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.

Screw You Guys, I Quit!… Crap, the Military Doesn’t Work That Way

Whine mode is engaged. I repeat, warning, whine mode is engaged.

In case you’ve been living under a rock, or smoking rocks, everyone affiliated with the government has been having a pretty rough time of it. Even little old dimensionthe5th. And it feels like the last straw when it comes to my military service.

I want out.

But… you see, like The Godfather, it isn’t that easy. After 10 years had passed, I signed my life away 10 more. And I’m over 5 years away from that. There is the 15 year retirement option, but that’s only open to select people. So far, I’m not one of them.

But I just can’t deal with the bullspit anymore. Or I can, but I think it may send me back to mental health, pffft.

See, there’s the government that’s been playing around with our money and livelihood for the past few year. I’m tired of every year having to wait on pins and needles to see if this “We can’t run the government so we’re going to make YOU, every last service member and DoD Civilian, deal with it.” I can’t stand politics, and I don’t care if you are a republican, democrat, or independent. When it all boils down to it, I signed my life away. Agreed? But at the same time, I signed my life away with the expectation that I have a pay check that cannot be fracked with.

I’m tired. One of the reasons I joined the military was to travel the world and not get stuck like so many family members in Nowheresville, USA. I was a military brat, and used to moving around. But… I’m tired. I still want to travel, but I want to hop on a flight, be gone a few days at the most, and come the frack back home. I love the area I moved to. It happens to be the same place I said I would always retire. But with so many years in the military left, they’ll probably move me again. I don’t wanna! I seriously don’t want to. They’ll probably send me overseas again. And my monster teen probably will have to switch high schools in his senior year.

What’s the other bee in my stylish bonnet? Office politics. You say, DT5, office politics are everywhere. And I will tell you from having worked civilian jobs before joining the military, from hearing stories from others, military/government office politics is another animal. Maybe it’s no worse, but I am frustrated with it. Just today, having a conversation with my supervisor, I was told that he tried to put my name up for a course, but his supervisor, without looking at what I’ve accomplished, what positions I’ve held in the past, just automatically dismissed the idea because I didn’t have the right rank.

Rank gets you a lot in the military. You can barely know how to tie your shoes on a good day, but if you kissed the right butt, had someone write your evaluations, plumping everything you really didn’t do, you will get promoted. And… you will get this big *ss award at your end of tour. Now, this doesn’t matter if you have less time and experience than Joe Blow standing right beside you. If you outrank Blow, Blow pretty much blows you.

My body is tired. My health is just slowly losing the battle with the military. If I have no choice and DO make it to 20 years, my body is going to be a complete mess. The back problems that refuse to go away, that I work through each day so I can continue to work out. My medical condition, Hidradenitis Suppurativa, that is definitely NOT the kind of disease you want for a military job. Disease is aggravated by heat and stress? Oh yeah, let’s go run around in the desert with a whole bunch of gear and weapons!!! There’s my knees which I know one day is just going to finally give out on me just like my feet did long ago, and then I’ll have 2 permanent profiles stating what I can’t do for physical training. Maybe then they’ll want to kick me out. As long as I get some partial retirement or medical or something.

I probably sound whiny. I feel whiny. I feel extremely whiny after being completely sick but continuing to work because our civilians were stuck at home twiddling their thumbs in frustration. I feel whiny whenever I have to see another email about being a service member and that SOME people who are never named are not living up to their military values. I’m tired of doing my job everyday, and taking other jobs on because I love to work, to be told “Well, all that’s good, but you need to take more college courses to stand out.” I have fun, but I’m tired of rolling around in the dirt unless for some godforsaken reason I WANT to roll around in the dirt. I’m tired of having no control over where I will be sent in 2-3 years. And the thing that sticks in my throat so badly is that… I chose this. And for over 10 years no matter what I’ve accepted my choice and stood by it.

Maybe I just need a glass of wine.

I Pity the Fool That Makes Me Look the Fool

The other day I had a no good, horrible, very bad day.

Except my hair looked better

 

It didn’t start off well. I went to bed late (reading Beautiful Creatures right now). I woke up late for the gym. I left the gym late, took too long to get ready for work, and was late there too. So, of course it’s the day where people keep asking me if I’m okay.

But it wasn’t until after lunch that it went from just having a pissy face to being truly off. Why?

Because my so-called peers can’t handle their ish.

There’s nothing like trying to do a job that someone else used to handle, and them not giving the information you need to complete it. Especially if someone like dimensionthe5th is about to test her students online and nothing works and she looks like a dummy because the previous a hole of the 9th power that usually handles the test only told me step 1.

There are many more steps than step 1 -_-

I hate looking stupid, not organized, or just plain incompetent in front of my students. But that’s what happened. And knowing my super paranoid self, they probably didn’t notice and just assumed this was the way things went. OR, at the end of the class they’re going to give lots of comments in the end of course feedback saying that dimensionthe5th is a hot mess. And I might commit a felony against another teacher.

I am not OCD. You should see what my car gets up to, junkwise. But I am very much a by-the-book person when it comes to a job I must complete. And yes, it must be step by step by daggone step. I’m talking about, if you are teaching someone how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, you better first list all ingredients, including plate. And the you’d better start with “Take 2 slices of bread and lay them on plate.” Yes I am that anal.

And the other day all I had was Step Frackin 1.

Because having complete directions is so important to me, I go one track mind and cannot breathe, cannot function until I fix what I see as a problem. My whole afternoon was lost, while I worked on writing out instructions and trying to breathe deep and let murderous thoughts go. I could breathe a sigh of relief by the end of the work day, but the anger is still there. Because it’s not the first time it’s happened. With the same crappy person.

But I can’t kill him. So, whenever it comes into my mind again, I just have to send my evil brain waves towards him. I hope he gets gout in his crotch or something. Karma.

You think that’s too harsh? Frack you too. Grotch be upon you also. Grrrr, argh.

 

 

Is that Your HooHah Hair?! Weird Office Living Pet Peeves

Random things irritate me. If you’ve read other posts of mine, you’ve realized that. But today, little things in the office seemed to combine and transform themselves like Voltron into a day of constant irritation. Soooo, onto the list of things that for some reason drive me batty at work:

1. Restroom Light Warriors.

Okay, look, I know we need to practice light conservation and all, but there are 3 stalls in the restroom closest to my office, and students and staff constantly going in and out all throughout the day (not my ninja restroom: see here: http://dimensionthe5th.com/2013/04/10/first-world-female-problems-girls-dont-poop/). About 3 times a week, I walk in and someone has turned off the light. Why does this bother me? Because I’ve watched enough weird and scary movies that I expect to find a dead body. Most likely a student of mine, after I’ve told them why they suck.

2. Over the Shoulder Ninjas.

I used to have a real office, with a door and all at my last office. Now I have a cubicle. And I absolutely HATE people who like to sit there and look over your shoulder for a while before they let you know they are there. It doesn’t matter if I’m doing work, or reading an article on why the Song of Ice and Fire series is sexist. I have deployed multiple times and I may become violent at any time. And since I’m sitting, you may get punch in your twig or hoo-hah. Keep messing with me -_-

3. Bubble breakers.

Seriously, if we are really cool, by all means sit close to me. I still may say that you are in my frackin personal space. But if I don’t know you all that well, why the frack are we within kissing distance of each other?! I mean face on! Turn to the side or something so I don’t feel like I’m getting breath particles. I don’t know where your mouth has been. I’m a smoker, so I know better than to waft my smoky breath right at people. But unless you are brushing after every meal, dude, I don’t need to see your leftover meal on your teeth in 4d.

4. Toilet Shedders.

Oh my god, the many NSFW work photos I went through by typing in pubic hair. WTF was I thinking?

Okay yes, I have a serious issue with restroom everything it seems. But have you ever went into a stall, about to sit down and see secret lady fur atop the seat? *Shudder* I mean, I may trim the lady bush, but any straggler hair goes down the shower drain. Why are the ladies shedding like my cat sheds on my carpet?! And why are you not at least trimming that bad boy between your legs, because that hair is LONG. I mean, are you growing out an afro? Planning to get dreads with beads all dangling? Why are they falling out all over the toilet? Are you balding down there? I really don’t like focusing on other women’s ladies parts, but this is becoming a huge concern for me.

Other than that, I really like my office. The people are really weird just like me. But I swear if this Pubic Conspiracy continues I will take photos and post pics saying “Have You seen the Owner of these curlies? Please come and pick them up in Stall 3.

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.

I want a Cabbitt, and I Poop Butterflies – Deep thoughts ¯\(°_o)/¯

So this anime I’m watching (Xam’d: Lost Memories… I love NETFLIX) has frackin cabbits on it! They call them neko-gibberish-something or other, but daggone-it they are cat rabbits!

Sigh… Why didn’t God make cabbits? The funny thing is rabbits on their own are seriously evil beasts to me. Cats I love, as they have my psycho random personality.

Anyway, subject change… Unless you can get me a daggone cabbit… work is hard. Its stressing me out man!

I have a public speaking fear. And I’m a teacher. Of adults. I begged for this job. WTF is WRONG with me?!!! Seriously, if the dry mouth that takes my full lips and wraps them around me teeth, well if that doesn’t kill me at my job, then the butterfly poop will.

What in the heck you talkin’ bout D? Well this… Before every class, I start getting the nervous nellies, my hand gets shaky  and I get butterflies in my stomach. But the son of a donkey butterflies aren’t just doing back-flips and keg stands in my stomach… These bastards are trying to find a way out. So pretty much, less than an hour before teaching, I HAVE to let them fly out… My butt. The saying BG’s or Bubble Guts, is now considered Butterfly Guts to me.

And of course, I’m military, so I have discussed this with coworkers. It’s a frackin epidemic! Many instructors have to release the butterflied beasts from their cage just like me. At least I know I’m normal… Well normal in my group of abnormal people.

My son just says that it the most disgusting thing he’s heard… From me… This week.

Meh, it’s still early.

On a whole different subject, I found out that an emoticon I use for my WTF face: O_o actually apparently means drunk. I find this funny and disturbing in some ways. Especially if I think about all the Facebook and texts I’ve added that darn thing in!