This weekend was pretty good, except for the sadness.
Friday night I stayed at home. I tried to felt my too big hat, but it didnâ€™t work out really. It felted about half as much as I wanted it to. Now, when I wear it folded up, it looks like some kind of weird Dutch conquistador hat. But thatâ€™s ok. Iâ€™ll just toss it in with my wash the next time so itâ€™ll felt a little more. I donâ€™t mind if it turns into a bitsy little hat. Itâ€™ll be cool.
Saturday I got my eyelashes dyed â€“ the single most vain thing I do in the whole world. Itâ€™s terrifying, and fantastic. I naturally have white eyebrows and lashes, and when I dye my lashes I really think my eyes look so much nicer.
What happens is this: you lie down on a little bed. She puts cotton under your eyes, close to the lashes, you close your lids, and she paints this dye stuff on them. She turns out the lights and leaves you alone (I always fall asleep). 15 â€“ 20 minutes later, she comes back and rinses, and ta-da! Beautiful dark lashes.
Now the catch is, this is illegal. As I understand it, when a couple of women went violently and painfully blind from using dye made from coal tar, the FDA had the oomph needed to get the Food, Drug and Cosmetic act passed. I think they eyelash dye question is decided on a state by state basis, but in NY itâ€™s illegal. That doesnâ€™t stop me, but when Iâ€™m lying there with my eyes closed I canâ€™t help but focus on the very bad things that could happen. And you canâ€™t, really, because then you start to freak out and feel trapped in your dark little room with your eyes glued shut. I donâ€™t know of surroundings much more encouraging to a panic attack than that! And this time was worse because they must have gotten it all over my lids, and they stung. It was good to be able to relax and fall asleep.
After all that, I filled my flat tires with air, washed the car (so much bird poop in my neighborhood) and drove out to Gabuloâ€™s margarita party with a couple of friends. It was super fun, and I mashed avocados with my bare hands, but the blended margarita which was legendary for causing one of Gabuloâ€™s Dadâ€™s friends to try to crawl through a pet door was just not that strong.
Sunday was a nice day. Matt and I tried out the New Manhattan Outback for some beef, and it was great, empty, and pretty much uniformly $5 more expensive than Outbackâ€™s everywhere else. And then? Went home, and did nothing. It was great.