(no subject)

( Russian )

Oogh. Prison Break is yanking my chain all over the place, but I suppose that's to be expected. The quasi-new morning routine is going pretty well, and I still need to get to damn bed on time.

I'm also kind of pleased by my ability to learn to do makeup and hair care on myself, by myself, pretty much with a crash course at a beauty shop and very little present help right now. Me and a bathroom mirror and sink and a few tools. And it's working, slowly, but it is working. At the very least it's promising enough for me to pick up a few new tools and shiny bits to further my evol plans.

Slowly, very slowly chipping away at writing. It's hard to balance both writing and editing and cleaning the damn apartment, but on the other hand I also have an entire weekend to myself during which a whole lot of all three of those things should get done. Especially if I can drag myself up to focus. And there's a lot of editing getting done at work, too. Which is good. One step at a time. And speaking of which, it's time for me to make some steps to work.

(no subject)

( 日本語 )

Various and sundry things going through my head right now, not the least of which is, hey, dumbass. Switch the keyboard back to English before you try to write a journal entry. Ahem. If you ever find yourself getting random comments from me in other alphabets, that’s why. Or with z’s where y’s should be, etc. Also going through my head right now is an overwhelming urge for sushi. I’m hungry.

But apart from that I’m also thinking about what I’ve been doing lately. Primping myself up. Making myself up. Playing with hair and face and nails and decorating myself to an extent I haven’t done regularly since at least before I turned sixteen. And even then when I did it it was more for shock value, play makeup, dressing like a demented black and white clown rather than subtle, every day makeup. Makeup to be wild rather than be beautifully dramatic. Partly it was me trying to be a rebel and partly it was that my mother and my grandmother both, who raised me, never had a use for makeup. Not that they said it was a symbol of women’s slavery to standards of beauty and expectations of men, nor that they said I was beautiful enough without it (although they did) or anything else. They just never bothered with it. So I never learned. None of my girlfriends or female relatives bothered with it either, except that we used it for the stage. So I never learned.

And now I’m learning. At thirty, which kind of amuses me because it’s supposed to be such a milestone birthday, and maybe this is a milestone. Learning how to conform to Western society’s idea of what people should do to be beautiful. Or, learning how to do the last few bits of it. Finally.

The funny thing was, I was doing fine without it. People were flirting with me without it. People hit on me, I got dates, I’ve never really wanted for the opportunity to be with someone even long-term-relationship status nonwithstanding. Dude, I’ve been eyed up by celebrities I have a crush on. If that doesn’t tell you that you have some kind of beauty or attractiveness, what would? But there’s always been this nagging feeling that, this is something I should know how to do. Maybe just because in some jobs there’s the expectation that most people would wear it, maybe because I do like to fancy up occasionally and have never been able to on my own. Maybe just because it’s a skill set that’s not among my arsenal of many and it irritates me that I don’t have it. When thousands, millions of women who are stupider than I am do. Now that I think about it like that, that probably really irritated me. I’m smart, I’m clever, I can learn real fast, etc, and I never was able to learn how to do this thing that many, many people who aren’t so clever can do. And I never wanted to admit that I didn’t know how (ignorance is not stupidity, people, say it with me because sometimes I need to remember this too) so I never bothered to learn.

Well, now I’m learning. And I’m practicing. And I will get really fucking good at it, because I have that capability and potential. I just have to exercise it.

I don’t believe makeup is necessary for beauty. I wouldn’t say I never have, but I definitely didn’t grow up with the assumption that a woman is neither dressed nor beautiful without a little color on her face. Starting around maybe my late teens to early twenties I did start realizing that beauty and attractiveness don’t solely have to do with your physicality; there’s an attitude element involved as well. Both the attitude that makes you hold your head up and your back straight and the attitude that says yeah, I’m here. I look like this. I’m comfortable with this.

It took me a while to figure it out and even longer to figure it out strongly enough to implement it. Beauty has the most to do with figuring out what works for you, and what your strengths and advantages are, and playing it up to the hilt. It’s that simple. And there’s still no shame in not knowing it. Or not knowing what your strengths are. That’s why we try, we try different things until we figure out what makes us shine, and then we do them. What makes us shine and what makes us happy, and really, those two things are often the same. When we’re happy, we’re beautiful. We know we’re beautiful or we’re just not thinking about it, we’re too busy being happy. And people like happy people. Trufax. So if you’re happy, you’ll be attractive to others too.

Makeup and hair care and a pretty hair style and a pretty frock and absolutely kickass highlights (yes, this still thrills me) can help you feel beautiful. And really, there’s nothing wrong with that. Even just being clean can help you feel beautiful, as anyone else who’s put in a sixteen hour day of lifting, carrying, packing, unpacking, and shit like that, and gone home to have a shower and change into non-sweaty soft clothes can tell you. Or, you know, anyone who’s done anything like that. What makes you feel confident, and happy, and beautiful, and self assured. Be it makeup and hair care, a quick shower, a good solid pair of boots, a very fine hat. What makes you feel good about yourself.

So, I’m doing this to add on a skill set that previously eluded me and irritated me with its elusiveness. I’m doing this to correct a mistake made in pride years ago. And because getting all painted amuses me. And because yes, it makes me feel beautiful. And it feels good to know how. I’ve been cracking some jokes about being a real live girl at last but, really? I was a woman long before this. And knowing it is what makes me a grown-up woman, or a beautiful woman, or even a beautiful girl. Not being able to put on eye makeup without looking like a clown. Not even being able to speak six different languages or write 10,000 words in a day or recite pi or sew a dress or cook a meal, none of that makes me a grown-up or a real live girl. Knowing who I am and what I am, and that it’s okay to be who and what I am and in fact it’s pretty damn kickass, that’s what makes me a real live girl. The rest, it’s just window dressing. Shiny, pretty, sparkly window dressing. And sometimes goopy. And tricky to work with. Stupid stuff.