I had a great time attending my nephew’s wedding this past weekend. It was deep in the heart of Texas, and took three flights to get there, but it was totally worth seeing these two smitten kittens tie the knot. He’d been to hell and back after fighting an epic health battle in his late teens, so this was particularly joyful for all in attendance. He’s a soft-spoken, gentle warrior, and it was nothing short of thrilling to see him blissfully embrace his new bride and life as a married man.
It was good to hang out with friends and relatives I don’t see often, meet some people I’ve heard about but had never met, and share some good laughs with both. It was nice to have a weekend away.
I figured since I was in the Lone Star State, I’d seize the opportunity to don some Palinesque specs and go target shooting at a gun range, which was quite an experience. If that wasn’t actually scribbled on my life list, I’ll add it now and cross it off, because I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.
Sadly, I did not get to see any Longhorns roaming the range, but that leaves a reason to go back, right?
I got schooled in cosmetic contouring watching the contestants of RuPaul’s Drag Race belly up to the mirror to beat their faces (apply makeup). Sometimes a dude’s gotta create some serious illusions to transform himself into a (drop-dead) gorgeous queen.
I don’t know if the queens taught the Kardashians the craft, but whatever set this crazy train in motion, the whole contouring thing has gone far beyond the confines of drag and “reality” shows. People have straight up gone makeup and contour cray cray.
I saw a video about contouring cleavage, which was not news to me, because drag queens do this to create the illusion of bazooms. I didn’t think it was too far fetched for women to enhance their look in the same way.
No big deal, right? Women have been enhancing their assets since tween days of bra stuffing.
As adults, women have swapped wadded-up tissues for silicone chicken cutlets. More permanent (read: surgical) enhancements can sometimes look like a big ol’ Hostess Snowball landed in your water bra.
[SIDEBAR: Are those still a thing? I mean the water bras. Not the Snowballs. Because OMG SNOWBALLS.]
Next up in crazy makeup land was contouring fake six-pack abs. I’m lucky to find a swimsuit that’s shrouds my baby-birthin’ belleh. I say if you can rock a bikini, sweetie, there’s no need to draw fake muscles to go with it. Seriously. Everyone’s looking at your Sno Balls anyway.
Today I saw foot countouring on the Interwebs.
WOMEN ARE CONTOURING THEIR FEET.
WHY? According to this post on Instagram, we now need to prep our feet to display in strappy summer sandals. What? C’mon. Maybe hit those cracked heels with your Pedi Egg and throw on a little polish. That’s good enough to be pool ready. There’s just no need for muscular (or is it boney we’re going for?) flippers.
Before you know it, we’ll be talking about contouring butt cleave and making videos on proper Vagtouring techniques.
OMG! Butt contouring IS a thing!. LiveGlam’s foot contouring article linked to it.
Please. For the sake of humanity, let’s save the last body part that hasn’t been contoured from this insanity.
Just say not to Vagtouring, ladies.
Maybe let’s contour our grey matter with a good book, yes? Pair it with some tea and a tasty snack.
Who’s hungry for Sno Balls?*
*Hint: I am.
Every person has her own level of comfort in proximity to others. While some have a personal space bubble considerably larger than others, I think it’s safe to say everyone has an imaginary line of circumference around her body that dictates how close she’s willing to stand to another human being. Typically, this applies to strangers, though I do have a friend who prefers a wide berth in general.
Of course, there are exceptions. Even those I know who have an aversion to hugging are perfectly okay wrapped in the arms of their significant other. This boggles the mind of happy huggers, such as myself, though I will say I don’t go throwing my arms willy nilly around just anyone. I love hugs, but you won’t catch me strapping on a “FREE HUGS” sign anytime soon.
Although, I might (ahem) stop to receive one from this guy:
My personal space bubble is quite small among friends. I also have a relatively small margin with acquaintances.
But shuffle up close on my ass in line at the post office, and I will sidestep the hell away from you, brother. Tape gun will be raised, hairy eyeballs will be delivered and addresses will be concealed.
Just because someone moves up a few inches in the front of the line, it does not mean we all have to go baby stepping up toward the counter at once. Grasp those horses and hold them tightly, sir.
No one is getting there any faster, Mr. Close Stander.
It’s the same story in long lines at places like a department store, but something about the good old USPS brings out all the space invaders.
Here’s the deal. If I can:
Hear your rate of respiration
Feel your breath move my hair or warm my neck
Tell you what you had for lunch
Count your nose/ear hairs
Hear the caller’s voice on your bluetooth
Then you, fellow line stander, are:
Also, hang up. Nobody needs to hear ’bout your bidness.
This message has been brought to you by the council against close standers.
I’ve always loved music. I spent hours as a kid playing records and dancing around the living room. I still remember the old, woody smell of the jackets as I pulled them from their tightly wedged compartment in the dining room buffet table. It was like picking up a favorite library book and running your nose over the fragrant pages before doing so with your eyes.
Soon after, I discovered radio. I recall finding out the hard way that turning off the radio to save a favorite tune for later only led to head-scratching disappointment.
I began carrying around a radio so I wouldn’t miss any of my favorites. It was the 70’s precursor to the boombox* of the 80’s. Though less sexy, the radio had its merits. It was roughly the size of a lunchbox and was bound in honey leather with a handle. Perfect for getting funky on the go. The dial was always tuned to WKBW in Buffalo, because they were all about the hits.
From Top 40 I moved on to classic rock, where I was introduced to Rush, Queen, Bowie, and my beloved Genesis. Cut to high school, when I began digging into new wave radio (another Buffalo station, which has come full circle and is alternative again!) and discovered so many great artists: The Fixx, Kate Bush, Abc, Adam Ant, and the wildly talented Adrian Belew.
Then there was Prince.
He played on hit and soul stations alike, and I can still hear the intro a local DJ gave over the opening bars of “Mountains” (video in right column–look who’s in it!) I recorded straight off the radio on that magical boombox: “His royal badness… The Kid… PRINCE!” So many names (and one un-name) over the years, but ever-evolving and gifted to the core. He paved the road for musicians to own their work. He delighted in showcasing up-and-coming artists in his songs and shows.
We danced to him every weekend in college at the local watering hole. He and his band adorned my dorm walls–even my blinds. I sliced up a poster so one side of the blinds revealed this:
Every TV show and corner of the Interwebs is now sharing all there is to know about him, right down to his affinity for Dunkaroos with a side of Yak’s milk. Fans thirsted to know more about the mysterious purple one. One thing is for certain: There’s no shortage of love and respect for him.
I was one of many moved by his music–milestones and moments forever tied to his songs. Regardless of whether he pleased your musical palate, the fact remained he was an absolute musical genious who lived to entertain.
Probably he’s wearing a doe-eyed smirk somewhere right now, anticipating our reaction to the music sealed in his vault. A party in a box? We’ll have to see.
Before his passing, it was virtually impossible to find any of his music on YouTube. As fast as it went up, it was removed. I don’t know how long it will be available, so enjoy this playful Unplugged session while you can:
He lived up to his song title, “Life of the Party.” Fitting that the last event he held was a dance party at Paisley Park.
His departure from this world seemed to echo his exits from the stage. Go out with a bang and leave them wanting more.
Which we do.
I’ll just keep spinning my favorites as always. Purple dance party for one!
We’ve been having some fun face swapping at the Wombat homestead. While it’s true that some things are probably better left unseen, I’m sharing this one with you anyway, cuz I love ya. Mwah.
(video may be choppy the first run through, but watch again once it’s loaded. Worth it for The Girly’s laugh alone)