Vague & Ambiguous

Please excuse the vagueness of the following post.

Nothing is more frustrating than assuming you're doing well at something, and then you find out that's not the case. The worst thing you can do as a person, trying to advance yourself in some way, is to assume that you're doing great. When you make these assumptions, you're essentially climbing up this ambiguous staircase to your own "success". When these assumptions aren't reinforced, and something happens that reinforces the opposite, it's like somebody at the top of this staircase says "Hey, you don't belong here" and they kick you off. It doesn't feel like they're kicking you down the stairs, it feels like you're free falling off the balcony of this so-called destination: your idea of success that you assumed you had reached. What is brutal about this is I was being told I was great. I was being told I was good. But apparently I have taken these words and I've ran too far with them. Not only is this feeling frustrating, but it hurts both mentally and emotionally. I'm forced to look back and think what I could have done differently, what other efforts I could have put in to realize this dream, what am I doing that others are not, or vice versa. Now I feel like I have to start from the beginning, and climb these stairs, yet again. Hopefully it will be good for my character. But right now I just want to flip a table over and leave the building.

MegaWatt

I've never made a post from my cell phone before. I'm very anal about grammar and punctuation, so this might not end well due to my chubby fingers, auto correct and my small keyboard, but I've just found inspiration.

Right now, I'm sitting on a ferry, going from vancouver to vancouver island to visit my dad over my break from school. I'm settled in my little seat with my huge scarf on, keeping toasty. A few rows ahead of me are a family, with one special child. This child appears to be going through chemotherapy.

Fuck. Cancer. I hate it. It's very difficult for me to refrain from cryin right now. I'm uber emotional and have been thinking a lot about lost loved ones recently. This really seems to break my heart.

Interesting though, because my heart has already been broken. Losing family to something uncontrollable like cancer is fucking hard. It could very well be the worst thing ever. And after every loss, scare, and threat, my heart has managed to repair itself, thanks to good friends, family and faith.

Now what I'm thinking is I'm in need to GROW UP. This shit is hard, and my heart is clearly an indestructible machine, capable of more than I ever gave it granted. That child and that family are all smiles and laughter. Maybe it will last, maybe it won't, but here we are. Floating in the ocean. Floating through whatever. Don't cry, Julia. This family deserves a mega watt smile. Give it to em. But it will never compare to that child's. Or to Aaron's. RIP.

Beauty in the 21st century

Ever since I moved to Vancouver, I've been trying to take better care of my appearance. It may sound superficial, but I literally feel as pretty as Sophia Grace when she's rocking out in her precious little tutu. I, myself, have contemplated jumping about and speaking in a cockney british accent when I'm all dolled up, but I have managed to restrain myself.

A few things I've been indulging in since I've been to Vancouver is what I like to call new-age-what-the-fuck-I-didn't-know-this-was-a-thing techniques. The first bandwagon I jumped on was lash extensions. In my little bubble in Newfoundland, I had only heard of extensions for your hair... you know, the little scraggly clip-in ones, or fusions. Never had I heard of extensions for your eye lashes. I have the kind of lashes that are like little boys in the closet.. no matter how comfortable they think they are with wearing mascara, they just DON'T WANT TO COME OUT. By come out, I mean my lashes won't look long and beautiful, like feathery windows to my sarcastic soul. I made an appointment to Noir Lash Lounge and jumped into the world of lashes. They literally glue one little lash on at a time, and they last about a month to 6 weeks. The first time I got them done, I went for a more natural look. It wasn't for me. I needed in-your-face lashes, which is what I have now. Finally I feel like my little peepers have nice drapes, and all I can say is TOO LATE NORMAL LASHES, YOU'RE BEING COVERED.

Another thing (that I literally just got home from) was getting my eyebrows threaded, where I went to Bombay Brow Bar. This was an aloof thought in my mind... I didn't understand it, nor did I want to. It sounded proverbial. I kind of heard of it before but it was too trendy for my likes and I just figured waxing was the way to go. WAS I WRONG. I literally was there for like twenty minutes, paid the same price as a high-quality wax, and plus they gave me an eyebrow massage (yes... it does feel amazing) and darkened them for me with powder. The process also felt... dare I say.. kind of good? Threading doesn't hurt in my opinion, it kind of felt nice. Magnifique I say! I love these brows. They're my babies. I like em arched, which I've always been told they couldn't be due to my natural, and they did it with ease. They delivered amazingly considering my vague request: "Uhh yeah, I want them to be arched, but still really thick, but cleaned up on the top and the bottom, but not too fake looking, and I fill them in with pencil, but I don't want them to look too fake with pencil". I'm a difficult case. At least I tip well.... Let me switch that around: Well at least I tip. Kiddinggggggggggg. I'm good.

Also I've been TANNING myself. Not in the sense that I stick myself in a bed and bake for twenty minutes, as in I put on a tanning mousse to make it LOOK like I baked, but without any chance of unnecessary wrinkles or melanoma. I've been using St Tropez Mousse from Sephora, and I love it. Normally I cannot stand the smell of self tanners, but then again who does. To me, it smells like crackers... like nasty, rotting crackers that you mushed all over your body. But St Tropez does not bother me at all, it still smells (obviously, it's a perfume kind of smell) but I never smell like crackers anymore! I've shared the cracker notion with my friends and they disagree, it doesn't smell like crackers at all to them. It has a distinct smell, yes, but I'm alone on the cracker thought train. However, if you're looking to be tan during these winter months, use this. Order this. Go with it. Run with it. Bathe yourself in it. St Tropez also has lotions, but the mousse is easier to blend into your skin. Also, if you fuck up and come out looking spotty, which you won't, but incase you're inadequate, you can get their tan remover. Easiest thing ever, and it really works.

Now go out there, and doll yourself up artificially! Let's all be Sophia Grace! Screw that, y'all are Rosies. I'm Sophia Grace. One and only.

Where's the hanger

Andddddddd it's gone. The hanger, which was the ever-existing reminder of my failure to create an online fashion plus size blog, has been removed. I took it off. I don't know what will replace it, maybe a cat... maybe a bowl of ice cream... maybe nothing. I just didn't want to have it there since I don't want to subject myself to feeling that I have to write about fashion all the time.

I've also stopped sharing my posts on facebook. It felt so fake to me to put my posts on my wall every time I updated. I know for a fact that people only visited the blog because it was there, not because they were interested. One of my best friends hadn't realized that my blog was still existing merely because I hadn't been posting my shit on facebook. Upon rediscovery of my blog, turns out he/she hadn't read some of the posts that I put up on facebook. No harm, I just don't want to put it out there for people if they don't want to read it.

Yesterday I was throwing up all day and today I'm recuperating. Stomach flu really messes you up, doesn't it? All I want to do when I'm throwing up is scarf down some sweet icey cold ice cap, which I can't do, since milk is bad for you when you're sick. But it's all I could think of. Isn't there always something that you're after that you can't have because it's "bad for you" at that specific time? Oh, it's 9:00am, I shouldn't indulge in a glass of wine. I'm about to work on a client, I shouldn't have a cigarette. I'm throwing my guts up, an ice cap or a bowl of ice cream is out of the question. Next time I'm sick, I'm giving the world my middle finger. And I'm drinking that damn ice cap.

And that's how Sue C's it.