Learn from my mistakes, I'm an idiot

I recently went through a brief stint in which I, apparently, lost my mind and forgot that I am not the type of girl that actually ever does girly things.
For instance:
I am not good at manicures.
I am not good at writing in pretty, fun letters.
I am not good at flirting with boys.
I am not good at realizing that boys are flirting with me. (I attribute this mostly to the fact that I have a lot of very good guy friends and when strangers flirt with me, I assume they just want to hang out and be awesome together.)
I am not good at making my hair pretty.
I am not seductive or mysterious in any way.
I also don't have a pinterest.
All of these things, I assume, were lessons in this book. Which my parents never got me. Obviously.

If they had, I would probably be beating the shit out of Betty Crocker on the cooking charts. 

(I'm assuming that that's a real thing?)

ANYWAY, I digress. I had seen somewhere that putting olive oil on curly hair was like.... the bee's knees or some shit. And who doesn't wanna be the bee's knees?! No one. That's who. 

So I get out of the shower, and I'm all steamy and squeaky clean, and I remember the olive oil thing. And I think to myself, "Hey.... you know what? I have some olive oil in the kitchen RIGHT NOW. We could totes make this happen!" But, like any responsible adult, I google the process first, to make sure I do it right. Google says that you rub the olive oil into the ends of your hair and let it chill. Seems pretty simple, right? WRONG. Google goes on to say, Hey, idiot! While you're doing that, there is such a thing as using olive oil as a facial and it's just super. It will make you pretty in like, point two-five seconds. To which I say, "Thank you, Google! You always know just what to say!"

I get my supplies. I have, in my bathroom, a towel, a bottle of olive oil, Another One Bites the Dust by Queen playing in the background, just to get the mood right, a brush, a washcloth, my dog (although I didn't do that on purpose, she just can't give me any privacy. Home girl's got some serious abandonment issues), and last but not least, a Michelob Ultra. All necessities. I put the towel over my shoulders so as not to get oil on my shirt. I have at this point brushed my hair out so it is tangle free, and I take off the cap to pour some olive oil in my hand, all while trying (but failing miserably) to not dance to Queen. I pour the olive oil into my hand and BOOM. Mistake Number 1: Olive oil does not have a cap of any kind and A LOT of it came out. Now in my mind I am screaming, OH- GOD- NO! but on the outside I just look to my reflection in the mirror with a disgruntled, disgusted, another dis-word look on my face. As if to say, "Do you see this shit? This was your idea, asshole."

But we have come too far to stop now, we must soldier onward. We must fight oppression in all of it's forms. Do you think that Britney Spears gave up when the greatest thing to ever happen to her, AKA Sir Justin Timberlake, walked away from her and made a music video with her lookalike about her being a cheating whore? NO! Do you think that Brandy gave up trying to be famous because she realized that America no longer gave a shit about her?! NO!!! She held on to her brother's coat tails so ferociously that she got a reality show out of it, and now she is still probably getting paid to be on TV somewhere. DO YOU THINK THAT CARROT TOP STOPPED DOING COMEDY BECAUSE PEOPLE REALIZED HE WASN'T FUNNY ANYMORE?! The answer, my friend, is no. No he did not. So I tip a little of the oil off my hands into the sink and rub the rest into the ends of my hair. Then I take what is left on my hands and RUB IT ALL OVER MY FUCKING FACE. 

LIKE AN IDIOT.

So the directions say, get a washcloth, make it wet with hot water, put it over your face, let it "steam" for a minute or two and this should magically make your pores be like hey screw this dirt in here get it out. Viola. Clean, glorious facial region. Lies. I'm sitting here with a washcloth on my face, thinking.... I look like an idiot. But this will probably be cool. No. It's not cool. You know why? Because you are sitting there with oil on your face heating it up. You know what else requires you to heat up oil? Cooking. Only when you cook you don't use your face. So my minute is up, I rise from the toilet gracefully, like an oil soaked princess, use the washcloth to wipe my face, and look in the mirror. And you know what I saw? The exact same thing I saw two minutes ago before I put the oil on, only the look of hope had faded to one of disappointment and broken dreams. I also noticed that one of my eyebrows is longer than the other, so.... there's that. 

Fast forward to the next day. I get up to go to work, and in my head I think, what is that strange smell? Not a bad smell, just.... strange. And I look in the mirror, and my face is so incredibly greasy it could probably be  bottled and used to power lamps from the mid 15th century. And there are three lovely blemishes, placed just so, popping up to say hello. So I immediately get the rubbing alcohol and take care of that, but while I am silently wishing I had a time machine so I could go back and punch myself in the face, I realize that the strange smell is olives. More specifically, olive oil. Which is in my hair. Because I put it there. On purpose. 

MORAL OF THE STORY: GIRL BEAUTY TIPS ARE DECEITFUL AND RUDE. And if you are not a girly girl, don't try to be because you will end up smelling like olives with zits to remind you of your stupidity.

"But she looks so blissfully happy!"

LIES.

Not everyone is going to be an Astronaut, kids.

So it has recently come to my attention that I have no idea what I am doing with my life. Huh. Imagine that. I'm twenty-two years old, working as a receptionist, and to top off the cake that is my successful life, I decided against going back to school this semester. All in all, a winning combo. I'm not real sure when this overwhelming sense of panic and worthlessness is supposed to be something to actually worry about, but I have a feeling that time is coming up soon. In the past I could just be like, What? No, I'm (insert youngish age here). I'm not supposed to know what I want to do with my life! But now.... It's getting harder and harder to justify spending all my money on booze and coming into work hungover. I mean, it's not IMPOSSIBLE. But it's getting a tad bit more difficult.

So I obviously want to be rich. But I don't have a lot of marketable skills that would make me rich.

SKILL SET:

• I can write. So there's that.
• I can use pretty much any Microsoft program... not that spectacular.
• I can read pretty fast.
• I can drive. That's a biggie. 
• I can make people laugh, but that's not gonna get me rich. Why would you even bring that up?
• I can operate calculators and/or cash registers. But billionaires don't use those things.
• I am pretty good at accents. Specifically Irish etc. Possible fame kick starter?
• I am REALLY good at not finishing things... But that seems counterproductive for this list. 

In short, I'm doomed to lead a mediocre life with only the hope of making minimum wage unless I somehow develop some awesome skills, which I don't see happening. The best idea I've ever had is to start a place in town where people can come take naps on their lunch breaks if they don't want to drive all the way home. (<-- WHICH IS PRETTY DAMN SPECTACULAR BECAUSE I WOULD SLEEP THE SHIT OUT OF THAT PLACE! Just sayin.)

But, perhaps my worry is premature. Perhaps I will just be a gypsy for a while. Move from job to job with no real aspiration to move up or become a permanent fixture of the workplace. Right now I don't have much to lose. I have a dog, but she will eat pretty much anything, so she can just wander with me. I could learn how to play a musical instrument, perhaps. I could stand on street corners and serenade work folk on their way to their jobs that make them want to jump off bridges and not survive. Maybe make their day a bit brighter. Or I could just stand on the corner telling jokes, acting out skits, etc. Like a one woman show that is filled with all kinds of shenanigans! I'm off topic, and I'm not ever actually going to do any of this nonsense. Quit being so judgmental. 

My beef (yes, I did just use the term beef to describe a problem, get over it) is with the American populace in general. From day one, they feed us this nonsense about, "You can be whatever you want! You can change the world." Um, nope. I mean sure, there are a few children that grow up and actually make something of themselves and change the world and more power to em, but the majority of us were the ones catching grasshoppers on the playground not giving a shit about anything. And you know what? That attitude stays with you your whole life. The majority of us will not be the ones that change the world, we will be the ones that work meaningless jobs to make ends meet and we will hate every single second of it. And that's fine. The country needs that to survive. BUT STOP TELLING EVERY SINGLE CHILD THAT THEY ARE GOING TO BE AN ASTRONAUT WHEN IN REALITY THEY ARE GOING TO BE A TELEMARKETER! It's rude and when they finally realize for themselves that they are not going to be a rock star, it is heartbreaking and they feel like a failure, when in fact, they had a very slim margin for success in the first place. It's not failure if you never had a chance! 

But, that's the great thing about America. A few get through and give us regular folk a weird, misguided hope that we can do the same. And that keeps people going, thinking that one day they are going to get rich and tell everyone that ever made them miserable to suck it while driving away in their Porsche. Who doesn't want that? 

In conclusion, I want to be rich and buy whatever I want. Or I want to be poor and not give a shit instead of worrying about money all the time. Which I think is more likely, because, let's be honest. I was one of the kids catching grasshoppers on the playground.

Hero Status ^^^^