I enjoy being a girl...sort of...sometimes

I've never been what one would call a girly girl. When I was little I had Barbies and Cabbage Patches. But instead of Barbie cooking in her Barbie Dreamhouse, she had to deal with a Dreamhouse break-in. When I received a Barbie campsite tent and accessories, well, unfortunately the campsite was mauled by a bear. I didn't carry them around, but my Sis and I did set up a Cabbage Patch hospital. I'm pretty sure I might have missed the point of dolls. Although I was very protective of my stuffed animals.

As I got older, it didn't get much better. I didn't wear make-up until later in high school and even then pretty much used what my mom handed down. When I did buy some, it was almost always in funky colors. When most girls were getting highlights in their hair, I dyed mine blond in the front and then had red and purple highlights in the rest of it. To this day I still don't have an overriding interest in hair and makeup. My hairspray, when I have any, usually goes bad before I can use it, I keep mascara way too long, and the thought of lipstick frightens me.

And still walking into an Ulta, or the like, makes me break out into a sweat. Who needs a $150 curling iron? And there had to be at least 10 kinds of straighteners...don't get be started on face cleaners. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I have no idea what 70% of that store is used for. And I still maintain eyelash curlers amount to about the same thing as a medieval torture device.

Now, don't get me wrong, I definitely have girly traits: a healthy obsession with shoes, a lifelong love of all things Jane Austen, and a strong devotion to Betsey Johnson. So when I was feeling kind of blue tonight, I thought, "Hey! I should pamper myself and see if that helps." So, I tried my new curling iron (only $13.99 thank you very much), but I'm convinced that my hair looked the same as it did before I tried to curl it. So I then painted my toenails bright blue, made a mess, and had to remove about half of what I put on. Anyone who's lived with me can attest to this sort of thing happening on a regular basis. I consider myself fairly smart but somehow nail polish confounds me.

So when pampering wasn't quite the success I thought it would be, I decided to turn to what I know best. I put on Mad Max for a healthy dose of violence and action and called it a night.