lifebeyondexaggeration

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stranger

A Bit of a Binge April 1, 2017

In this crazy day and age when it seems like the only way to escape constant panic about the sad shape of the world is to either binge on kitten videos or boxed wine, downtime can seem depressing.

If you’re sitting down to enjoy yourself at the end of a long day, shouldn’t you be out fighting for equality and justice? Taking a long lunch with some yummy coffee? Shouldn’t you instead be educating yourself on the tragedies in Syria or I don’t even know what part of Africa is the worst right now so I’m not even going to try and name drop?

This blog took a dark turn, huh?

But it’s true! You could spend your lunch cleaning up trash in your neighborhood, planting a community garden to feed the hungry, or, if you hate being outside, knitting hats for premature babies. (more…)

 

Attack of the Pretty People March 27, 2017

I have a fear of makeup stores. Yes, I’ve worked in makeup before. Yes, I wear a pound-and-a-half of makeup for shows eight (or more) times a week. Yes, it’s just a store and I shouldn’t fear human interaction. But I can’t help it; I’m terrified of makeup stores.

There’s something about walking into the bright lights that show every flaw in your pores, and then the heads of the pretty people in black swivel toward you like they can scent easy prey. They descend like hyenas, telling you how they can fix the bags under your eyes, or the wrinkles you’ve never even noticed on your forehead, and you just want to scream, “All I need is eyeliner!”

I needed white shimmer eyeshadow for a show a few months ago, and I put off finding any for weeks. The concept of facing the black-clad pretty people was too much for me. Lucky for me I have a friend who is an awesome professional makeup artist. Really, she’s amazing, and you need to see her work. So I asked her to tell me what to ask the pretty people for. She laughed and said she could do me one better; all I had to do was go into the tiny Bare Minerals specialty store and ask for snowflake. So I did.

I walked right into that tiny store, and when a lady who looked like an elf asked me what I wanted, I said, “Snowflake!” a little too loudly to be considered socially acceptable. She asked if I wanted anything else and I said, “Just snowflake!”

And she put it in a bag, and I gave her money and got to leave. It was like a freakin’ miracle!

But then I broke my blush and my dark eyeshadow last week! (more…)

 

The Dirty Schavarny January 26, 2017

So, I had to take a plane ride by myself last week. No husband to keep me company and watch my bag while I used the airport bathroom. For those of you who know how terribly co-dependent I am, you know this was a trying endeavor.

But don’t worry, the universe provided me with entertainment. The problem is that the entertainment had to do with some rather sexual things. So when I say schavarny, what I really mean is a c-word that could be a type of chicken. Get it? Okay, moving on.

I’m settling into my seat on my super early morning flight. Already have my eye mask on, am snuggled in next to the window ready to try and sleep the next few hours into non-existence, when I hear a male voice behind me.

“His schavarny grew in her hand? I thought you didn’t read that stuff.”

…Okay.

The woman he’s with instantly gets defensive. (more…)

 

Christmas in Exeter Street December 28, 2016

Happy very late Christmas! I hope yours was wonderful!

Mine was rather like Christmas in Exeter Street. If you’ve never heard of it, you should read it. The book is about this house where everyone ends up for Christmas. Some by design, some by accident. But Father Christmas brings gifts to them all, and they have a great holiday. There ends up being eighteen children in the house, and poor Father Christmas has to count on his toes to be sure he’s left gifts for them all. The homeless baby is especially hard to find since she’s sleeping in the kitchen sink. No, really, that’s where they put her.

Reading Christmas in Exeter Street was a tradition when I was little. There’s a two page illustration that shows everyone sleeping in the house. There are men on mantle pieces, a pastor and his wife in the tub, it’s great. My sister and I would go through and count all the people to make sure there really were eighteen children for Father Christmas to bring gifts to. We still count to this day, like the picture might somehow change.

Going back to the book as an adult, there are some very strange things child me didn’t notice. (more…)

 

A Problematic Pie December 17, 2016

Sometimes the biggest deal can happen over the smallest thing… like pie.

One of my summers in beautiful Alaska, our food situation got strange. There were issues with different companies, such as who owned what building, but the end of the mess found us all eating family dinner at the theatre every night. It was awesome! The chef for the theatre made us a special meal, and we didn’t even have to go anywhere for it!

A bit into the summer, the chef decided to give us a treat and ordered us some pies. And the pies became a bi-weeklyish tradition. They came in a variety pack. I don’t remember all the kinds, but I know that the one we liked best was the cookies and crème pie. We would save that one for last or use it for someone’s birthday. It was great, a super awesome treat we all looked forward to. Until the sad day the cookies and crème pie was missing. (more…)

 

Missing the World December 9, 2016

If you had to leave the world, what would you miss the most? Not your friends and family (they can come with you); you have to leave the world itself. Fields and streams, mountains and oceans, even blizzards and thunderstorms must be left behind.

Would you miss the scent of salt coming off the ocean? Maybe the victorious feeling of summiting a mountain? Maybe it’s busy streets and rock concerts that you would pine for.

Nola Kent grew up without any of those things. Kept safe from the dangers of a failing world behind glass walls. (more…)

 

Please Ignore the Irrational Tears October 22, 2016

My doctor decided to put me on a short course of prednisone. No big deal, just a little steroidal help. I’ve been on steroids before, usually there’s some sort of unpleasantness involved. Like my face turning red, or growing insta-jowls, cosmetic things that are annoying-yet-temporary.

This time my face decided it didn’t want to react, so I have become a completely irrational human instead. Not like roid ragey—I’m not mad at anyone, not irritable or anything. I just cry. For no real reason, I cry. So since I can’t think of a fun story to tell without become a human faucet, I will instead enumerate the reasons I have cried irrationally in the last few days.

-I did too many pushups.

-My husband brought me two chicken fingers. (I had asked for said chicken fingers.) (more…)