Saturday, April 26, 2008

Plastic Surgery: to have or to not?

I want to get my lips done.  It has always sort of been at the back of my mind.  I have nice little lips - the operative word here?  Little.  I have a perfect cupid's bow but then the lips dwindle into nothing.  I have never wanted those horrible duck lip things but just a bit on the edges, you know?

Then I met this girl who has her lips done.  I would never have known if she hadn't told me.  She has such pretty full lips and they don't look like she just made-out for eighty years.  They are full and perfect.  So I got the name of her doctor and made an appointment.

The Engineer is against anything fake like this.  So I told him if he wants all natural I can go back to mousy brown, unshaven, unwaxed, no-make-up me.  I am very plain if I did all this.  He thought that was silly and that he was used to this level of 'fakeness'. I don't really get it.

I at least thought my friend, K, would be behind me.  She supports all things plastic and is not adverse to botox or lifts as she ages.  But she was dead set against these lips!!!!  WHY?  Apparently because all my features are very dainty she worries I will get duck lips.  I was assured that this doctor is amazing and will only inject a teeny bit of whatever it is he injects.  My cupid's bow will still be there but I will just have a bit bigger of a pout.

I chickened out.  I cancelled the consultation appointment.  I care what my friends/Engineer/parents think (to which they would FREAK).  However, now that they think I have cancelled I sort of want to do an experiment - get it done and see if they notice!  Plus, the thing lasts only six months so isn't it better to know than to always wonder?

My Passport

I got my passport back.  Ugh.  Remember my folies in taking the perfect passport photo?  And me finding out that there is no such thing?  I was sort of hoping that my passport would magically appear pretty, but alas, NO.  No no no no.  I even made an audible gag noise when he handed it to me.

I don't understand why we can't smile.  It's not like I arrive at Heathrow looking a hardened criminal.  Tired, yes.  Criminal, no.  I am excited to be somewhere and therefore am smiling. Plus I am human, so I try to be nice to other humans; okay, I try to be nice the the passport man so he/she lets me into the country.  I am smiling!  My teeth are always brushed, my hair neat, and glossed lips smiling.  I think I am going to have a much harder time getting past the officials now - they are going to think I have cocaine in my carry-on.

It's not just the ugly mugshot that makes my passport depressing.  It's empty.  Sure, you can say "but think of all the places you can fill it with".  It takes at least five years for it to get cool!  I keep my old passports so I lined them all up to see my past adventures (and to see how I have aged from nineteen to, umm, now).  They are filled with working visa's in Japan, right of abode's to England, stamps to Thailand, Hong Kong, Spain, France, Ireland, Mexico.  The new one is E-M-P-T-Y.  Just when I was collecting  a galore of exotic places the stupid government makes me get a new one.

Depressing point #3?  When I renew something I always look at the renewal date and think, "where will I be when I am however old?".  My license makes me 31.  My new passport makes me 33.  I am renewing my identification items in my thirties!!!!!!!!!! THIRTIES!!!!! GAH!?  When did that happen?  I used to think 28 was old.  I also used to think I would be married with a wildly successful career at 28.  Look how that turned out.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

The Reality of Reality

I am a reality show addict.  Not American Idol or Survivor crap but the lifestyle reality shows.  Real people in real situations. Stupid people.  They are so desperate for 15 minutes of fame that they risk going on national television to show how stupid they are.  I can't get enough.

Except I get really upset.  Like really really upset.  The Engineer won't even let me talk about it anymore.  In fact he has forbidden me from Slice network and I fear he will cut out the W network too.

One of the shows I like is called Rich Bride Poor Bride.  You can understand my draw to this show as I am a constant bridesmaid therefore I have lessons to learn from this show.  So far all that I have learned is that brides really are psychotic and horrible.  There was this one episode that had me so enraged I was shaking.  The girl was such a pompous idiot who was spending her fiance's money like water all in the name of being a 'princess'.  But she wasn't a princess!  Far from it!  She was a chubby, ugly cow who looked like she belonged in a trailer park!  GAH!  And the way she spoke to her mother?  Don't even get me started.  Oh wait, I already did.  I have no idea what her fiance saw in her.  She even insisted on an ATM machine at her wedding so that guests could get more cash as presents!  She spent over $1000 on a tiara!  But I saw her house and her mother's house:  these people don't look like the kind of people who have $1000 to spend on a freaking crown.

The Engineer came home to find me yelling at the TV.  In fact, I wanted to call Slice and tell them how stupid she was.  The Engineer pointed out that doing that would make me look stupid.

I can't help getting so involved.  I don't know what it is.  I just get sucked in to these retardo retards.  I watched one last night called 'Wife Swap'.  The one wife was this tacky stage mother who did her daughter's homework because she didn't want her daughter to be stressed out.  Both parents felt their 16 year-old beauty queen daughter didn't need brains with the looks she had.  She couldn't spell America!  AMERICA!  The dad was such a piggy tacky man and I felt so much anger towards him.  I became obsessed with finding him on the internet so I could write him a letter.  I did not find his address but I did find out that I was not alone in this freaky obsession.  Many people hated this family as well.

It is an obsession.  A sick, twisted obsession.  Why do I get so involved?  So charged?  So crazed?  It's just TV, I can shut it off right?  But no, I love watching stupid humans being stupid.

This is why I do not work in customer service:  generally I think people are stupid.  

I am pretty sure they are.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Mistake #5

The Engineer just pointed out that I applied it in the dark.  I think I see my problem here.  (and if this post doesn't make sense, read below)

The Perils of Self-Tanner

If you saw a picture of me you would probably think, "Cute girl (ha!) but wow, is she WHITE!" and that would be because I am.  I am really really white.  So pale in fact, that I sort of glow in the dark and perhaps resemble a beluga whale when in a bikini.

I sunburn.  And then I return back to white.  Well actually, my shoulders and arms develop a lovely tan, my chest and tummy look dirty white, and my legs remain WHITE WHITE WHITE.  And it is on these legs that the peril of self-tanner lays.

People think white skin is pretty - think Nicole Kidman or Cate Blanchett.  It is pretty, until you have to look at these white sticks known as legs (but mine are not sticks) with some cellulite on the thigh.  Nicole and Cate don't have cellulite.  Bitches.  But I do.  Most women do.  And it is a well-known fact that tans help hide cellulite and make one appear thinner.

Therefore is it no wonder I would like to have some tan?

I won't do the fake n' bake thing - well I do from time to time, but my fear of wrinkles far outweighs my need to be brown. Plus I have mentioned that my legs don't tan - ever.  So I must turn to the tan in a bottle.  Which, when you think of it, is sort of creepy, no?  I mean you are dying your skin from a cream in a bottle.  Bleck.

I don't let that thought stop me.  

My first run-in with the self-tanner happened in grade 10 circa 199? when I knew I was going to the waterslides (good old Fun Mountain as it was called) with boys.  My mum is not a woman who takes too much in appearances so she could not help me on this front.  I ventured to Wal-Mart all by myself.  First mistake?  Wal-Mart.  But I was 15 and on an allowance!  Then I took the advice of an oompa-loompa looking sales lady in her early 60's (maybe she was 30 come to think of it, but she was so leathery it was hard to tell) and bought a gigantic bottle of No-Ad-Sun (or something) for $5.99. Mistake #2, 3 and 4.

At 15 I had no idea about self-tanner - therefore no idea about A) exfoliation B) really rub that cream in evenly - not like regular moisturizer and C) wash your hands after.  Needless to say, when I woke up the next morning and uncovered my body expecting a tan worthy of Sports Illustrated I found a tan resembling leprosy.  I ran down to the kitchen and showed my parents who laughed at me - even though I was crying!  That is when mum finally decided to shed some light on exfoliation. I spent the next few hours, and day, in the shower rubbing my skin RAW trying to erase my Wal-Mart fiasco.  To no avail.  That No-Ad-Sun was powerful stuff.  I went to Fun Mountain and the boys thought I had a rash.  I didn't have a boyfriend until much, much later.

And now, nearly 15 years later (nearly being the operative word here) my application of self-tanner is still not much better.  I have had some luck but not once have I been able to apply it without some rogue spotting of tan somewhere that is supposed to be white.  I follow the steps.  I have read all the articles about the perfect application.  I take care in washing my hands - or at least I thought I did.  

Before I apply the stuff I shave my legs, then exfoliate even more, then I rub that stuff in hard and evenly, then let it dry.  Unfortunately it is not good enough.   The back of my calves are spotty, I have a massive round sludge on my forearm, and the inside of my wrists look like a science experiment gone wrong.  Unlike No-Ad-Sun though, this Bath and Bodyworks crap does leave a delightful colour where I did it right.  If I could just get it right!  Any advice readers??

Maybe I simply have to learn to be happy with my white skin.  My white thighs.  My white cellulite.  On second thought, do any of you readers know anything about liposuction?  Or that other fat/lipo thing Britney does?  Help!

Friday, April 4, 2008

Work Number Mistake

The Engineer made a mistake when he gave me his work number.  In fact I feel that one should never reveal one's work phone number to anyone that one does not work with . . . one.  Do I need any more 'one's?

I love the 'check-in'. I really like to know how things are running in his day and I like to fill him in on my little adventures.  But sometimes I go a tad too far.  Apparently these are reasons not to call your boyfriend at work:

1.  To tell him that you want to adopt a Kenyan baby and does he?
2. To tell him that your house smells like Christmas.
3.  To ask him if he loves Easter.
4.  To ask him what he is doing.  Duh.  He is at work therefore obviously working.
5.  To say things like 'hi poohead' or 'mershkey mershkey moo' - because you never know when he has you on speakerphone whilst his boss is in his office.
6.  To tell him your dog is dying (although this obviously was upsetting, but what can he do from his office?)
7.  To ask him what he is thinking.
8.  To tell him that you sliced your finger on the saran-wrap cutter thing and does he think you need stitches?
9.  To tell him that you love morning time.
10.  To tell him you love the sunset and does he want to go to Paris and watch the sunset too?

If you are saying to yourself, "this stupid girl is making these calls up," you would be the stupid one.  And he still loves me despite all these interruptions.  

Plus he brings me mini-eggs after a long day on set.  Am I lucky or what?

Thursday, April 3, 2008

A new form of Bridesmaid hell

So I got an urgent call from my agent the other day, informing me I had an audition in less than two hours for the role of the non-speaking bridesmaid on a new CBS pilot.

Clearly, with eight times the experience I was sure that this role should be mine.  And I didn't have to prep a thing - which was a relief.  And to my (non) surprise, I got it!

Now non-speaking is a lovely term for glorified extra - why they cast real actors who get paid much higher than extras for an extra role is beyond me.  But who cares?  I get three days, good pay and my own trailer.

I thought it ironic that after all my bridesmaid days of yore, I was finally getting the financial compensation I deserve (this job is paying not only the price of three dresses, but at least half my trip to Cuba where I am going to be bridesmaid #7 - seventh time, not number 7) and I am well-practiced to the role as 'fake-laughing', look excited girl.  

But then a new bridesmaid horror crept in on set (and no, it wasn't the 6am call), it turns out that I am the fattest girl on set.  Seriously.  I felt bad eating.  The girl who plays the bride, the maid of honour girl, and the other three bridesmaids (two of which are actual extras - I really don't get why I had to audition) are sticks.  Teeny Tiny Sticks.  When I went in for wardrobe, the French wardrobe lady loved how my curves filled out the dress.  Now I know why.  On me, the dress is quite tight and shows off my bum and hips.  On the others, it is A-line.  Pass me a freaking carrot stick.

Now the only thing worse than being the fattest girl, is feeling bad about being the fattest girl.  For heaven sakes, I fit the freaking dress!  I curve it out!  And yet I feel ashamed that my arms are pipes and not twigs.  I feel ashamed my face is round and my cheeks full.  And I feel ashamed that I pretended not to want a slice of pecan pie when really I did.

This is the shitty side of acting.  Everyone on set is lovely, the fellow actors are funny, and Bill Pullman is an amazingly intelligent man.  So why should I feel bad that my thighs are the size of everyone else's waist?  I keep the mantra "Kate Winslet is Beautiful' repeating in my brain.

Okay, that is my rant.  I am going to the StairMaster now.  Or maybe I will get some cheese.  Either way, I resolve to show up tomorrow proud of who I am and not apologizing for who I am not - a crazy stick insect.  Okay, just stick insect, perhaps I am a teeny bit crazy.