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being nessasary

a quirky look into being

I woke up nice and early this lovely 9 degree morning to get some sun.  Nothing like a cuddling up with a book in the frosty air surrounded by Christmas lights and puzzled mailmen.  Teaser sentence aside, I went to get an spray tan to look somewhat human for the Groupon office party this Friday evening.

Call me an oompa loompa all you’d like, but you’re the one who sounds silly when you ask if I recently went to Mexico.  The ladies at Indy Air Tan do an amazing job, and they don’t give me cancer.

Being fake isn’t all that bad when done in moderation.  It is not exactly nessasary, but it can help one feel better when battling a bout of self-conciousitis.  In the wild world of women, we have established our own religion when it comes to beauty and maintenance, much of which stems from an inner state of being.

Last night, while trying on cocktail dresses, I was struggling to find one that was even worth buying.  They were either too small (I do not suggest eating a heavily salted meal with a beer before dress shopping),  too big (I was swollen, but not two sizes larger!), or my pastiness overwhelmed me in this season’s black and sequined fashions.

I typically opt for color when it comes to dresses.  Black just reminds me of funerals. I have seen to many of those the past five years, so my one LBD hides far beneath the crust of my closet (plus some of the internal makings of it poke out and stab me in the bosom).

LBDs aside, I do not mind it when girls wear ridiculously high heels to conceal the fact they’re 5’2 or wear glue on lashes – whatever helps a lady feel that much cuter is fine by me.  The only time I find fake sad is when a woman is decked out head to toe with artificial lights.

Her hair is dyed (usually poorly), she has had bad botox injections in her cheeks and lips, her make-up that looks like Barbie did the honors, her boobs tuck under her chin and so on.  You know what I am talking about.  I want women to be happy, but masking practically everything on the outside also masks what is going on indoors.

Halloween is for masks (and it is one of my favorite nights of the year!) – but I don’t want to be Britney Spears for longer than 6 hours.  It would be nice to not have a bald spot anymore, but I happen to like my body’s many imperfections – like my crazy crooked spine and my cheekbones. Hell, I even like the massive scar on my head.  It’s super badass if you ask me, and it is an amazing conversation starter!  Every woman should really focus on her freckles before making a permanent change to what she was born with.  No one really enjoys fake flowers that much.

We all have our little secrets – mine being the occasional tone inducing spray tan.  Others have their eyelashes and collagen enhanced lip gloss. I urge ladies to not lose themselves into making outer perfection.  What would a sea with a few swells be without the fish and shipwrecks beneath?

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