Let me start by saying, thank the universe that French tipped acrylic nails are on the outs. Finally. If you look at trends with nails these days, color is in! Not only that, but designs that are all over the nail and not just the tip. And, shorter, realistic looking nails, rounded and filed are looking good. I was never a fan of acrylics, I got them like 2 or 3 times, and sure they look cool and are fun to have long nails, but they hurt! A lot! Getting them put on, taking them off. And they ruin your natural nails (my mom tells me she wishes she had not done them consistently for years, because now her nails have serious ridges) and they just don’t look natural.
So following all the wondrous posts on Instagram and Pinterest of the amazing nail art that is taking place by individuals, not by overpriced nail salons, I finally took the time to play with some of the ideas. Of course my research paper hasn’t started itself yet. But I haven’t tried any fun designs in SO long.
Last time I attempted nail art I couldn’t find my skinny brush. So I set out to make a new one.
•An old bottle of nail polish that is dried or gunky (we all have one if you haven’t gone through your polishes lately.)
•nail polish remover
-I used a cap from a bottled water to poor the remover into
1. Wipe off the polish on a paper towel or something. I used a magazine page.
2. Start swimming your brush around in the nail polish remover. This part takes awhile to get it all out. I also alternated with warm soapy water.
3. Wipe the brush on a paper towel to get the paint off.
4. Just keep alternating until it feels pretty clean.
5. Separate sections of the bristles and cut them off. I did small sections so I could feel out how small I wanted.
So I tried out some fun designs: leopard, heart, glitter fade, and ombré stripes. I remember in 6th grade when I went to friends’ houses to paint nails being faced with the inability to choose a color, because they usually had more than me and of course different colors. So I would paint all my nails different colors, much to the frowning of my mom. The same thing happened a month or so ago when I my friend and I had a ladies night of cupcake baking, mimosas, and nails. She had probably 3 times as many colors as me, so of course I couldn’t decide again.
Today I figured I would give in to my inner child and just try them all.
The words flutter across the dark sky. A large white banner holds those words in big and bold letters. I find myself chuckling at the irony as I stand on the crowded sidewalk of Mill Ave on St. Patrick’s day. Less than half a mile down the street is Arizona State, and most of these people probably attend the university or have at some point. I think about the words individually as a girl I don’t know, but who is with the friend that we came to meet, stumbles around with her cigarette coming inches from burning me in the leg at any moment. Does Tempe use this slogan to pretend to be something else? A college party town with less going for them in other entertainment departments than the state Capitol next to it. Around the corner at ASU, there is plenty of learning taking place, 70k students enroll in some program or another.
4 years ago I would have given anything to be where I stood tonight. (except with the girl having no control over the hand that held the lit cigarette.) Amongst my peers, drinking, having a good time, what more could I want. And at that age, opportunity to feel this way was not readily available. I now stand here, surrounded by people doing just that, feeling like a complete outsider, and not feeling any connection to my environment.
Had I had 3 more drinks in me, I could have felt similar; carelessly throwing my head back in uncontrollable laughter. But I didn’t. I was “with” people I didn’t know, 75% of them too drunk to even know that we had joined their party. (to fill in a blank, my boyfriend and I met up with one of his friends who was out with 4 girls) We stood in line to get into a bar for 20 minutes, only to abruptly be led put by the drunk girls in less than 10 minutes after I got my drink. What seemed like an aimless wander came to a point at a sandwich shop. In my way too sober state, I was miserable with the circumstance. It’s one thing to meet new people, but there was zero interaction here. My night was now being dictated by drunk 21 year old’s I didn’t know and who didn’t know me. The independent woman half of my brain told me to just take the light rail home, and the other side, that acknowledged all of the bad things that can happen told me to call my mom to pick me up.
A night that commenced on its original place, the tavern down the street from my apartment and off the light rail stop, I sat on a barstool watching completely I edited Girls Gone Wild infomercials. Despite the silence taking place between me and my partner, my guilt that he left with me, and anger that our first St.Patty’s day together had as much fun as a tire fire, I was far more comfortable there. No one was drunkenly grinding in outfits that were skimpier than the 7 I had earlier vetoed on myself, I could just sit with my can of cheap beer.
I continued contemplating the words. I learn every day I live here, sometimes it’s something beneficial and sometime’s it’s what I should stop doing. Living is what I struggle with. I moved here to live more, but I have found myself crawling deeper inside of myself. Growing is what I never expected to do; growing out of myself, my city, and my lifestyle.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day.