The Acrylic Artist

I would love to believe that I am a 'changed woman' post breakup (almost a year now, if the rule of SATC still applies I've got about one more month until I'm supposed to be over it) and as hard as I've tried to prove to other people that I am.. I learned today that I am still the same old Miranda. The same downer addicted Miranda. (At least it's not heroin.) Don't worry, I'm well on my way.

I ran out of illegaly purchased prescriptions about a month ago, and everyday since then has been the worst day of my life. The only way I've even been able to get through each and every day is all thanks to a little friend I like to call BOURBON. (Bourbon in the mornings, bourbon in the evenings, bourbon at homework time.) Today at school the anxiety and depression finally got to me. I was ACKtually repremanded. For being.. get this.. NEGATIVE. (Who, lil ol me?!)

Ever since school started I have been irregularly nice and happy to all of the students at beauty school. Not because I was happy to be there, but because I was the tiniest bit thankful to have human interaction with someone/anyone other than my grandmother. I guess I stopped caring about that today because I was in the worst mood ever. (Worse than the time I saw those two pink plus signs.)

I refuse to do anything I'm not good at. Which is why I tend to stick to what I know. I absolutely hate when someone is better at something than I am. I'm not good at very many things, which is why I always have to be absolutely perfect at whatever it is I AM doing. Well, acrylics are NOT my thing. After we took THREE, I repeat THREE tests this morning (one of which I got 100% on, the other tw0 99%) we started filling in acrylics on dummy hands. The hands mind you, are rubber and are very uncomfortable and awkward to hold/practice on. Obviously I wasn't very good at it. So I got.. quiet. (When I'm mad I get quiet)

Ontop of the "I can't fill acrylics, I'm worthless" feeling, another girl in the class would not shut her trap about how good' she was at it. OK, fine, she was better at it than I was, but she wasn't GREAT at it. But she thought she was. Now this girl, is a 21 year old Mexican baby mama from L.A. That alone should tell you what I'm putting up with. She is extremely loud, and always extremely wrong. About everything. Having to listen to her for 8 hours straight threw me over the edge. My teacher caught me rolling my eyes when I heard the baby mama talking about not believing in adopting dogs from the pound and wanting to breed her dog with someone else's. That's when my teacher told me I need to have a better attitude about nails and that I'm actually good at it and I can only get better through practice. That was it. I'd had it.

"Hunny, I was not rolling my eyes at YOU. Even though it is obvious that you agree with her. Ignorance comes to mind. Now, I have not complained one time. I have not huffed, I have not puffed. I have been following each and every one of your rules and I have been doing my in class work all day long without so much as a peep. I can't say the same for B***, so I'm not sure what the issue is here."

After that, her attitude toward me completely changed. I now get the feeling she isn't a fan of mine. I'm not exactly sure why, but I'm going to give my sassiness a 10 for the day.

I've stopped fighting with myself. Negative IS me.

XXXO
Miranda

Manicures, Pedicures, Acrylics, Oh My!

I'm just going to go ahead and say this right now. I got a manicure and a pedicure today. AT THE SAME TIME. AT SCHOOL.

I guess I'm a fan of the French tip

I would post a picture of my pedi (which are white french tip) but then there's that weird foot creep out thing I have. Which brings my to my next subject.

I gave a fellow student a pedicure today. That means I TOUCHED A FOOT. Two feet actually! All of my friends should know how big of a deal that is for me. When I think of feet I think of slimy, gooey, wrinkled, overgrown toe nails and any other vomit enducing images you can think of. The last foot I touched was my ex boyfriends and only because I knew it was going to lead to sex. Which it did. (Surprisingly, that was also the last time. Huh..) I wasn't creeped out once I actually started, which came as a surprise. Just thinking about it made me want to cut my hands off. (I'm talking about the pedicure now..) I just might be getting the hang of this. (But apparently not this whole dating scene, because my last date has failed to return the text which I so graciously sent him. Two days ago.)

You may recall the Mexican woman I talked about in my first/previous post,.. she's even worse than I thought! Her most memorable line of the day: "I used to hate my daughter. She was conceived through rape. I don't want her. Once I almost broke her arm. Left her with hand damage." I'm. Not. Making. This. Up. She just went and shared this information with us while she was giving a pedicure. Quite the chatter box, that one. She also told the teacher she didn't know what she was talking about and that we all called her a bitch. Something that none of us ever said. GOD, she's worse than that guy that was in one of my classes in high school that said I had Kankles.

My only complaint about school so far, besides the Latina and the fact that it's 8.5 hours a day, is that we have to study chemistry, and geometry, and all those other things I would have failed in high school if not for my sexuality. Today we learned how to make salt. Reeeeeally?

OH! AND! We had our first two tests today. On one I got 99% and the other 89%.. but only because I mixed up Solvent with Astringent. I need flashcards.

Today, I also found out I got a job at DC Shoes. (My plan to marry Rob Dyrdek is now in play..)

XXXO

Miranda

And Introducing..

I wanted to drop out before it even began.

The only things I've ever been good at are making inappropriate comments in the most appropriate of times, putting underwear on backwards (yes, even thongs) only to realize it hours later, baby bashing, and eating jars of Claussen pickles in one sitting. I may be wrong (and usually I am) but making a lucrative career out of pickle eating doesn't sound practical. Like having children.

After working at a videostore for two and a half years I realized I needed a trade. One particular thing I could potentially be semi solid at, and make money off of. (Obviously the first thing that came to mind was illegal [in most states] and only seemed appealing when drunk and high - like most things are.) I chose the cliche path instead. Beauty school. You know, the place where all twenty somethings with parental issues and no hope usually end up. It was either cosmetology or the pole kids, and considering the exponential growth of my right boob, and right boob only (thanks birth control!) becoming a cosmetologist seemed like the most sensible choice.

Except! (TWIST!) I sleep in until noon, drink like a racehorse, dislike most people (everyone), have a foot phobia, don't like to be touched/told what to do (apart from when I jazz a man) have commitment issues because of my ex boyfriend (someone I enjoy referring to, woe is me) and I'm always drunk, broke and/or high. All things I would assume any man would want a woman to be like, but qualities frowned upon by beauty schools. In other words, I'm the exact opposite of an ideal candidate.

Because of a series of unfortunate events, I made the uncharacteristically wise decision to minimize my belongings, move to central California and go to beauty school. I'm a 22 year old caucasian female, living with my 65 year old grandmother, who forces me to make my bed every. Single. Morning. (And bars any food or alcohol from my room - one that is decked out in traditional Winnie the Pooh FYI.)

My school schedule is Tuesday through Saturday, 8:30am to 5pm. I have to wake up at 6 in the morning. (IN THE MORNING) and then ride my bike to and from the Institute of Beauty Culture, Inc. I'm only on day two and it's really starting to annoy. I share a classroom with an older mexican (Spanish?) woman who insists that the doctors in Mexico are better than the ones in the United States (because apparently we're "idiots")

This blog is to assist my sanity and help me to successfully go through with what I plunged myself into. I will graduate. I swear. (By the moon and the stars in the skies.)

On the upside, I got a faboosh manicure at school today.

Proof of my nearly unbelievable living quarters.

Hi, I'm Miranda and my grandmother thinks I'm seven.

XXXO

Miranda