Battı balık yan gider (A sunken fish goes sideways)

     Is there a way I can make myself look more like a serial killer? I'm not asking for a friend. I seriously need to up my game. When I go out, I wear a black jacket, a black toque, a dark hoodie over my toque and dark hiking boots. I keep my hands in my pockets when I'm out and about and I don't usually look up...

Uni-bomber swag

     However, I do that classic small-town thing where I acknowledge people when I pass them on the street. That's the problem, right there! I must never do that. People should get the impression I've just dumped a body in the woods and I'm rushing to hide in my basement apartment until the coast is clear. Otherwise, they seem to think I'm outside so I can make friends. I wouldn't mind really, but at this point in my life, I'm fairly confident that I won't like anyone new and (on the rare occasion I find someone tolerable) I'm equally confident I'll find a reason to think they suck eventually.

     I enjoy my own company - especially at movie theaters. Last night, I went to Bytown Cinema to see "3 Faces", a film by Iranian director, Jafar Panahi, about three female actors at different stages of their careers. Great movie! It features many long scenes done in one shot while documenting a myriad of emotions. It also features some of the most awkward human encounters I've ever seen. 

     This is one of the reasons I, personally, am drawn to movies. I like to study human interactions because (I think) it helps me in my daily life. Like many introverts, I'm horribly awkward. I don't know how to respond when people talk about the weather, or how much they like their new curtains, or what to do about their asshole boyfriend. But, (I think) I've gotten better over the years. 

     Anyway, one of the things I found fascinating about the movie, which is set in the northwest corner of Iran, is how the people interact with one another. Perfect strangers treated each other like long lost friends and then their worst enemies within the course of a couple of minutes! They were always making the main characters a cup of tea and bringing them cushions to sit on, even though they didn't want tea and cushions. In one scene, a man gives his son's twelve-year-old foreskin to Behnaz Jafari (who also plays herself) in the hopes she will give it to a movie star in Tehran. The custom is to have a boy's godfather bury the foreskin somewhere auspicious - like near a hospital or a courthouse - so the boy will grow up to be wealthy and educated. Who just passes their kid's foreskin to a stranger? I mean, why not? I've always found social norms a bit... abnorms. I'm still learning.

     So, I go out alot. It's like my own brand of field research. Today, I decided to check out the local coffee shop and go on a little hike. My new apartment is perfectly situated close to the Ottawa River and several conservation areas. Unfortunately, these spots are all pretty high traffic, unlike what I was used to on the Bruce Trail. People walk their dogs, they bird watch, they bring huge cameras and they bring food; bags of bird seed and peanuts and bread crumbs to feed all the wildlife. This is kind of cool because you can get very close to squirrels and chickadees, if you're not terrified of squirrels like I am. 

This Asshole

     It can also be really annoying to have a greedy chickadee swooping around your head while you're trying to enjoy nature. 

     There is still a good foot and a half of snow on the ground here in the near north of Ontario, so you can't step off the packed snow of the trail or you end up knee-deep (ribbit) in granular snow. With so many people out birdwatching today, there were a couple of times I had to reroute in order to avoid squeezing past others. But, I was distracted by this damn chickadee that kept harassing me for snacks. I was taking some great pics of him when I heard someone say, "Is there a trail leading to the water up there?" 

     A man was addressing me from about fifty feet away. Thinking he wanted more space to pass, I walked back about ten feet to a side trail to allow him to pass. But, when he approached, he started up a conversation about his cat, who used to follow him on his daily walkabouts. 

     I was feeling kid of social, so I listened to this story about a stupid cat that walked through the forest and posed for pics on an old log by the lake, all while I'm swatting at this chickadee like a swarm of thirsty mosquitoes. Then, the guy says to me, "You want to go see the spot by the lake? It's just down the trail and through the bush?"

     Dude, I don't know what fucking rock you crawled out from under, but ain't no way I am following your nature-loving ass through two feet of snow in the bush to see a tree that rotted twenty years ago beside the water treatment plant. I'm practicing to be more serial-killer-esque and I know an invitation to certain death when I hear it!

Do not follow strangers

     "Eeeeeeh yeaaaah, sorry but I'm out catching Pokemon today. There's a Breloom somewhere up ahead and I've only got sixteen, maybe eleven minutes left to catch it before it's gone. For my kids, you know."

     I literally excused myself from an awkward situation using an even more awkward excuse.

     "Pokie mawn! I tell you, I don't need any of that electronic garbage. What I've got? I've got my golf clubs, my tennis rackets and my hockey sticks. That's all I need."

     Dude, I didn't know we were having a dick-measuring contest! Hold on! I'll bring out my ruler! I'll see your fucking golf cubs and I'll raise you an 'I work all day on my gawdamn feet, douchebag. Fuck you AND your weirdy cat."

     I listened to one more story about his dead cat and his encounter with bald eagles. He proceeded to follow me to the next Pokestop, which he further criticized based on location, before he left me to go shave his nipples or whatever. 

    All I'm saying is, whether you're in a rural village in Iran or a city park in Canada, you just can't tell what other people are thinking and it's best to just avoid the whole species. 

I always wanted lashes like Snuffleupagus

     I'm the kind of person who likes to make plans. I like to know what to expect. I like to research where I'm going for dinner if I'm in a new city so that, when I arrive, I know exactly what I'm having. If I go on a vacation, I want an itinerary; breakfast at 10 a.m., followed by two hours on the beach, a trip to the zoo, and stop for a selfie with the biggest ball of string by 3:30 p.m. If I ever get a Brazilian wax treatment, I will know exactly what to expect because I have watched hours of videos to make sure I'm comfortable with anything my crotch coiffeur might do to me.

    Strangely enough, when I decided I was going to get fake eyelashes, I did NOT do any research. I had no idea how much it would cost, how long it would take, or even what was involved. I have since been schooled. 

     When I told my daughter I was going to get fake lashes, she... hesitated. I'd say she knows me better than anyone and, in hindsight, I should have read more into the pause. I merely assumed her concern was regarding possible eye infections, which doesn't worry me. I (touch wood) am not prone to styes or pink eye or whatever.

     I've seen lots of examples of this recent beauty trend and I really wanted my own "lash extensions". I had naturally long eyelashes when I was younger but, now that I'm heading into MY LATE 40S (for chrissakes), my lashes are more sparse and certainly not long. My vanity is rearing it's ugly head more and more these days - fucking wrinkle repair serums, glycolic peels, charcoal toothpaste... anything to hold onto my youth for just a liiiiiittle bit longer. 

     Anyway, my coworker has a side hustle doing nails and lashes in Smith's Falls, so I decided to make an appointment with her. I arrived at the house on a Wednesday morning, eager for my transformation and we got right to it. I crawled up onto the massage table, face up, and she sat facing my head with all the tools she needed at hand.

     The first thing we needed to do was get my bottom lashes out of the way. This means, we had to tape my bottom lashes to my face. Now, when she said this would be required, I flinched a little. I thought, "Ok. This sounds like some kind of torture technique from the middle ages where your eyelids are pinned open and you can't blink." But, I was not too concerned. It surely wouldn't take long.

   The process was all moving along very quickly after she told me to close my eyes. It felt like she was using some kind of fine needle to separate my eyelashes to install the fake ones evenly. Part of me imagined some kind of super fine strip of lashes being weaved among my existing ones and part of me imagined the movie Coraline, the part where they tell her they are going to sew buttons over her eyeballs.

     "About how long does this usually take?" I ask, naively.

     "Usually two hours. Maybe an hour and a half." She replied.

     GULP.

     How am I supposed to lay here for two hours with my eyelids taped down and lashes glued shut?!! The answer was, quite simply, in a fairly comfortable position all while bitching nonstop about work things. For example, as a server, you ask your guests if they would like something to drink while they're deciding what to eat. Often, the reply I get is, "Nothing for me. I'll have water." To which, I would like to reply, "Should I get that for you via intravenous? Because, last I checked, water is something to drink." Also, if you are only two people, do not sit at a table of six. You're not moving in. You don't need the extra space. For the love of Pete, stop being self-centered twats.

     While she worked away on my eyes, we also discussed the process of my lash installation, which involves glueing an extra synthetic lash to each of my individual lashes one by one. Hence, the two hour time frame. She would work on my right side for a bit and then my left and back to the right... and before I knew it, we were done. 

     In the end, there was still some clean up required. Stray lashes stuck in the wrong place or attached to your bottom lid, etc. At this point, my eyes were wide open and trying not to see the very sharp instruments poised so close to my pupils. I just prayed she wouldn't sneeze and turn my peepers into kabobs. 

     All's well that ends well. And, I'm very happy with the results. I could barely wait to get to my car so I could start taking selfies of my Bambi eyes! Would I ever do it again? I don't fucking think so. I'll keep with traditional, stick-on lashes from the drug store or just grow old gracelessly.