It's been a few months since I wrote an ode to earhairs. It's sad but I long for the mysterious intrigue of earhairs. A tickly, thickly curling wisp that flutters in the wind. It's hooked and I can't stop starring! Of course, there have been a few memorable chin hairs and a mole hair or two, but nothing worth a dedicated blog to my outspoken affection for such furry occurrences. I have been trying to rise above the physical foibles of those around me. But what is it they say about the best laid plans?
Upon returning to my regular cop shop gig I have seen a few wily whiskers, but have taken the high road- for the most part. Ignoring a hair collar sticking out above shirt necklines, and avoiding eye contact with caterpillar brows. Honest I was trying to be good. Until yesterday, I discovered a giant ear hair...you will never guess where. In MY own EAR. I couldn't believe it. It was awful. Possessed by a tickle I felt in my ear canal. A creepy crawling, fluttering feeling that I couldn't shake. Literally I couldn't shake it off. Heading to the loo, I thought I would discreetly pull all the hairs from both ears, you know, all those tiny fine hairs that cover a human. The fuzz that reminds us we're not too far from being the animals we were. And trust me if I'd had a razor I would've shaved myself from the eyebrows down! Getting to the washroom I studied, inspected, looked and leered at my ears- seeing nothing, but I knew it was there. I started plucking blindly. Oh did I mention that I carry tweezers with me? Cuz, yeah I do. Everywhere I go, just in case. That's when it happened. The tweezers clamped down on something. And like deep sea fishing, it was a struggle to reel that hair in- or out as the case may be. When I finally triumphed over my well rooted foe, I was .5lbs lighter and my hearing had amplified 4 fold. How long could it have been growing there? As far as I am concerned- any length of time is too long. Now, I must turn my obsession inward, I have become my own earhair-enemy.
But it could have been worse, I guess. The group I associate with at work are a mature crowd. Their eyesight isn't like use-ta-be and most have earhairs of their own, earhairs they can be proud of. So, I figure as long as I can still see, feel and pluck my own unruly rogue hairs I am ahead of the social grooming curve. But maybe we could all use a little help from our friends. One of my colleagues has asked for a lady's agreement. Using my 20/20 vision I am to alert him to any strays I may spy...though to prevent hurt feelings I have been collecting a few hairs to alert him of all at once, instead of a daily hair check-in. It's better for us both that way. I get to marvel at those wiry wonders for a few more days, and he gets to think his super power is growing multiple magnanimous hairs in an afternoon. So my fair earhairs- it's been a while since we wrote, but you are a familiar friend. Honestly though, I could do without you whispering in my ear. Literally.
Okay, so a recent informal poll I conducted suggests that if there is something wrong with you, you'd like to know. I don't mean if something is wrong with you- in my opinion specifically. I mean- if you have food in your teeth, waving it's spinachy green fingers at me, you'd like to know. Things that are wrong include but are not limited to: ear, cheek and nose hair, downed flys, boogers, flipped clothing tags and other embarrassing but easily repaired esthetic flaws. So, now that we all agree we'd rather know; why do I still worry how you're gonna take it?
Well Doctor, you see that's because nobody likes to think that they have been walking around like an a*hole with their barn door wide open. I might as well take all the confidence you had at that moment, tie it to the biggest anchor I can find and throw it overboard while shouting: 'That'll teach ya for getting too big for your britches. ' cackling all the way back to shore. Pointing out flaws is a terrible feeling for all involved. The victim's "Oh no, I ate 2 hours ago and I've had a hydroponic sesame garden growing in my mouth since" feeling and the messenger's "I wish I didn't have to do this, they'll wish I'd done it sooner." feeling. It stands to reason, you're better to hear it from me, than to head to the bathroom and spot it yourself half a day later. Though reason is seldom applied to vanity.
The strangest thing about this awkward social situation is even if I am part of a much larger group; the responsibility falls to me. I can be at work as the problematic Bat in the Batcave twists in the wind- while the cave dweller tells an emphatic story- everyone sees it. EVERYONE! But nobody says anything... So I wait until the story ends. Either insert a laugh or sympathetic head shake whichever seems appropriate; because I wasn't listening- I was starring at their nose. At the next private oppurtunity I pull them aside and pretend that I just noticed the offense. "You've got a little" *insert the universal signal for get that thing outta there! Don't kill the messenger is an adage quickly brought to mind. Yesterday I found myself in this type of situation; I made the furrowed brow "what is that?" face at my co-worker, with a pinching gesture at the rogue earhair that's been driving me nuts for 30 days. He didn't get it & all I could think was; how universal is this gesture if he doesn't know it...Then I thought maybe it was a familial shorthand, an obsession 4 generations in the mating. Needless to say I gave up on that hair, but only after multiple failed attempts. Hubby says if it doesn't bother them it shouldn't bother me. HA!
Alternatively, I want people to tell me when something has gone horribly array. If I were to arrive at my Momma or BFF's with my fly down, burrs stuck to my shirt and in my hair, dark flapping booger hanging from my nose, white bread mush glued between my teeth and giant eye gunk- they would laugh first; ask me how my night was; then get to work at reno-ing this fixer-upper. As for most other people? I am pretty sure they would let you walk around in that state, assuming it was either a purposeful decision to be a disaster or I was too far gone already to be helped by a Kleenex and some floss. Either way I will keep worrying about you and your fixable flaws and worrying about how you're gonna react, so there's that:)
Dear Life,
I feel like you're passing me by. I was so looking forward to my first summer married to my Hubby. No planning, no parties just us. Going to the beach and sitting on patios and living it up and now I am stuck with this full time job. Don't get me wrong it's a great opportunity; at least I thought it was. But now I think that it was Opportunity's evil twin; Greed. I was offered a full-time job and instead of realizing that I don't do my Joe job because I love it, because I don't. I do my Joe job to pay the rent and give me the flexibility to do the work I love. Right now, I have 5 labours of love waiting in various stages that I don't have time to work on because of this schedule. I went from having 3 days off a week to having 1.5 days off... My creative brain is shriveling, and it makes me sad.
Also let's talk Earhair, a topic we haven't explored for a while. A few months ago I got into some hot water over the casual plucking of an acquaintance. Needless to say it did not go over well. And since then I have been a little bit pluck shy. But now I am starting to think that the universe is punishing me for ignoring my true calling: Heir to the Plucker dynasty. Rogue hairs have been cropping up all around me. On and in co-workers ears. Women with wild blonde and black chin hairs. Coarse hair poking out of neck moles. Long hooked eyebrow hairs refusing to lie down. And all I can do is stare. It's sooo hard. Like being a werewolf but having a dog allergy. It might be driving me closer to the harried edge, if you get my drift.
As for the rest of it, Life; I miss my Puppa-roo and the tip-toe Sushi. I am worried about being left by my BFF. I am getting pressure from girlfriends to premeditate baby plans. As soon as I started enjoying the heat, it slapped my face by dropping 10 degrees. I want to put up my shelves, unpack my books and get the Roddamn boxes out of my hallway. Life, I just feel like your racing past me and no matter how hard I try you won't just pull over for a rest stop, just to stretch my legs. Pretty please Life, I would like to feel like I am driving just for a while. I'd even accept you being a backseat driver or a co-pilot who complains about my driving skills.
Anyhoo, I just felt like it had been a while since we really caught up.
I miss you,
Melicious
P.S. Tell my BFF there are no F's in Arizona, only B's
This next story is a secret, so I changed the names, the location and everything but myself.
Once upon a time there was a background performer named Melicious. I work on film sets, commercials and tv shows. Though I am just a measly little extra, I am determined to make every experience on set a good one. So I pitch in, tidying wardrobe and fixing hair. Desiring each project to be as great as it can be. Sometimes, I meet famous people. National figures, actors, musicians and directors- cool people. Sometimes, I get to spend time with them face to face and when that's the case it's very close. (For those of you who don't know a whole lot about the film world, there is usually 10 people on set at any given time; say a wardrobe person, 5 lighting guys, hair and make up, assistant directors etc, to help keep shooting on time and looking good) This past weekend little Melicious was working with a very special woman- to remain nameless (as I signed a confidentiality agreement, not because I am not dying to tell you who it is) as I sit across the cafe table from her I notice a hair on her blouse. It's a white blouse and a black hair, so I make the international sign for "Hey you've got a little something- right there" which she doesn't understand and asks me to "get it", so I do with a sweeping gesture. Happy with myself I sit back down to get this scene in the can (film term for finished). Action! The director starts calling out directions on how she says things, how fast she says it, where the emphasis should be....ad nauseum. As we are shooting, she turns her head and I see a hair sticking off of her lower left cheek. Oh no! A black hair stuck to a light face. A black hair- dancing in the oscillating fan's breeze, taunting me...The director finally yells Cut and I make another gesture "Hey, there is a giant black hair stuck to your lower cheek, it's right there...Please get it!" to which again she doesn't understand and gestures for me to get it. So I do. It's attached*insert rueful head shake. This giant black 2 inch cheek hair has been attached to her face all day. They have been shooting since 6:30 am and it's now the last scene of the day and I am the first to discover this? You gotta be kidding, the hair person didn't see it? The makeup person didn't see it? The camera operator? The 10 people staring at the monitor DIDN'T see it? WTF! Holy Miley- you gotta be kidding. Me! Melicious, I am the one who tries to prune this Super high profile woman's face fern? It's not in my job description and we both know it, and now I have to sit here, for the rest of the day knowing that I tried to pull a hair off her face and it's still there. That taunting SOB, Roddamn it! It's hard to lower your profile, once you've become the failed face plucker. Sad, stupid little extra- keep your hands to yourself!
So that's my true, but unprovable story. I think it is finally time that I take my Hubby's advice: Stop plucking people's hairs- ear, cheek or nose. And I've tried but I just can't. It is a horrible addiction. And I mean honestly, wouldn't you rather know that you have a column of hair growing from your face? The one part of you that is literally facing forward? How are we going to think you can take care of anything... if you can't take care of your follicle farce?
After a weekend spent plucking and prodding and picking people to pay the bills- I realized that I have a serious addiction to the grosser things ON life. I truly relish finding and plucking that stray earhair blowing gracefully in the winter breeze. It has gone too long unnoticed under that hat, masquerading as part of your flowing locks. Growing for MONTHS to reach such lengths transforming into a curly, one might even say coarse fiber, diverting precious nourishment from your other follicles. Sadly, It- no, you know something of this magnitude deserves a name, shall we say Clancy, heretofore we will refer to your earhair as Clancy. Clancy has reached the end of his "short" life, but this won't be a simple pluck and run. I tenderly grasp Clancy with my trusted tweezers, then tug gently, exclaiming in false awe "Oh, it's attached!" - YEAH he is and he's amazing, an incredible achievement, the diameter of this bristle gently rolling between the tines of my tweezers. You exclaim with embarrassment- "Get it!" and of couse I will, because I love Clancy! I grasp this conifer in preparation of true extraction. Breathing deeply and with one smooth motion and a sigh of gratitude I unroot this truly magnificent specimen. As Clancy remains in the strangle hold of my tweezers, I absorb all his glimmering glory, he is a testament that Darwin wasn't far off; that Man and Monkey share an ear-ily similar genetic make-up.
RIP Clancy, you might not be missed, but I think I saw your cousin on my neighbour's ear...
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