Monday, May 23, 2011

Go - Away

I'm working on an experiment. Since my former (myspace) blogging efforts were interspersed with tidbits that, though embarassing for me, could prove helpful to others . . . . why not go ahead and blog this as well. I mean, it's far less embarassing than my bowels so what's to stop me? Let me start at the beginning.

In this particular case the beginning reaches way back about 24 years to when I was six or so. Maybe a little younger, maybe a little older. Anyway, I was never really a girly girl, but I am a girl and I do happen to like some girly things. One of those girly things is nail polish. My mom always had naturally long and beautifully painted nails. When I was super young I would bite my nails from time to time. I don't know why. I had a chewing problem. My nails, pencil erasers, barbie feet . . . but I digress. My mom told me that if I could stop chewing my nails she'd let me have my very own nail kit. Emory board, nail file, cuticle . . . pusher thingy. The whole works. Now . . . let me explain something here. I was a kid. I didn't sit and watch my mom do her nails like some little boys sit and watch their dads shave. So when she said "nail file" I kept imagining something like a little filing cabinet to keep my nail clippings in. What the ultimate purpose of such a thing was, I did not know; but I was excited to find out. There you are. A little laugh for you.

Now I'm pretty good at starting up projects to better myself (though my follow-through tends to SUCK for the most part) so right away I stopped chewing my nails. Cold turkey. It was easier than quiting a lot of other things over the years. As my nails started to grow my mom would file them for me, because few things are worse than jagged nails catching on EVERYTHING. After a couple of months my nails remained smooth (meaning: no signs of chewing) and had grown a bit beyond my fingertips. I would go to sleep imagining taking care of my own nails and wondering wtf a nail file would look like and do. Finally the day came when my mom gave me my very first nail kit. It was a brown (possibly faux) leather semicircle with a zipper on the round side. She sat with me and explained what everything was and what it was for. (So that's what a nail file is!) She even threw in half a thing of cuticle cream. I treasured my little nail kit.

Not long after while we were at the PX she picked me up my very first nail polish. It was Tinker Bell brand, just for little girls. It was pink and after it dried you could just peel it off. No nail polish remover required. These humble beginnings were merely the jumping-off point of what some might call an obsessive psychosis. I would paint my nails, wait for the polish to dry, peel it off and then paint them again. As I got older and my color collection grew I began to experiment and paint my nails different colors. Alternating colors, two colors on each nail. I wasn't so bad that my world would end if I broke a nail, but it did piss me off pretty badly. Still does. Another nail-related memory I have dates back to middle school. I was in theater arts and my teacher had the bright idea to make us do some kind of speech. I had neglected to write one but she made me stand up there and impromptu it. Thankfully someone in the class (I forget who, but it was a guy and we were friends for a long while after that so I feel REALLY bad about forgetting, but whoever you were: thank you thank you thank you) said, without the least bit of sarcasm, "What about your nails?" And so I filled my 10 minutes talking about my nails and how long I'd been painting them and how I'm always looking out for new colors and sometimes I like to paint them specifically to match my outfits. That particular day I was wearing a hideous zebra-stripe jumpsuit and my nails were alternated black and white. Perfectly punctuating my point.

Which brings me up to date and my current nail related quest. Recently I wanted to see if I could actually get my nails to grow long all at the same time. So they were the same length. And long. I do a lot of yard and repair work (because I'm not a girly girl) and they break. Especially my middle- and pointer-fingers for some reason. Anyway, I did accomplish that feat. However - two and a half decades of painting my nails have stained them. Horribly. Wanna see?



Yeck. No wonder I keep them covered in pretty colored enamel. But . . . . it's got me wondering if I can get them white and pretty without paint. What if I want to wear just shiny clear polish? So I cut them shorter (shame on me for not getting a "before" picture of the massacre), removed the pretty sparkly silver polish and cried. On the inside. Within an hour I found myself wanting to paint them already. But so far I've abstained. They feel so naked and . . . . normal. *sigh* Today I tried one trick I found online. Mixed a bit of baking soda with some hand soap and buffed. It didn't seem to help much, but it didn't hurt them any. I know it's a little deranged, but the sooner I get my nails white the sooner I can be proud of myself and celebrate by painting them up pretty again.

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