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crazkoala

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Eyeplanes and Airlash Extensions

       There are three things I hate most in the world:

        1)       Waiting for Nothing

        2)      Being Poked

        3)      Plagiarism

       Having all three happen in the span of one day would be my own personal Hades, but having two happen simultaneously for an extended period of time is nothing short of a nightmare… This is my experience with Eyeplanes and Airlash Extensions.

       Somehow, through all the controversy, surviving a night in the same hotel room as my dad’s monstrous snore (only after a heated metal debate on which pillow to throw at him), and overcoming my own personal distaste towards the situation, I ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio—willingly.

       If I had gotten my way, I would’ve been back at home hitting bee’s with a tennis racket or something constructive, but when my mother gets mad… you bow to her will or die. So there I was, my mothers guinea pig for her eyelash extension class—“model”—she preferred to call it.

       It annoyed me to levels of extreme—see, I believe in (I know this is going to sound horribly cheesy) “inner beauty.” Things that change a person’s physical appearance permanently or for a long expanse of time, like plastic surgery; even colored contacts, irk me.

       But there was no backing out of it now—because before me stood the Nova Lash Lady. She was small and pixie like in appearance, with metallic grey hair cropped short and choppy, curly pink extensions exploding throughout, and a peppery ducktail swirling on the back of her neck. Flawless makeup covered her perfect, copper complexion, and the most massive eyelashes I had ever seen in my life jutted from her wide blue eyes. Her face was suspended in one, unmoving expression; something between grim and joyous. For some reason, I knew she was older than she looked. “Hi, I’m Karlene!”

       I was beginning to feel guilty for leaving my mother alone with this woman for four hours for the teaching portion of the class but what happened next made me really regret not joining her—for my own benefit.

        The plan was to go to the zoo, but it was cold and rainy, so my dad decides to do what he thinks is fun… as it would turn out, our ideas of fun were completely and totally different. We were at the airplane takeoff viewing area and the only living souls there other than the multiple grandfathers and their three year old grandsons. I found it darkly amusing. Four hours… thank god for handheld video games.

       Time raced forward and abruptly, Darlene and Karlene loomed over me sharp tweezers poised in my mother’s hand, a 500 Watt light bulb glaring behind them. It felt distinctly like I had been sucked into a horror movie.

       “Now, don’t open your eyes until I tell you or we will have to kill you,” definitely a horror movie. Shoving the speakers to my ipod in my ears, I closed my eyes—mentally unprepared for what was to come.

       In those three and a half hours of resisting the urge to move, open my eyes, or think about moving or opening my eyes, I think I lost the remainder of my already withering sanity. Three and a half hours of waiting… and being poked every waking second. To entertain myself, I tried to place myself in other imaginary positions.

       For a brief instant, I was in a raging battle. The ring of swords in my ear, the clang of armor. Fury boiled within me as I watched one of my comrades fall before me, I charged forward, blade above my head prepared to deliver a fatal blow when suddenly, the enemy delivered a particularly nasty blow to my eyelid and once again I was pulled back into the cold reality of my position.

       In my mind, I visited other places. The sky, a dark void, a candy factory, the post office. But always I was stirred from my half conscious state by the sharp sting of someone yanking an eyelash from my face.

       When it was all over, I was never so happy in all of my life to open my eyes. Crap, I was overjoyed when they told me I could sit up. I don’t think I blinked for an entire two hours afterward. The whole ordeal left me with a total of two things—only one of them helpful.

        1)       a fourth number to add to the things I hate most in the world.