Vanity, The Cult of Mary Kay, and You Are Trying My Frackin Limited Social Skills

I did something absolutely retarded the other day. Oh wait, retarded is offensive in this PC world. So, I did something “helmet and cape waiting for the short bus drooling” stupid the other day. And I will admit my vanity led me to it.

See, especially now that I’m back down to “I may drown myself in my own fat” weight, I feel really good about myself. Really confident. And you know, I DO get a lot of random comments about how pretty I am. I might not be model level or anything, but meh, I’m a solid good-looking chick. That’s how that heffa got me.

So I was at the mall after seeing a movie with friends… picking up dinner. And this lady and gentlemen are sitting behind me waiting for their order. She calls me over. They both look well dressed, and professional and we are in a public place so I’m not worried that I’m about to be kidnapped. Am worried that I may be propositioned for some hanky panky, but whatever.

“I’m a Mary Kay consultant, and my friend and I think you would be perfect for an event as a face model.”

Those that have been to Mary Kay events are probably laughing their butts off at me. I didn’t know! I don’t do these kind of things! I avoid Scentsy (or however it’s spelled), Tupperware, Passion Parties, 31 – whatever THAT is. Pretty much anything that is going to make me have to sit in someone’s home and be nice to people who I do not like and do not know, having inane conversations about their kids and husbands… anything like that either makes me run away or I break out into hives.

The day after this Mary Kay event I have severe jaw pain. I think I was clenching my teeth so hard that I damaged something.

So before I get to the event, this is what I was told in text after exchanging information with the consultant: “I would love for you to be my facial model at my Mary Kay Success Event. You’ll experience a Million Dollar Makeover with Mary Kay, which includes a facial deep cleansing, perfect foundation shade matching, and glamour makeover.” Sounds like I’m getting one of those TLC channel, wanna be Oprah generic makeovers right? HAHAHAAHHAAHA, frack all of you to hell and back.

I show up nicely dressed to this event. It’s a whole Mary Kay office, so it has to be professional right.

PAUSE.

I just like to say, I always knew Mary Kay was created by a little peach crayon lady from Texas. How that changed to all the super bourgeois brown crayon heffalumps that were in this building, I have no frackin clue. But hey, whatever. So I walk up the stairs and the consultant comes all energetic and hugs me and leads me to a room… with a long table…. With individual mini-mirrors and make-up kits on it. And I realize I’ve been had.

More women trickle in until we have about seven or eight around the table. Where then I have to deal with about 2 hours of this chick telling me how to do MY OWN facial and put my own make-up on, but with Mary Kay Products!

Seriously? I could have done this ish at home. In fact, all I did was remove my make-up and basically do it the EXACT SAME WAY.

Before that, during the facial, before I put anything on my skin I asked “Is any of this stuff for sensitive skin? I have seriously, SERIOUSLY sensitive skin.”

She says “Oh, this has been tested on humans, and everything is made to be able to deal with sensitive skin.”

I smirk and wait for my face to melt.

“All right, now rub this cleanser on your left side, and rub this one on your right. If you have dry skin you’ll feel nice and tight on the left and nothing on the right. If you have oily skin you’ll feel good on the right.” She asks each person what they feel, and then gets to me.

“I feel like my whole face is itchy and burning.”

“Oh. OH! Here’s a bowl of water and a wipe. Take all of that off!”

But the best part comes after we finish putting on makeup. We’re then led into the den of hungry consultants that we are paraded in front of… for doing our own daggone makeup. We get seats of honor up front as these chicks proceed to pat themselves on the back for an hour. While we sat there. And sat. And sat. I heard more than enough about muthatruckin pink Cadillac’s and making millions, and somehow helping women with self-esteem through makeup. About how I could retire with soooo much money. And win trips, and diamonds, and sisterhood! It’s like a sorority! The even have special coats!

And then, after hearing like 5 different life stories of this chick with the hair-line that starts halfway beyond the field goal of her forehead, or the lady that put on her wonderful Mary Kay in the dark while drunk and doing a yoga pose… finally we are pulled back up for the ending of the dog and pony show.

And down the row we are asked “Would you like to drink the koolaid?” Or that’s what I heard. And sadly I was asked first. Don’t you want to join Mary Kay?

“Uh, no. No thanks.”

Blank looks all around.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. See, I’m in the military, and that’s a 24/7 job. I’ll get a retirement with that. You’re offering Toyota Camry. I have a Toyota Avalon already. I do volunteer work. I’m busy. So, no. Thank you.”

“But that’s the kind of women we NEED!”

“Absolutely NO. I’m happy with my life thank you.” (Just IGNORE that just a couple of weeks ago I was complaining about the military. I am trying to make a DAGGONE POINT here.)

“Well, uh, was there ANYTHING you liked?”

“Well, the makeup was nice, but not the facial wash.”

I pissed so hard in their cheerios that the boss lady of this Mary Kay branch had to regroup. Fix face. I could have went on. I could’ve said “How the heck are you going to equate selling make-up to community service? Or the fact that you are helping women? By what, throwing product on their face so they can feel better about themselves???” Granted, I love my make-up, but that is not fixing anyone’s problems. You CANNOT save the world through makeup. Mary Kay is not a superhero. And what’s with this daggone dog and pony show where at the end you put women on the spot and try to go all Jim Jones drink the Koolaid on them? I have avoided all trappings of crazy churches, sororities, clubs, and craziness except the military. And I went in eyes open on that one. But these heffa’s are using underhanded tactics. I’d almost be in awe except I believe THEY believe all the pink vomit that comes out of their mouths.

And all in all, I’m just pissed I was frackin duped. They appealed to my vanity, and then had me putting on my own d*mn makeup like I JUST did that morning. WTF? Wasted 4 hours of my daggone time, and I DIDN’T EVEN GET FREE SAMPLES.

Frack you with Mary Kay consultants. Frack you with your non-sensitive skin facial wash and a super long and brittle foundation brush.

I refuse to buy their shitake. I’m sticking with Clinique.

Adult Students that Cry Deserve Throat Punches

I had a student cry yesterday, after they sucked big blue donkey berries. There were some more tears today as a couple more failed, and even some happy tears. I’m saying… just no military bearing. You know, it may sound sick, but in the regular military world without the teaching, I took great pride when I made a troop cry. Not because I’m sadistic or anything… Seriously!!! I’ve just always looked at it as that I gave my troops tough love. And all the good ones have always come back to thank me for it.

It’s not the same when those troops are failing students and I’m crushing their dreams like a bully slapping the ice cream out if your hand. “No nom-nom for YOU!” It’s so frackin depressing when you know that they have had this dream to be a great somebody and it’s just gone… With a flick of my mechanical pencil. Now does that mean I feel like looking at the little buggers crying– uh, that’s a big heck no Billy-bob. (Shhh, Billy-bob is a new voice in my head. Trying to make him feel welcome). No, I feel completely out of sorts because I want to say to them what I tell my son and previous troops when they start with the waterworks: fix your face and get your punk self together.

To me, showing weakness like that doesn’t make me feel like you’re a strong person. In fact, it makes me feel like you’re looking for sympathy. And frack that! If you want to one day take my job, take my place and become the next up and coming Soldier/Sailor/Airman/Marine, you don’t show me weakness. Keep it together until you step out of my office. I mean, this is the classroom. If you’re falling to pieces here, what the frack are you gonna do in the desert sandbox when someone is shooting at you? But I can’t say all that. Or I can, but I have to word it a bit nicer, and hand them tissues. Sigh. This is one side of the teaching thing I didn’t really expect. Irritation at the weak butts.

Customer Service People Nowadays are like a 3-legged Dog Blowing Bubbles out of its Butt.

Exactly what the title says.

You know, the world is supposed to be a whole lot easier now that we can order pretty much anything online right? WRONG you son of a donkey! WRONG.

So, I went to a couple of different furniture dealers in the new area I live, and they didn’t have the exact furniture I had in mine. And yes, I’m picky, picky as all heck when it’s what I want in my home. So a friend (who shall remain anonymous) told me of an online store he found. Said it seemed legit. Famous Last Words.

Well, first, after ordering, I contact the company because after 2 weeks my order says still pending. Come to find out, apparently only in their own little world your billing address HAS to match your shipping address. I have never heard of this before, and I am an online shopoholic. I mean, what if you’re buying a gift for someone. Yes, a gift of 2 bedroom sets. And a dining room table. It could happen.

So we fix that and it takes a week to finish. And let me say that although I had to change my bank information, they had already taken the thousands of dollars for my purchases. I probably should have just cancelled then. But I’m stubborn. And I wanted the exact furniture I paid for. So I stuck through it.

And so the day before I receive a call that they’ll be able to deliver the next day between 4 and 7pm. Weird times to me, but okay. And so day of, I leave work, sit in my house, and make sure everything’s out of the way. And I sit. And sit. And sit. Until at 615pm I start calling the company. No one answers. I leave a message. I go online. Leave a message there. I keep calling back and leave a message with Sales, Customer Service, and the General Mailbox. No answer. No answer. No answer.

730 rolls around and everything I planned to do AFTER the delivery is shot. But I get a phone call. And really, I can barely understand the guy, and I’ve lived in another country for the past 4 years! “Ms. dimensionthe5th, we are on our way. We hit traffic.”

ARE YOU FRACKIN SERIOUS?

“Um, yes. Was the traffic so bad that you could not dial my number until now?”

“Uh, uh… unintelligible gibberish.”

“Fine. When will you be here?”

“About 45 minutes.”

They arrive at 9:30. I guess they can’t count so good either. They seriously take until 1130 to finish, and then, theeeeeeeen, these son of a monkey’s donkey have the nerve to tell me I can put the knobs on my dresser and chest myself. I did a stare. A stare that means I am slowly peeling the skin from your body inch by inch with a rusty knife dipped in a mad cow’s butthole.

They then finish putting on my knobs and leave the house.

Me and my teenage monster do not get to sleep until after 12, and we have work and school the next day. Right now, I’m thinking of making voodoo dolls. It’s been about a week. I don’t think anyone can track it back to me. Maybe.