For those of you who don’t know –Libertee has abandoned me. Kidding – but she is off on some exotic vacation and I’m not; you can imagine my disdain! As payment for failing to pack me in her suitcase, Libertee gave me free reign of the blog this week – to this I say: sunglasses wearing emjoi!
I'll begin by warning you that this week is more of a commentary on a constant struggle of mine; one with such veracity that I think about it on a daily basis.
I recently read an article on Facebook that suggested if one really wants to get their shit together, they should take an hour to clean their toilet – like really clean their toilet. Coles Notes: the article suggested that the state of your bathroom can reflect and impact your state of mind. Now, I’m not one to take an hour to clean my toilet, I’m sorry – I’m just not – but it got me thinking about being a grown up, and feeling like I do or do not have my shit together. Two things in my life reflect this – the number of shoes in my trunk and the state of my fingernails.
On any given day, I can trust myself to be relatively thoughtful about what I’m going to wear and conscious of my make-up – but my nails – they’re not always done. In fact they can usually be categorized into one of the three following states:
The worst part about not having my nails painted is the fact that there isn’t all of that polish distracting from the horrible state of my cuticles. In some freak of my ridiculously selective memory, I can remember what all three of my cuticles are actually called, thanks to the teachings of a relatively intense high school cosmetology teacher, (eponychium, paranychium, hyponychium. BOOM!) but I can’t seem to remember to put cuticle oil on my fingers every night.
My nails aren’t always naked. But if they’re not newly polished, chances are they’re starting to look like a partially finished Jackson Pollok. Seriously – why don’t I just save myself the embarrassment and the constant placing of my hands in my pocket and take off my nail polish? Apparently, the energy it takes to apply cuticle oil is drawn from the same shallow pool as that required to place nail polish remover to cotton pad, and cotton pad to finger; but sometimes the world is just working against me, you know? Specifically, I’ve learned that my pride takes a back seat for an embarrassingly long time when I face any of the following circumstances: Taking off glitter based nail polish: On a list of things that frustrate me, losing my cell phone between my car seat and console is number one and taking off glitter based nail polish is a close-seated number two. Running out of cotton pads: Toilet paper just isn’t the same. It isn’t. It’s rock bottom and ineffective. Trying to take off glitter based nail polish with toilet paper: No.
This happens to me when I’m embarrassed of my nails and I’ve either run out of cotton pads and/or nail polish remover and my only choice is to paint over them again. I usually come to this conclusion after my attempts to pick off what remains of my nail polish have failed, creating what I like to call, Monails “From far away, it's OK, but up close, it's a big old mess” (Cher, Clueless, 1995). I feel the opposite of grown up when I do this . . . and yet I’m totally fine quoting Clueless. Could be worse, at least I’m not “. . . a virgin who can’t drive.” (Tai, Clueless, 1995).
Regardless of what my previous ramblings have led you to believe, there are in fact occasions where I manage to get my shit together to a point that results in perfectly polished nails. Perfect might be a stretch, but they’re polished – cut me some slack. It’s hard to put a finger(nail) on it, but I can honestly feel my disposition change – I work a little faster, walk a little taller, draw attention to my hands a bit harder (read: excessive yawning, pointing, shoulder scratching). If I really think about it – I usually clean my desk on these days and go on to clean my house afterwards . . . toilet and everything; but not for an hour, that’s just ridiculous