A Wafting Sadness

He was the happiest man with the saddest eyes. From time to time, as I'm going about my day, the thought crosses my consciousness that there will never be another Robin Williams film to make me laugh and feel.

I was standing in the accessories section of the Irvine Spectrum Target. It was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday; I was unemployed and wandering aimlessly, calmly.  "Robin Williams is dead. Yeah, Killed himself" is how a stranger in the next section chose to break the news to her friend on the other end of the telephone. She almost sounded excited to be the bearer of such news - she had beat her friends to TMZ that morning and was being rewarded. I remember stopping dead in my tracks, my heart doing that thing where it skips a beat and plummets to your butt. "Was she serious? Surely she was just joking. I didn't hear what I thought I heard, did I?" I quickly went to my phone for answers - I don't have news apps, nor do I frequent Twitter so I had received no alerts. Sure enough, as soon as I opened Safari, the statement of the wretched woman in the next section was confirmed.

When my brothers and I were little, our dad used to take us down to the beach on Saturday mornings to let our mum sleep in. We'd get breakfast, play on the rocks, run away from the crashing waves, and return home absolutely exhausted to a well rested mummy. We had this giant, poofy, faded, brown corduroy sectional sofa in our family room so upon returning from the beach, in a parental effort to keep the mellow Saturday vibes going, we'd put on a movie. The five of us would curl up on the big comfy couch Bear Cub style. Bear Cubs is just as you're picturing it: nestled and curled up amongst one another like bears in a den, we found our resting positions. Mom's curly spot (that little pocket created behind the legs when you curl up while laying down) was the hot ticket - you had to claim that one fast! The movie would begin. The movie was Hook. As we grew older, the movie transitioned to Fern Gully, then Aladdin, and Mrs. Doubtfire, until finally we were old enough for films like Good Morning Vietnam, Dead Poets Society, and The Birdcage. The Bear Cubs portion of the movie-watching experience may have faded, but the togetherness never did (and still hasn't).

I could go on talking about all the instances, big and small, where his movies effected my youth, but I'll leave it at that one - perhaps the most profound.

Thank you, Robin, for enriching the lives of my family!

Don't Forget: We're Animals Too

I had both a manicure appointment and a facial appointment today (rough life, I know). First up was the manicure. As I sat in my super comfy chair, lavender scented neck pillow perfectly adjusted, it occurred to me what an absurd act this was and how silly it is that we consider ourselves completely different from animals. I show up to some building, sit down in a chair and soak my extremities in preparation for someone else to cut, scrape, pick, file, buff and moisturize me. How is that any different than 3 or 4 monkeys hanging out on a tree branch, running a mite-picking train? Answer: it's not; but the monkeys don't pay for their services so they've got a one-up on us in this regard.

Next stop was a "Cleansing Refresher Facial" guaranteed to leave me feeling hydrated and nourished. I laid down on a table and for about 45 minutes some lady spread about 8 different types of goop all over my face, pausing only to pinch the dirt from my pores. I couldn't hold back my chuckle as she was squeezing my nose because the act just seemed so incredibly comical - that I would pay someone (a pretty penny at that) to wash and squeeze my face.

Paying money to get picked clean. Humans are weird.

Eye Don't Get It

There's a lot of beauty trends out there these days - you've got your fake tans, your gel manicures, your ombre hair coloring and a billion other ways of beautifying one's outsides - but the one that confuses me the most; the one that blows my mind; the one that makes me question where the human race is headed...is eyelash extensions. Eyelash extensions?!?! When did mascara stop being enough? There are over 50 types of mascara out there, each promising an enhancing quality more superior than the last, and suddenly that's not enough? Suddenly thicker, longer, more voluminous lashes via a few quick flicks of the wrist is too "I can't even" for today's happening ladies?!

Here's my qualms with eyelash extensions:
1.) It's not cheap. Sure there are $10 options, but a legit session can cost you about $75. Which leads me to my next qualm...
2.) It's not permanent. You have to perform "eyelash upkeep!" Ain't nobody got time for that. Hell, ain't nobody got the shekels for that - at $75 bucks a pop, every 6 weeks, you're looking at about $700 a year for 10mm of hair! Which leads me to my next qualm...
3.) They're not even that noticeable! I mean, it's literally 10mm in length and people often still have to resort to mascara to enhance their synthetic lashes even further.

What the what, people! Maybe if we band together and promise to never judge each other by one's eyelash length and volume, we can kill the need for such a silly industry. Humans are weird.

Sometimes, at Weird Times, I Feel Like a Grownup

Have you ever been in the midst of some menial, everyday task that you've completed a thousand times before, but on this one particular occasion, for whatever reason, a wave of adulthood washes over you? Allow me to provide an example:

The other day I was driving home from work. I was coming upon the gas station near my house and I thought to myself, "better fill up so I can drive straight to work in the morning." No big deal, right? It's just gas. Anyway,  I pulled in, popped my gas tank door, swiped my credit card, selected my grade, and began filling up. As I sat in my car, waiting for that clicky-clunk noise to jolt me back from my daze, I drifted off into thoughts of my adultness. I made a pro-active decision to fill up now, rather than in the morning when I could be in a rush; I paid for the gas on a credit card that I responsibly pay off in full each month, with money I make at a job I am good at. I even emptied the trash from my cup-holders and cleaned my windshield.

Now I've completed this exact task at least a thousand times in my life, but for whatever reason, on this occasion, I gave myself a pat on the back for being a responsible, upstanding member of adult society. I then went home and had Ritz crackers with cream cheese and a Diet Coke for dinner like any responsible adult.