A Makeover Story Part II

Last week, I was telling on myself and my first major makeover.

On the Saturday morning of the big event, I gathered my entourage: Mama, Shelley, Anna and Pete. I think my grandmother and I'm pretty sure the Capells showed, too. I’m sure they expected the same show that they got when I got my ears pierced! 

I can’t remember now where I shopped for my makeover outfit. I remember it being VERY preppy. Blue linen shorts, hurauche sandals and a crisp white blouse with dotted with bright blue whales. I felt very buttoned up and the shorts were high-risers (fastened above my belly-button with pleats). I was generally well-dressed at school, but preferred tee shirts and Umbros. At the time, the fashion was to wear Umbros with boxer shorts underneath. The boxers were always color-coordinated with the Umbros with just a fraction of an inch hanging out the bottom and the top.

My next stop was Merle Norman. My makeup was classic 1989: blue eyeliner, blue eye shadow. I thought I looked ravishing.....and hey, it matched my whale of an outfit.

The final touch was my hair. I met my stylist (I want to say Jonathan or Benjamin) at his booth in the salon. He washed and toweled my hair and we walked to the center court of the mall. Today's court is filled with a carousel but, back then, it was a tiled penny pond with a waterfall and as a backdrop. He sat me down in the chair, covered me with the cape and began to clip. And cut. And snip. And comb. And cut some more. 


I think he clipped about four inches off so that my hair fell to my chin. He teased the sides and back and gave me wispy bangs (as opposed to the all-one-length barrel-curled version that I rocked for three years of high school). And, as the hair fell all around me, I felt myself fighting the tears that wanted to fall down my face. There is something heart-breaking about losing your hair as a teenager in the South - even when you choose to do it.


The crazy thing was that I couldn't see a thing! There were no mirrors for the hair or the outfit or the makeup - so I couldn't see it all together. As the emcee announced my name, I stood up and gave a shy little wave.  Pete took my picture with my stylist and I gave a stoic little smile. Mama thanked Benjamin or Jonathon or whatever his name was and we returned the outfit to the store.


The end was not disastrous. It just felt that way. I think there is a certain fearlessness that came with it. I am no longer afraid to chop, cut, color or experiment with hair and makeup.

Make It a Habit - Wrap-Up

It is Day 31 of my Make It a Habit experiment. I wrote for nineteen days straight and posted 27 entries altogether. I didn’t write for every one of them and I didn’t do it all in one place. In fact, I spread the wealth and created entries at my personal site, my blog for my small group, and the YITRI blog and my memoir site. Here are some things I learned:

• I think a lot about writing. Sometimes I think more than I write. This experiment helped me actually write about what I think. 
• I love a schedule. I am a better writer when I schedule the time, subject and focus of my entry. I learned that I need to be intentional about when I write and what I say. I've created a weekly schedule that I hope will lead me through the next 31 days of this experiment!
• I love to shake it up. I need to write on more than just makeovers. I need to branch out and write about personal adventures and memories of my mom! Plus, my creativity needs multiple outlets. I am not just a writer. I am into music and photography and cooking - and I need to write or post about these things, too!

Keep an eye out for more focused and intentional ideas on this site! There may be a shift in direction and there may not be an entry everyday, but we are on our way to our Ultimate Makeover!

Beth

A Makeover Story Part I

My first major makeover was in the spring of my senior year of high school.  I had been growing out my hair for months – maybe years – and I was tired of the whole bangs-and-pony-tail look that I sported. I admitted as much to the man who styled my hair and he invited me to be a part of a makeover show.

Let me preface this next part by saying that my stylist worked in the mall. His invite included a new outfit, a makeover at Merle Norman and a stylish new cut all in the middle of Wilmington’s Independence Mall. I was flattered and probably accepted immediately.

Let me also say that my luck in said mall was not the best. When I was thirteen, my birthday wish was to have my ears pierced. My entourage: Mama, Anna, Tina and Kristen all came at the Rings & Things – an ‘80s version of Claires; complete with orange shag carpet and mirrors lining the ceiling. It was on the ring of stores around the very middle of the mall near ‘the Hardee’s entrance’. It just so happened that anybody in the mall could watch the torture in the piercing chair as they walked by. It was not surprising that we were joined by our other friends, Lisa, Julie and Sherry Capell as they were doing some back-to-school shopping.

I’m not big on needles and that includes the very large nail gun that was/is used to pierce ears. I picked out my brand new golden bead earrings (that matched my add-a-bead necklace), sat in the chair at the front of the store and waited as the woman prepped the aforementioned nail gun. She marked both of my ears with green sharpie ink – making sure they were even holes. She sanitized the earrings. She aimed. She fired. She shot.

I was fine, really, I was. Until I heard my mother say, QUICK! Do the other one. Now! Now! Then, the world kind of got fuzzy as the girl quickly reloaded and shot through the green ink in the other ear. Before I knew it, I was on the floor of Rings & Things being hugged by orange shag carpet and watching myself in the mirrors above. I did not look well. Julie’s face came into view as she started singing the Kermit the Frog hit “It’s Not Easy Being Green”.

In an attempt to get me out of there, the torturer suggested that I get some fresh air. I don’t remember how I got outside but I soon found myself sitting on the curb outside of the Hardee’s entrance under an umbrella in the rain (sounds like a good country song, but wait, it gets better). There was a security guard hovering above me, talking to Mama. “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to get your name and number. There was a little ole lady who stopped and slipped onaccounta your daughter and she might sue the mall.” Turns out I puked in a similar shade of the orange shag carpet in the middle of the mall.

to be continued.......

Wedding

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to do the wedding make-up for a friend of a friend. It was a blast and it confirmed that there is nothing like a makeover. It was rewarding for me to see the transformation of each girl - in their own way and in their own style - love the way they looked. I caught the youngest looking at herself in the mirror on the table, behind the kitchenette, at the mirror in the hallway. For those hours, she felt her best, her prettiest, a new confidence and a new look.

I think it is our purpose to make others feel important. It is vital to lift another's spirit so that a new confidence can shine through. I think words or actions or a kind note or genuine compliment can make someone feel her best, her prettiest, her most confident. It may makeover a mood or an outlook or attitude. In turn, that may be passed on to someone else and then the world can be made-over. 

Ah, the positive idealist in me is revealed.

Secret Makeover

I skipped one day, I admit it. I have been writing, I promise. Or at least posting. I've been posting in other blogs that will be revealed in time. The experiment is working - although I have made over the rules. Now that would be a make-over story.


More to come......

Another Day of Hooky

I really didn't play hooky. I actually did write a blog, but it's not this one!
Here it is: http://tata-fornow.blogspot.com/2010/03/azalea-triathlon-2010.html

A Hooky Story

Today, I am playing hooky. The as-promised entry about my high school makeover in the middle of the mall will be revealed tomorrow. Unless I play hooky again. 


How does hooky help or hinder a makeover?

No one is quite sure about the origin of the phrase "playing hooky." We consulted the top three online word sleuths and found a number of intriguing explanations.

• The Phrase Finder offers a few possible origins, including "to hook it" or "to escape or make off." To "hook something" is also an old slang term for stealing, as in "stealing a day off."

• The Word Detective dates the first printed use of the phrase to 1848 and relates it to the 19th-century phrase "hooky-crooky," which means "dishonest or underhanded." The parent of this phrase is "by hook or by crook," meaning "by any means necessary."

• Word Origins suggests that the phrase comes from hoekje, the Dutch name for hide and seek.

The phrase seems to be waning in popularity with the younger folks these days. Most kids simply refer to skipping school as "cutting." But regardless of what it's called, the time-honored practice of playing hooky seems here to stay.