The Wine Cellar

When a young version of me existed, bedroom eyes were mentioned more than once.  I took it as a compliment.  I guess it's a compliment when someone thinks you're sexy, but it was just an observation...that person was not into me at all.  He also commented that I used too much makeup.  In my twenties, I worked with a crew of four men.  He said this in front of the others leaving me embarrassed and hurt.  If I could have just melted into nothing and disappeared I would have, but life has a way of making you a target with nowhere to go.

I guess he did me a cruel favor.  I made it my mission to be made up without looking made up; you know, translucent foundation, quality liner and mascara used very lightly, a smidgen of color on the cheeks, nose and brow all set with a light dusting of baby powder.  It all worked in my favor with job hunting, boyfriend acquisitions, twisting of heads and cat calls from the manual labor guys on the street.

I never thought of myself as being very pretty, but I was often told I indeed was.  Of course, it was all an illusion.  Without my veil of makeup I was just plain Jane, take a number.  A person is more than just a face, but it's the first impression that sticks in your targets head.  It matters whether they like what they see or not.  Sometimes it's the only chance we get at being accepted or booted out the door...cruel world, sometimes.

Somewhere down my path of life in the real world other things began to matter.  Plagued with bouts of troubled skin, a routine of salicylic acid, glycolic, and benzoyl peroxide began. It works like magic, but if I skip a day or two my face screams out my transgressions.  Eventually retinol night resQ, eye and upper lip cream, and dark circle correctors were added.  I was happily on my way to maturity purgatory.

I've been blessed with my dad's genes, I guess, when it comes to not shriveling up like a dried out prune, but plagued by someone else's bad genes, I suppose, when it comes to the dark circles under my eyes since birth.  The older I get the darker they appear, or maybe it's just that my eyes are retreating to the back of my head and the shadows around the pits would disappear if I only ventured out after dark.

If it weren't for my crowd pleasing silver salt and pepper locks that still have the illusion of being thick as they are thinning, thanks to their poufability, I would have received the last compliment on my outward appearance for the rest of my life years ago.  It's like, no matter where I am, I'm invisible these days...ordinary, a part of the landscape, too plain or old to matter.

There was a time when I wouldn't be caught dead...but now I'm caught alive quite often with no makeup at all in broad daylight with people all around me...even at work.  No one notices, although they've begun to open doors for me more often; bend over backwards with a helping hand; and ma'am is the new word I love to hate. I'm beginning to feel like I've outlived my shelf life.    

Keeping up with the other halves ~

It's Saturday and I slept right through half of it...not complaining...cause I was wishing I had slept right through the whole of it as the topping off the pond ceremonies commenced. Anytime I'm outside these Antarctica days, I'm outside my comfort zone...period!    

Vic's email declares he's settled into his digs quite nicely.  Two compounds exist...the embassy one is called Downton Abbey, the other one is called Slum Dog Millionaire.  I'll let your imagination run away with that one.  Vic's not at Downton Abbey.

He was told to fly heavy, as not much available for purchase there.  So how heavy can one fly when they still have to be able to carry it all themselves after landing, and foot the extra baggage cost themselves with no reimbursement.      

Living quarters are good this time around...THICK mattress, fridge, big closet, double desk, nightstand, and bookcase...that's it...food's good...he's happy.  No mail service available at his compound.  He signed up for the first class internet service the embassy sponsors and charges him sixty bucks a month to use.

While I'm not a lover of dogs on my furniture, Dustin gets the center cushion on the couch so he has all the love he wants when someone sits on either side of that spoiled little tyke.  He now has a new pad with padded sides to make him a bit happier, but it appears he'll have to duke it out with Lacey, as she's declared it quite comfy for her very own self.

No flu shot this year, so staying away from crowds.  It's late night or early morning shopping.  Well, when I get home at night, there's no way I'm ever going out again after I get comfy and getting up extra early to shop before work...you're kidding, aren't you?  Since I slept past my window of opportunity this day for a bit of grocery shopping, it's time to rustle up a delectable concoction from a despicable collection. 

Caramelized onion omelet with cheese, too bad the onion was a tad over caramelized from someone being non-attentive; and a Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel movie...so pathetic.  I think I'm going back to bed.  See you next spring :)