Archives for posts with tag: Appearance

Yesterday, I dripped ink from a printer cartridge on my pants. Actually, it wasn’t my fault. I was under the assumption that the cartridges are drip-proof. Alas, this was incorrect. I had 3 bright pink splotches on my tan pants to prove it. Since I was at work, I had no choice but to go through the entire work day with these pink spots glaring at everyone from my thigh (note to self: get a pair of emergency pants to keep at the office). I tried blotting with a tissue, but it accomplished so little that I found myself thinking snarky thoughts at everyone I’ve ever heard say, “You’re supposed to blot, not rub.”

Fear not, however, because I have discovered the secret method of how to remove ink cartridge stains from pants. I will now generously share my new knowledge with you.

Step 1. Ask Facebook what you should do.

Step 2. As per the best suggestion, dig out the old can of hairspray from the back of your cabinet and spray it on the affected area.

Step 3. Watch the affected area closely to see the stains magically disappear.

Step 4. Be extremely disappointed when the stains do not magically disappear.

Step 5. Wet the area thoroughly with warm water, pour laundry detergent on the area, and scrub desperately with an old toothbrush.

Step 6. Become dismayed at the lack of results and as a last resort, dejectedly fill the sink with hot water and submerge the stained portion of the clothing.

Step 7. Completely forget about the clothing soaking in the sink as you binge watch House of Cards.

Step 8. Be surprised when you go to wash your face and brush your teeth before bed and you see the clothing that you forgot about is still soaking in the sink.

Step 9. Warily check the clothing and…success! The stains will be gone and the only reminder will be a sink full of pinkish water.

I hope my expertise will be helpful to you. Happy washing!

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A friend of mine recently recommended the movie Saving Mr. Banks to me. We were having one of our epic conversations about the Oscars (3 hours on Skype, and that’s not even a record for us) and Tom Hanks came up. If you saw Captain Phillips, then you know it was an absolute travesty that he was not nominated in the Best Actor category. Seriously, the last scene alone should earn him an Oscar every year for the rest of his life. Even if he didn’t do any movies that year.

Anyway, my friend said Mr. Hanks was also fantastic in Saving Mr. Banks. In fact, he was so insistent, that I felt I had to see for myself. So I settled in with it last night at home. I knew pretty much nothing about P.L. Travers, the author of Mary Poppins, so the whole movie was a revelation (although be warned, the movie takes quite a few artistic liberties, as I learned from my research afterwards). I wasn’t a Mary Poppins fan before, but I am now. The whole story was wonderful, moving, hopeful. It is no wonder that I cried through the entire thing. Really. Pretty much from beginning to end. If I wasn’t crying because something bad happened, I was crying because something good happened. There really was not a lot of down time for me. In fact, I was watching it in the evening and I eventually got hungry at some point and decided to eat dinner. I even cried then. The tears streamed down my face and into my food, forcing me to literally eat my own salty tears. It’s attractive, I know. Sobbing and chewing. This is why I live alone.

This is not the first time I have made a fool of myself crying over a movie. When I saw Forrest Gump in the theater, I cried so hard my contacts fell out. I had to hold them in my palm and hope that they didn’t dry up before the movie ended and I could go to the bathroom and pop them back in (it was close, but I made it). My friend told me in the same conversation that one of his favorite memories is the time we went to see Atonement together. He said that there was a point during the movie where there had been a lot of noise and then it suddenly got quiet. It was at this moment that he heard me make a little gasping, sobbing noise next to him. A sound which reverberated throughout the silent theater. Yep, that was me.

But at least he was understanding about my crying. Yes, he may have teased me later, but it was not at all mean. Unlike Betty the Drama Queen. Betty the Drama Queen (one of my very favorite people and a great friend) used to just flat-out laugh at me during the movie. In fact, her laughing usually distracted people from my crying, for which I was suppose I should be thankful. BDQ and I went to see The Passion of the Christ together at the local theater. Before entering the theater, she said she needed to stop at concessions, where she proceeded to buy a diet Coke and popcorn. As if we were going to see a Michael Bay movie. And if that weren’t bad enough, during the scene where Jesus is being flogged, BDQ kept whispering in my ear about how amazing the makeup was. The whole experience turned out to be the one time when it would have been totally acceptable to break down crying, and yet I could not shed a tear. How could I? With frequent offers of popcorn and whispered exclamations of, “Oh my goodness, HOW did they do that?! Doesn’t that look fabulous?” I just couldn’t get into it.

Yes, many a time I’ve been close to requiring hospitalization after a movie. My earliest memory of losing it during a movie is when I was about 10 years old and my family went to see The Fox and the Hound. I cried my eyes out. I can’t imagine what the parents waiting in line thought when they saw me come out of the theater, eyes all red and puffy. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them quickly took their kids out of line and said, “Hey, I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go bowling instead!” But you know, I wouldn’t change that about myself. It’s rather cathartic to cry like that. I always feel better afterward, if a bit exhausted. And I’d rather be reduced to tears by a movie than by my own real life.

I have to admit, recently I have developed a pretty big crush on Tom Hiddleston.  Not on Loki, as so many fangirls have.  But on the actual actor himself.  He’s got a great smile, dresses well, lovely hair and eyes, an adorable laugh, and he just seems like an all-around good guy who truly enjoys doing what he does.  Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he has a beautiful British accent.  I always had a weakness for that.  I am crushing big time.  Have you seen his video with Cookie Monster?  How can you not adore him?

Anyway, this got me thinking about Hollywood Crushes in general the other night. I decided I would put them into 3 main categories: Looks, Talent, and The Whole Package.  The Looks category is the simplest to understand.  It is based solely on physical attractiveness without any regard to talent or public personality.  These are the actors that I am rather ashamed of finding attractive, even though most people would agree with me.  Some actors I would put in this category are Antonio Banderas, Orlando Bloom, and Chris Hemsworth as Thor.  I find these actors very pretty, yet sadly untalented. Or perhaps only good as one type of character.  Hence the feeling of shame.  How can I be reduced to such shallowness?  In my little fantasy world where it’s actually possible that one of them would be interested in me, I imagine I would be extremely flattered to be asked out.  But after a date or two, I’d realize that there was no way I could believably support and encourage him in his “art” and I’d have to break it off.  You know, before he got too attached to me.

The second group, Talent, is a bit easier to admit to.  These are actors that maybe aren’t stunningly handsome, but whose talent is great enough for me to truly admire them.  For me, this admiration actually makes them seem extremely handsome.  For example, Gary Sinise, Emile Hirsch, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Mark Ruffalo.  Maybe some of you think these men are really attractive aside from their talent. But attraction is subjective, and I would have to say that if I saw any of these men on the street and they weren’t famous, I wouldn’t really notice them. These are the guys that don’t make much of an impression at first, but if you give them a chance you see how beautiful they really are (talent-wise). “He is SO hot!” is replaced by, “He is SO talented!” The problem is, even in my fantasy world I’m sure none of these guys would give me a second glance (with the possible exception of Gary Sinise, who seems like a genuinely nice guy, probably because he’s also from Chicago).

The third group is easily my favorite.  The Whole Package.  This is where Tom Hiddleston lives.  You might also run into David Tennant, Colin Firth, and Hugh Jackman.  These guys are handsome, talented, and all seem to truly love the business of being famous actors without being arrogant.  They’re doing what they love and they know how lucky they are to be doing it.  They know that being in the limelight has certain disadvantages, but they don’t let it interfere with their joy.  They don’t punch photographers; they pose.  They don’t shove past eager fans; they stop and sign autographs.  With a genuine smile.  They don’t just have a pretty face or a great personality.  They are the whole package.  They are the ones I’d most love to meet.  And based solely on their public images, I think they wouldn’t mind meeting me.  In fact, I’m about to meet Tom for drinks right now.  I just know he’ll find me irresistibly charming.  In my fantasy world, of course.

In the name of fashion, many of us have made some…mistakes.  Perhaps you’ve bought a lipstick that looked nice in the store, but  made you look like Ronald McDonald when you tried it on at home.  Perhaps a dressing room mirror convinced you that you HAD to buy that blouse because “it really made your eyes pop”, only to discover in the more honest light of day that the mirror had perjured itself most profoundly.  And let’s not even get started on the haircuts.

I recently made a grievous error of the worst kind in trying to improve my appearance.  In Japan, it is the fashion to remain as pale as the day you were born.  I believe I’ve mentioned this before.  Part of the reason for this may be that the climate here does not lend itself well to tanning.  In June, it rains or is cloudy almost every day.  And when the sun finally emerges in July, it’s so hot and humid that you don’t want to go outside even to water the flowers.  You are forced to sequester yourself within the air-conditioning until at least mid-September.  So really, there are not many opportunities to get a decent tan.  For this reason, I have been using the Jergens Natural Glow lotion.  It works well.  It gives a very natural color and never streaks or spots.  Very easy to use.  But it’s a bit light.  Perhaps it was that small complaint which led me to try something new.  While I was recently in the States, I asked a friend if she used a certain brand of self-tanner, to which she replied no, but then gave me the name of another brand.  In fact, she gave me what she had at home of the other brand so I could try it.

Well, I got back and of course got busy and fell into my normal routine.  I forgot about the tanner she had given me.  Until she sent me a package with another, brand-new tube.  I decided maybe it was time for a change.  My friend had used it on herself, after all.  I read the directions, and scrubbed and shaved my legs in preparation.  Then I VERY CAREFULLY and VERY THOROUGHLY (this is important) spread the gel VERY EVENLY over my legs and feet.  Feeling confident, I went to read a book while I waited for it to dry.

Perhaps I was used to the fool-proof, overly-light Jergens lotion, which can be applied very liberally.  Perhaps I only imagined I was careful and thorough.  I have gone back to that fateful Monday night many times in my memory, yet I cannot account for the disaster that struck next.  I’m not quite sure how long it was after I applied the lotion (1 hour?  2?), but I looked down at my legs and was horror-struck by what I saw.  There, stretched out on the floor in front of me, were two legs that I would never have identified as mine if they had not been so obviously connected to my body.  They were streaked and spotted with brown.  There were huge holes, for lack of a better word, that looked as if I had purposely avoided them as I was applying the lotion.  While the tops of my toes were dark, the spaces in between were still pinkish-pale.  And the color that actually did show up was not a color that is seen in nature.  It looked like the melanin in the lower half of my body had suddenly revolted.

Needless to say, I have been avoiding skirts, capris and sandals since then.  I think I am on the mend, though.  After about 5 unbearably hot days of wearing jeans and shoes that cover my entire foot, it looks like I may be able to pull off a skirt tomorrow.  I hope one more good scrubbing in the shower in the morning does the trick.

I’ve included pictures below, but believe me that they do not accurately convey the ugliness.  Enjoy!