Hairy

It Is What It Is

These days I don’t wear make-up, I mean, what’s the point? In my twenties, when I worked in clubs, I wore make up day and night. My thirties, I let my skin breathe.

According to some mental health surveys, the fact I do not wear makeup is a sign of my depression. I don’t know how men feel about that. I don’t know any men these days that do wear makeup.

But mostly these days I look in the mirror at some point in my morning absolutions and decide it is what it is and not much will make it better.

My recent adventure to Drag Bingo I had teased my gay friend, if he was lucky, I would wear make-up. On the night I had the CBF’s. I just figured, why wear make up to sit in the dark with a room full of gay men? My friend said there was one straight guy there. Once there, I asked “where is this one straight guy?” Not like I was on the hunt, just curious, I was informed he didn’t actually know but THERE WAS ALWAYS THAT ONE STRAIGHT GUY. And let’s face it, there was more make up on stage on that one drag queen than the whole rest of the venue. Also, didn’t need to set the precedence that the next five nights of comedy festival I would feel any need to repeat the process.

For years now, if I’m high maintenance in a low maintenance way or a low maintenance in a high maintenance way kinda girl? I’m still undecided.

In my earlier days, my nighttime club routine was very basic. I say “Basic” because some people do not think some of these things necessary. Shower, you heard, necessary, definitely deodorant. I repeat! Necessary, I would moisturise, my face. Brush teeth, then ladies, moisturise again, then apply makeup.

My first club/make-up girlfriend advice line friend told me you emphasise your eyes or your lips not both. I’m terrible at eyes so I do lips. Apply lipstick, lipstick, loose powder and the actual lipstick. Blot. Powder then re-apply and repeat. You get that’s right and it stays on all night.

Now, moisturiser, after the shower, creams, deodorant and moisturiser and yes, brush teeth. Glance in mirror. WTF AND LEAVE.

I don’t know why I’m still single? I don’t think it’s because I don’t bother to wear makeup. At my father’s funeral, a friend asked if I was going to wear sunglasses? WHAT?

I presumed he meant some Big Fuck Off Gucci’s or such. I told him no and I would definitely not bother with makeup. He was way more Italian than I am and hangs with people way more Fuck Off Gucci’s than I am so I didn’t figure it mattered.

In the last ten-twenty years I have stepped up my high maintenance rituals though, after my radiation treatment I was on steroids for brain swelling so with that comes a whole gambit of WTF!

You lose your thigh muscle to me. Those muscles specifically that help you get up.
You put on weight! Check! That fucking happened.
You get hairy, in the beard area! You heard me! The BEARD AREA!

So, for a while I looked like a fat, ugly hairy teenage boy. I had asked my specialist, when will the weight come off? I was informed It would just fall off. So, I’m still waiting for that miracle, sort of.

That was when I started prescribing to regular electrolysis’ appointments to defuzz my face.
One or two times I had so much fuzz on my neck under my, chin my beautician went to get the stick of wax from the waxing room. As she applied it, I asked if it would hurt? You know if you have to ask, it’s going to, right? She said those words you come to fear. “I cannot tell a lie!” “Sweet fucking Jesus!” were my words.

You know when she gets the wax out for that part of your face it’s because it’s out of control. Better to start from fresh. The hairy bitch-ness calmed down eventually after some years being on and off the steroids but of course then the sliding into the Pause hairy bitch-ness began and I was back at it.