft beer expert (because that's the only thing your boo drinks) and are always too tired or busy to do anything--but then it ends. And you text your friend, "drinks tonight?". And she doesn't respond until tomorrow because she found someone new to have drinks with. Because you left her on her own and it's no fault of hers if you were the one who disappeared. And Women's Health makes a good point "when a great romantic date ends you'd never say, 'we should do it again sometime", and then let it go for three months. Why don't your girlfriends get that same courtesy?"
The older I become the more I realize that you need to hold on to the few real friends you have. We don't have the luxury of meeting new people like we did in College so why not make sure that the bonds you do have are fully strengthened. What people don't understand, and I've tried to explain it to a few who get married and then disappear, is that you got married. You're not 85 years old and bedridden. You don't have kids to look after. You have now locked that guy down and will get to see him for the next 50 years. You should go out with your friends as much as possible because once you have kids, it's all over. No one will ever see you again. They will have to come to you. And chances are you'll be trying to catch up over Sesame Street and Goldfish crackers and dirty diapers instead of over Cosmos and the creepy middle-aged man buying your group drinks at the local bar.
There's No Place Like Home...I Think
It's 4am and I am currently sitting on my tiny island (my bed) waiting to hear the sounds of an unwelcomed mouse (or mice)some where in my wall. This is what has become of my life: waiting for daybreak when it is safe to finally sleep. My house, which used to be my refuge, has now become my nightmare. And if you've ever been alone and had the pleasure of being startled awake by scratching in the wall, you know how I feel. My summer vacation has been wasted by running away from my house to avoid the mice and untanable 79 degree weather.
This is not the first of my house woes nor do I believe it to be my last. I have been cursed with apartment afflictions ever since I moved out of my moms. That's not looking so bad now....
There was the rape tunnel apartment in the side alley of a building. Looking back I wonder why I thought it was a good idea to live there and also, how my mother LET me live there. That lasted 8 months. Mostly because I was terrified that someone was always trying to kill me in my isolated ground floor hovel and partly because a bum moved into the alleyway right outside my door and I feared he would return. I think the mafia took care of that one for me though...
Then there was the major apartment upgrade in Spanish Harlem that seemed too good to be true. Kids, if it seems too good to be true, it most definitely is, so run the other way. Fast. New appliances, balcony, laundry in your apartment, gym in the basement, doorman....Yes doorman, who drunk-dialed me from the lobby one night to profess his love to me. That wasn't even the worst of that place. Leaky ceilings, shady landlord, crazy roommates, and some other shenanigans and memories that will last me a lifetime. I could write a book about that building. We will save it for another time.
Now there's this place. I thought I was away from the craziness and drama. That lasted about 6 months. Aside from the inconsiderate neighbors, who wear heels at 1am and walk like baby dinosaurs, I now have mice in the neighborhood who make a frequent visit to my wall. Tonight, I was also greeted by a very large skunk who had no problem coming right up to my door. The only upside is that little bugger (who I've named Bull) eats mice so that problem will soon be gone. Then, what to do about that skunk...
I can't win. And what I find interesting is that I am so careful when it comes to picking apartments! I look and look and make sure everything's right. And I still get the fuzzy end of the lollipop! I don't know what it is. Hopefully this will be the last one, the third of the triad. Bad things come in threes, right?
This is not the first of my house woes nor do I believe it to be my last. I have been cursed with apartment afflictions ever since I moved out of my moms. That's not looking so bad now....
There was the rape tunnel apartment in the side alley of a building. Looking back I wonder why I thought it was a good idea to live there and also, how my mother LET me live there. That lasted 8 months. Mostly because I was terrified that someone was always trying to kill me in my isolated ground floor hovel and partly because a bum moved into the alleyway right outside my door and I feared he would return. I think the mafia took care of that one for me though...
Then there was the major apartment upgrade in Spanish Harlem that seemed too good to be true. Kids, if it seems too good to be true, it most definitely is, so run the other way. Fast. New appliances, balcony, laundry in your apartment, gym in the basement, doorman....Yes doorman, who drunk-dialed me from the lobby one night to profess his love to me. That wasn't even the worst of that place. Leaky ceilings, shady landlord, crazy roommates, and some other shenanigans and memories that will last me a lifetime. I could write a book about that building. We will save it for another time.
Now there's this place. I thought I was away from the craziness and drama. That lasted about 6 months. Aside from the inconsiderate neighbors, who wear heels at 1am and walk like baby dinosaurs, I now have mice in the neighborhood who make a frequent visit to my wall. Tonight, I was also greeted by a very large skunk who had no problem coming right up to my door. The only upside is that little bugger (who I've named Bull) eats mice so that problem will soon be gone. Then, what to do about that skunk...
I can't win. And what I find interesting is that I am so careful when it comes to picking apartments! I look and look and make sure everything's right. And I still get the fuzzy end of the lollipop! I don't know what it is. Hopefully this will be the last one, the third of the triad. Bad things come in threes, right?
Sunday, July 7, 2013
There's An Empty Seat By Me!
I went to the movies for the first time by myself. There's a lot of things I've done alone: travel to another country (a bit insane. I don't know how I did it), hook up all my electronics (poorly), eat dinner out (at fast food its ok, at diner it gives me anxiety), build furniture (some pieces are backwards but hell, they're still standing!). But I've never went to the movies solo.
When I was in high school I remember going to the movies with my family. I remember the theater, where we sat. I don't remember what movie it was because I was too focused on the old man sitting alone a few rows in front of me.
I noticed him before the previews started and I thought it was sad that he was alone. Apparently, before this, it didn't dawn on me that one could attend a movie alone--I always thought it was a family thing. I watched him and wondered why he was alone. Maybe his wife was driving him crazy and he needed to get out of the house. Maybe he wanted to see the movie and she didn't so he saw it and she went shopping. Maybe she was dead and he was all alone.
I had nothing to do yesterday so I went to see Man Of Steel. It wasn't that crowded so I found an unoccupied row and sat on the second seat in. There were some couples young and old, some moms and their kids, and some solo people. Five minutes before it started some Eastern European woman asked if the seat next to me was taken. I said no and she sat down. Solo. I thought it was weird since there were so many other seats but I guess she wanted the security of being next to someone as well and I welcomed the company. I even contemplated sharing my snack with her but then I thought that would be too weird. Also, what if she was one of those who talked through the movie? Then I would be all embarrassed when people thought we were together.
The only bad thing about going to the movies alone that there is no one to talk to about it afterwards. That's the fun part I guess. Discussing what you liked and what you didn't. Nonetheless, I survived my first solo movie. It wasn't that bad. It helps that it's dark and no one can really see your face. I like dark places.
When I was in high school I remember going to the movies with my family. I remember the theater, where we sat. I don't remember what movie it was because I was too focused on the old man sitting alone a few rows in front of me.
I noticed him before the previews started and I thought it was sad that he was alone. Apparently, before this, it didn't dawn on me that one could attend a movie alone--I always thought it was a family thing. I watched him and wondered why he was alone. Maybe his wife was driving him crazy and he needed to get out of the house. Maybe he wanted to see the movie and she didn't so he saw it and she went shopping. Maybe she was dead and he was all alone.
I had nothing to do yesterday so I went to see Man Of Steel. It wasn't that crowded so I found an unoccupied row and sat on the second seat in. There were some couples young and old, some moms and their kids, and some solo people. Five minutes before it started some Eastern European woman asked if the seat next to me was taken. I said no and she sat down. Solo. I thought it was weird since there were so many other seats but I guess she wanted the security of being next to someone as well and I welcomed the company. I even contemplated sharing my snack with her but then I thought that would be too weird. Also, what if she was one of those who talked through the movie? Then I would be all embarrassed when people thought we were together.
The only bad thing about going to the movies alone that there is no one to talk to about it afterwards. That's the fun part I guess. Discussing what you liked and what you didn't. Nonetheless, I survived my first solo movie. It wasn't that bad. It helps that it's dark and no one can really see your face. I like dark places.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
No. Just No.
9:15pm. Thursday night. Drunk man approaches three girls minding their own business in a bar. He proceeds to barely make sentences and spill his beer in a plate of chicken fingers. He is not the first man to do this. Nor, will he be the last.
It's interactions like these that make you question why you left your house in the first place. I mean, it's entertaining sometimes, but mostly it's just sad. I've found that as I've gained years, I've depleted in patience for other people. Firstly, this man was too old to not be able to hold his liquor at 9pm on a weeknight. Secondly, did he really believe any of us were going to succumb to his irresistible opening line of 'what's going on, ladies?". Any self-respecting woman knows that it is not worth talking to a man who slithers up to your table uninvited and ends a sentence with a sleazy tone and an address of 'ladies'.
Within the first two minutes of quietly paying him attention I realized that he was the type of person who would not go away easily. After I reached my threshold for common idiocy and strangers existing in my personal space, I began shaking my head and stating 'no, no, no no. NO.' as if I was scolding a naughty puppy or a toddler. He looked at me glassy-eyed as I asked him what he wanted. He stated that he wanted to be friends. I told him that that was very nice, but we did not want to be friends with him. After about 10 seconds of looking into his crazy eyes and him stating that I needed to get off whatever pedestal I was on, he finally turned his attention to two girls at the bar.
He had finally found the girls with low self-esteem/self-worth that he was looking for all night and who were not bothered by a stranger trying to put his hands down her pants within the first 5 minutes of meeting her. Those girls are the reason this guy exists. I thought it was funny that he mistook my complete disinterest and distain of his behavior to mean that I thought I was better than him and sitting on some imaginary pedestal like a princess. Now, if having standards as to how strange men should interact with women they are hitting on, or not liking beer being spilled on me by said stranger means that I sit on some pedestal, then by all means make it look like the Iron Throne. He shook it off and tried again instead of sitting in the corner embarrassed and reflecting on his behavior. And, instead of all girls in that bar banning together and says "no. no no. no.' to this man, those two wombats interfered with his house training and told him he was a good boy and gave him a lollipop after he shit all over the new carpet.
It's hard out there to begin with. Condoning bad habits only makes it harder. And, I sit here and try to figure out the chicken or the egg situation at hand: Did the bad-behaved men come first or did the girls with low standards begin this cycle?
It's interactions like these that make you question why you left your house in the first place. I mean, it's entertaining sometimes, but mostly it's just sad. I've found that as I've gained years, I've depleted in patience for other people. Firstly, this man was too old to not be able to hold his liquor at 9pm on a weeknight. Secondly, did he really believe any of us were going to succumb to his irresistible opening line of 'what's going on, ladies?". Any self-respecting woman knows that it is not worth talking to a man who slithers up to your table uninvited and ends a sentence with a sleazy tone and an address of 'ladies'.
Within the first two minutes of quietly paying him attention I realized that he was the type of person who would not go away easily. After I reached my threshold for common idiocy and strangers existing in my personal space, I began shaking my head and stating 'no, no, no no. NO.' as if I was scolding a naughty puppy or a toddler. He looked at me glassy-eyed as I asked him what he wanted. He stated that he wanted to be friends. I told him that that was very nice, but we did not want to be friends with him. After about 10 seconds of looking into his crazy eyes and him stating that I needed to get off whatever pedestal I was on, he finally turned his attention to two girls at the bar.
He had finally found the girls with low self-esteem/self-worth that he was looking for all night and who were not bothered by a stranger trying to put his hands down her pants within the first 5 minutes of meeting her. Those girls are the reason this guy exists. I thought it was funny that he mistook my complete disinterest and distain of his behavior to mean that I thought I was better than him and sitting on some imaginary pedestal like a princess. Now, if having standards as to how strange men should interact with women they are hitting on, or not liking beer being spilled on me by said stranger means that I sit on some pedestal, then by all means make it look like the Iron Throne. He shook it off and tried again instead of sitting in the corner embarrassed and reflecting on his behavior. And, instead of all girls in that bar banning together and says "no. no no. no.' to this man, those two wombats interfered with his house training and told him he was a good boy and gave him a lollipop after he shit all over the new carpet.
It's hard out there to begin with. Condoning bad habits only makes it harder. And, I sit here and try to figure out the chicken or the egg situation at hand: Did the bad-behaved men come first or did the girls with low standards begin this cycle?
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Sore Losers
Last Tuesday I went to trivia at a bar near my house. My group won. You don't realize how serious people take trivia until you win. I mean I hate losing, and I kick myself for not knowing the answers that I should, but I can't change the facts. I wasn't good enough that time. It is what it is. But people who always win take it worse when they finally lose. Which was the case Tuesday night. The locals were not happy that 3 girls walked in and disrupted the order of things.
Now, it definitely helped that we had previously knowledge of the questions given. It wasn't our fault--we weren't cheating! Anyone who knows me knows that I hate things not being fair...people who secretly take out their phones and look up the answers...ugh...
We had gone to a different trivia the week before across the Bronx but it happened to be the same company. Who thought they would be too lazy to come up with different questions! Granted, I already knew a lot of the answers to begin with and one of the rounds was actually different but we did well whether or not we knew the questions beforehand. I mean, one of the rounds was identifying the country of the flags given and translating the food in various languages into English...I got that shit. What I found interesting was that we got some answers we knew wrong and ones we didn't know correct this time. It's funny how the brain works. I digress...
It was close competition, we won by 10 points. We didn't think we would win! Maybe get second or third place, but we did it! Immediately after, one guy passed by and mumbled "you cheated", then smiled and shook his head when I gave him the death stare. The old man next to me that kept inching his chair closer to mine the whole 2 hours, turned and stated that he hadn't lost for the last 3 months. We joked that second place wasn't so bad but he kept talking and I started to feel that he was serious perturbed that he was thwarted by 3 ladies. So I said, "well, there's a new sheriff in town" and we walked away.
The host immediately said how glad she was that we were new and we won and how that man and the other usual groups were obnoxious and constantly giving her a hard time. We told her what he had said and she told us to come back the following week. Which we will be doing tonight. Because the one thing I can't stand are injustices (and obnoxious people). My goal now, is to beat that old man because someone needs to teach him a lesson. Winners can't always win, and losers can't always support the food chain.
Batman had to start somewhere. You think the Joker just appeared once he put on his rubber suit? No. He had to deal with neighborhood thugs who harass meek trivia hosts. And, one of the many gifts that was granted to me by my people is that of patience (I mean, wooden horse, a bunch of men all cramped up there, no Axe body spray...that was some kind of patience). If I don't win tonight, I'll win at some point. I got this shit.
Now, it definitely helped that we had previously knowledge of the questions given. It wasn't our fault--we weren't cheating! Anyone who knows me knows that I hate things not being fair...people who secretly take out their phones and look up the answers...ugh...
We had gone to a different trivia the week before across the Bronx but it happened to be the same company. Who thought they would be too lazy to come up with different questions! Granted, I already knew a lot of the answers to begin with and one of the rounds was actually different but we did well whether or not we knew the questions beforehand. I mean, one of the rounds was identifying the country of the flags given and translating the food in various languages into English...I got that shit. What I found interesting was that we got some answers we knew wrong and ones we didn't know correct this time. It's funny how the brain works. I digress...
It was close competition, we won by 10 points. We didn't think we would win! Maybe get second or third place, but we did it! Immediately after, one guy passed by and mumbled "you cheated", then smiled and shook his head when I gave him the death stare. The old man next to me that kept inching his chair closer to mine the whole 2 hours, turned and stated that he hadn't lost for the last 3 months. We joked that second place wasn't so bad but he kept talking and I started to feel that he was serious perturbed that he was thwarted by 3 ladies. So I said, "well, there's a new sheriff in town" and we walked away.
The host immediately said how glad she was that we were new and we won and how that man and the other usual groups were obnoxious and constantly giving her a hard time. We told her what he had said and she told us to come back the following week. Which we will be doing tonight. Because the one thing I can't stand are injustices (and obnoxious people). My goal now, is to beat that old man because someone needs to teach him a lesson. Winners can't always win, and losers can't always support the food chain.
Batman had to start somewhere. You think the Joker just appeared once he put on his rubber suit? No. He had to deal with neighborhood thugs who harass meek trivia hosts. And, one of the many gifts that was granted to me by my people is that of patience (I mean, wooden horse, a bunch of men all cramped up there, no Axe body spray...that was some kind of patience). If I don't win tonight, I'll win at some point. I got this shit.
Monday, March 4, 2013
I Looked Into The Mirror...
Last week I looked in the mirror and realized that I've aged. I knew it was going to happen at some point. It's fucking scary.
We don't realize how much we age because we see the same face in the mirror day after day. Except, we probably don't really see it. We don't study it, it just exists so we look past it. Until that day when we finally LOOK.
We never think of ourselves as old. Our twenties fly by and we're pretty much the same person as in high school, just a bit more mature with a lot more bills. And in our 30's we get married and have kids and don't have time to look at anything let alone ourselves. And then, we fall into the abyss of time. And some, age well. And some, not so much. Genetically I'm pretty lucky--there's no one who has aged so badly that they needed to be locked in a belltower. But if that 30 seconds of being concerned that I need to finally invest in an eyecream was THAT scary now, I can only imagine the intensity of the shock when it happens again in 15 years. And then in 25 years. I can't even wrap my head around the concept of me being that old. I strain to try to picture myself and I can't. I can't see myself past a certain age and that's frightening. And then my head hurts. And then I remember that I should stop squinting my eyes because it's not helping the lines so I open my eyes really wide and hold them like that until someone passes and asks me what I'm doing.
I understand why Snow White's step mother had that mirror. She was a bitch, but she was scared. She really looked into the mirror for those 30 seconds just like I did and realized she needed to go to Sephora STAT or...kill everyone who could be considered better looking than she was...Now I kind of feel bad for her.
I want to interview people about aging. Maybe I'll make a documentary about the shock of aging and people can shares their stories. And then I'll have a segment where I show people who have aged poorly and the caption can be "don't feel bad about your lines, you could look like THIS!" Maybe I'll start it the next time I really look into the truth glass...
We don't realize how much we age because we see the same face in the mirror day after day. Except, we probably don't really see it. We don't study it, it just exists so we look past it. Until that day when we finally LOOK.
We never think of ourselves as old. Our twenties fly by and we're pretty much the same person as in high school, just a bit more mature with a lot more bills. And in our 30's we get married and have kids and don't have time to look at anything let alone ourselves. And then, we fall into the abyss of time. And some, age well. And some, not so much. Genetically I'm pretty lucky--there's no one who has aged so badly that they needed to be locked in a belltower. But if that 30 seconds of being concerned that I need to finally invest in an eyecream was THAT scary now, I can only imagine the intensity of the shock when it happens again in 15 years. And then in 25 years. I can't even wrap my head around the concept of me being that old. I strain to try to picture myself and I can't. I can't see myself past a certain age and that's frightening. And then my head hurts. And then I remember that I should stop squinting my eyes because it's not helping the lines so I open my eyes really wide and hold them like that until someone passes and asks me what I'm doing.
I understand why Snow White's step mother had that mirror. She was a bitch, but she was scared. She really looked into the mirror for those 30 seconds just like I did and realized she needed to go to Sephora STAT or...kill everyone who could be considered better looking than she was...Now I kind of feel bad for her.
I want to interview people about aging. Maybe I'll make a documentary about the shock of aging and people can shares their stories. And then I'll have a segment where I show people who have aged poorly and the caption can be "don't feel bad about your lines, you could look like THIS!" Maybe I'll start it the next time I really look into the truth glass...
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