Many things have changed in the last few days. I went on an alcohol fueled rampage for the latter four, that made me mean, honest and shy in quick successions. Somehow when I wake up each morning, one of these feelings would remain. Coated over by the gloss that alcohol leaves on my skin. I have also started doing the Teacher’s Assistant thing which is making me question my existence in many ways. I always thought ensuring minimal interaction with society was one of the hallmarks of my character, my innermost self. And yet, I find myself not entirely disliking teaching, if you can call it that. No wonder I need alcohol to find clarity.
I have also let what miniscule success this blog has afforded me, go to my head and have invested in a book called “Social Niceties for Dummies” which is painstakingly informing me about when I should say “Thank you”, “Sorry” and “I don’t like you”. Apparently, the first you say when someone says something sort of nice about you. The “sorry” thing you say when you feel you’ve done something wrong or if someone is harmed because of you. And the “I don’t like you” part you say never, no matter how true it may be; though if in the oft confusing world of alcohol one does end up saying it, one must try and restrict it to once, followed by a “sorry”, which we have discussed previously. As I mentioned, the apparent popularity of this stuff among denizens of the Boys Hostel (at least from what I had heard) my friends (who shall remain unidentified) suggested I write a blog comparing the size of melons in the girls hostel. But I always thought melons are a gratuitous fruit, and I personally don’t stand for them in art, so I will leave that for a day when I have nothing better to talk about. Instead, I will be writing about things less than melons.
One of the oddest things about being female is how much of your behavior people attribute to other people. This is irritating because people don’t seem to understand exactly how self-oriented and self-involved most of the things we do are, and this includes the girly ones. Getting the pleasure out of life is one of the foremost things on our minds, and for a lot of us, including me, pleasure has a lot to do with our physical selves. And thus goes the first paragraph introducing you suckers to the idea of make-up and wardrobe – it is an exercise in self indulgence and a cyclical, beautiful process of self loathing and confidence.
“One of those days” with any inflection are the ones that require make-up as far as I’m concerned. One of those days is those days when you wake up and all you can think about is the crap that will be the rest of the day. Its the days when you get up and instead of the strategically placed Johnny Depp poster beside your head, you see the face of your biggest mistake in your mind. When the blanket is too warm and the outside is too cold, literally and metaphorically.
On “one of those days” of this type, I drag my fat ass out of bed and go defecate in the toilet, having forgotten to bring my mobile along for company. And then I brush my teeth enough for my toothbrush to feel violated and put on my lenses, which will take me at least three tries, because it’s one of those days. And then I look at my closet and find something I know I look pretty good in, put it on and go to the mirror. Here, I make sure every hair is in place, or in the case of stray eyebrow hair or errant chin hair, not in place.
It’s time to put on the war paint. Cold cream goes first – dab all over the face to try and soften up that hide you call your skin. Then you put on the Kajal – its forms a rim around your eyes – this will make them seem brown instead of what they really are this morning – the endless depths of Tartarus. Then you pick up the Eye liner. This will go on your eyelids – one thin line at a time, till about a quarter of your lid is black paint. This will help disguise any instinct you have to cry over the course of what is going to be a turd of a day. This is because no matter how much you want to cry, you will not be the girl with the streaks of cheap sixty buck eye-liner down her face. Then you lay on the lip balm/ gloss. Take that, you whore of baby lips, if you dare to get dry and flaky after breakfast, I will personally make sure I put a permanent smile on that ugly mug, a la Joker. Now you are prepared for the day. No matter how terrible things become, and no matter how much you want to bathe your insides throughout the day, you will at least look good. At least the face in the mirror won’t depress you any longer.
And yet, there are “One of those days” with an entirely different inflection. This is the day when the first thing your eyes see is the leather-bound copy of The Scarlet Letter, you smile automatically, turn your head and see the strategically placed poster of Johnny Depp. Your day is clearly going to make love to you like James Kellern made love to Ellie in the very first M&B you read – with wild abandon at times, and with languorous yet strong strokes at others. You get out of bed and go to the toilet. Is it just you or does your shit smell of sunshine and recently bathed puppies? Nah, it has to be you. You go to brush your teeth and holy god, is that you in the mirror? Even with foam in your mouth, you look beautiful! Your skin has a glow that usually takes about half an hour of exercise followed by a certain amount of exfoliating. Your lips have managed to acquire the exact shade of pink that suits your complexion. So you go to your closet and you pick out the piece of clothing you saw one day in passing and knew you had to have. You go to the mirror put on the Kajal. Because while our eyes are already the stuff of legends this fine morning, they could be even warmer. You paint on the eye liner because at times during the day, you know you will look at reflective surfaces and if your eyes look big enough you will share a look of inside jokes with your reflection. You pause to think about this and wonder if sharing private jokes with your reflection could be a symptom of some form of madness. Never mind, at least its one of those days. Those days when everything, absolutely everything is going to go great.
I personally find it a fun activity to wonder if a girl who seems to be wearing a special piece of clothing, a little more make up than usual, or even just unusually intricate shoes on a normal day, is doing so because she felt bad in the morning or good. Either way, one of the few things I truly enjoy about being a girl is the fact that there are so many things at our disposal for us to control the “Feel good, look good, feel good” cycle.
Goodbye male readers. See you next week, when I talk about who makes out with who in the Girls Hostel. And also, melons.
ME: This is not very good.
me: Yeah well, I had nothing else to write about. I was hoping something would turn up but we can’t always get what we want.
ME: I want to stone you with a million tiny stones.