Public Service Announcement: The "Shiner" and You

Black eyes happen. Sometimes black eyes happen while eating black eyed peas. Sometimes black eyes happen while eating black eyed peas AND simultaneously listening to the Black Eyed Peas. Especially if you're using your eating utensil as a microphone and then proceed to stab yourself in the eye whilst trying to lip sync and dance like you aren't, in fact, the whitest person alive.

That didn't happen to me. Really. But it could have. Fact is, black eyes can happen to anyone, anytime, anywhere. I went 33 1/4 years without experiencing a black eye. Then, one day, I was literally struck with the reality that I, too, can get a black eye.

Reality feels a lot like a hard wood floor.

This is in the early stages, before it really turned to the Dark Side and took over.
Honestly, I was really just getting tired of taking pics of my eye, so this is all you get.



So, dear reader, I was left with the task of trying to figure out what to do with my black eye, and I came up with the following information. That way, if you ever find yourself struck with reality (or a volley ball to the eye socket), you'll know what to do.

Step One: Assess the Damage (Make Sure You Aren't Dead)

In the case of my black eye, I cleverly injured myself in the presence of a medical doctor who was able to tell me I didn't need stitches.  Which is good, because stiches be 'spensive.  I'm not sure how much damage I caused to this medical doctor's house with my face.  But if you aren't sure how badly you're injured, please seek medical attention.

Immediately after the fall that caused my black eye, I vaguely remember shouting to all present, "I'm fine!  I'm fine!  I just hit my face!" as if that were no big deal.  Because the whole time I was falling, I was thinking, "This is it.  I am going to break my neck.  I'm dead.  Goodbye world.  The last thing I'll see is the floor rushing up at me.  Goodbye, floor!  Nice meeting you as you cause my imminent death!" 

I didn't break my neck.  I didn't sprain an ankle.  I didn't break an arm.  So, yes, hitting my face was actually one of the best possible outcomes.

I had to work that night after my injury, so I didn't ice my eye like I probably should have.  But I figured since I was not dizzy or acting abnormally (well, abnormally for me), I was fine. 

I do remember waking up the next morning and blinking a few times to check my vision.  Then, for about 1.5 seconds, I freaked out and almost screamed out, "MY VISION IS BLURRY!"  But...since I hadn't put my glasses on yet, this was completely normal.

Step Two: The Cover Story

Let's face it, most black eyes occur as the result of either embarrassing or boring events. When people ask, "Holy guacamole! What happened to your eye?!" they don't want to hear about how you bumped it on the open cabinet door, how your kid beaned you with a baseball bat, or how you hit yourself when you got a little too wild mixing cake batter with the whisk. They want an epic story. And honestly, that's what you want, too. Because seriously, if you're gonna get a black eye making cake, that cake had better taste pretty stinkin amazing.

Now, I'm not suggesting you lie. Just exaggerate to the point that almost nothing in your story has any basis in reality. The only fact you need to keep the same is that your eye was somehow hurt, but the details should be fantastic. The more fantastic, the better. 

In the retellings, make yourself sound as heroic and awesome as possible. Heroic. Awesome. Awesic? No. Herosome? Better. Yeah. Herosome.



And you don't have to be afraid of getting details wrong upon multiple tellings of the account. It's okay to change details, because the more the story is told, the more friends who hear and pass it along, the more likely you are to become the stuff of legend.

For instance, no one wants to hear that I was helping my friends Joe (I'm tempted to call him The Doctor, but I'm not sure how well that would go over) and Emily (both who asked to be mentioned if and when I blogged about the event) move some things to a storage building, when I was carrying a box down the stairs in their house.  I missed a step, and suddenly found myself trying to fly.

Now, Douglas Adams of "Hitchhiker's Guide" fame told us that flying is the art knack of aiming for the ground and missing. He went on to say that most of us, if we're really trying, will fail to miss the ground fairly hard.

Well, my right eye socket failed to miss Joe and Emily's floor pretty hard. 

It even bounced off a few times, for good measure.

But no one wants to hear about that.

So I have been telling people that about 300, no 500 robot alien Sith ninjas were attacking a Girl Scout. I went after them, and one of them got in a lucky punch before I sent the lot of them crying home to their robot alien Sith ninja mommies. 

That's not a lie. It's an exaggeration. There were people there. One of them probably had a Transformer or robot toy once. One probably took marital arts as a kid. One had probably once eaten a Girl Scout...

...cookie.

What's important is that I came out looking awesic herosome! And I changed some details with every person I told, so now this rumor is currently circulating:

Hey, I just heard that Ruth got a call from a troop of Girl Scouts to help them defeat an entire army of magical angry vampire zombie robot spider alien Sith Ring Wraith ninja weasel pirate Dragon viper monkeys that decided to terrorize an orphanage, so she took them on single-handedly and surgically removed her own eye to make into a rudimentary bomb, which she then used to kill them all. The only mark on her is a bruise she got when her hand slipped as she was surgically replacing her eye, which is still functioning normally, despite the bruises. And the only reason her usually steady hand slipped during surgery was because Phil the Squirrel threw an acorn at her because he hated how incredibly awesome she is.

Legend. Herosome legend, I tell you.


Step Three: Non-Cosmetic Cover-Up

Now, usually, I wouldn't even bother covering up such a magnificent black eye.  Every person who sees it gives me another opportunity to tell my cover story, which will only increase my herosome status.  But the other day I had to cover it up because I was singing praise team at church.  I wanted the people at church to focus on praising God, and not see my eye and think, "Oh, look at her eye!  I'll bet either the sopranos got into another diva death match, or the new music minister got a little violent with Ruth for singing off key again."  Neither of those things happened.  That's how rumors get started.  And we don't want those rumors started, just the herosome ones, okay?  Okay. 

So...covering up black eyes...

The simplest way to hide a black eye is to cover it up non-cosmetically. There are a few methods, but some work better than others.

Some people try the sunglasses method.

Sunglasses are cool.

Some people try the crazy hair method.

I'm invisible!



Some people do both. AT THE SAME TIME.

One question...am I ginger?

Sunglasses aren't always practical if you're going to be inside, so I recommend the crazy hair method. Of course, it helps if you actually have crazy hair.

I got your crazy right here.

If you, like me, were blessed...and cursed...with the hair of craziness, then here's what you do.

Arrange the part in your hair drastically so that a curtain of crazy covers up the offending eye. People will see the crazy, and not the black eye. It's that simple.

Works equally well with straight(ish) crazy hair.

If you don't have crazy hair, then just wear sunglasses indoors like it's a thing, or...try a cosmetic method.

Step Four: The Cosmetic Cover-Up

If you're a dude, specifically a dude who isn't in a rock band or some other profession that involves guyliner, then all of these tips might not be for you.  ...unless you are thinking about bringing the "Labyrinth" version of David Bowie back....  You'll also need a pair of tights....

...bad mental images...let's move on....

There are two approaches to cosmetic cover-ups:

a) Concealer:
Concealer is our friend. Even non-guyliner guys can use it. But, it only goes so far. Depending on the severity of the "shiner," concealer might only serve to cover up a little of the damage. Plus, let me tell you that putting makeup on a bruised eye hurts like the dickens.

FYI, the dickens hurts a lot.

b) Cyndi Lauper the mess out of the non-black eye:
That's right. Get out all your 1980s blue and purple eye shadow and go to town.  Just pretend that black eye is how you want it to look and make sure the other eye looks just like it. As the eye bruise changes colors, you can adapt your eye shadow. You can cover the whole black eye color pallete, from blood blister blue to putrid pus puce (I just googled it to make sure, and puce is actually supposed to be a shade of purplish brown, but let's just go along with the rest of the world and pretend it's a pukey green color, okay?). And if anyone gives you a hard time about your make up job, just tell them "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!" because, really, who can argue with that?

Step Five: Combine Cover-Up Methods to Personalize Your Own "Shiner" Style

Now, unless your hair is particularly crazy, you look REALLY good in 80s makeup, or you seriously think you can just get away with wearing sunglasses all the time (you can't, unless you're Ferris Bueller...or Chuck Norris, but he's never had a black eye), then you're probably going to have to combine methods to come up with a black eye cover-up that fits, nay, DEFINES your personality.

I can't tell you what that will look like for you, but I can tell you what worked for me.

I started, obviously, with the crazy hair. But the severity of my own personal black eye was too great for a mere curtain of strategically parted crazy to fully cover. The hair provided a lovely shadow affect that helped create the illusion that my eye was simply in darkness, and not dark itself.

I then LIGHTLY applied some concealer to the minor dark areas around my bruised eye, along with just a touch of neutral eyeshadow, some eyeliner, and mascara. 

When applying shadow to my good eye, I didn't try to match the intensity of color, but I used purple to at least get it on the same color scheme with the bruise.

Then, in a total switch up, I opted to use glasses (not sunglasses, but the regular type) to help hide the bruise. Ok...so also I was afraid it would hurt to put in my contacts. Because I'm a pansy. A pansy who beats up ninja pirates.

So, there I was. Crazy 80s hair. Semi-crazy 80s make up. Glasses. What else could I do but plan my whole outfit around my black eye cover-up?

Black button down shirt, hot pink cami, rocking the glasses, makeup, and crazy hair. Yep. This was my new look. The Geek Chic, complete with cell phone in the bathroom mirror.

Geek Chic.  Yes, I'm single, nerdy guys. 
I also like Star Trek, Star Wars, AND Doctor Who. 
You can stop drooling on your keyboards, nerdy guys.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I do with a black eye. And I rocked it like a legend.

Herosome!

*Note (not an edit, written at time of original publication as a disclaimer): My intention with this blog is to be humorous, never hurtful. If this is a sensitive subject with you because of experiences of bullying, abuse, etc. please note that this is all intended for humor, and the main person I'm poking fun at is me. I'm not suggesting anyone hide evidence of legitimate physical abuse. I'm just having fun with my own klutziness and making lemons out of lemonade.  Because if I have to have a black eye, you'd better believe I'm going to have fun with it.*





SAA Ep. #76: My New Pet

I haven't really had a pet in years, not since I moved out of my parents' house and haven't yet gotten a place that allows cats. And I would have cats. Because let's face it, I'm just a crazy cat lady waiting to happen.

But since I couldn't get a cat, I tried a few years ago to get a Betta fish. Now I had owned a Betta fish for a few years. His name was Gene Kelly...because that fish gotta dance!

I didn't name him, but I thought the name was brilliant.  He was a brilliant fish, in every sense if the word. Well, for a fish he was smart, anyway. He had at least a fraction of the memory capacity of Dory from finding Nemo.

Anyway, Gene Kelly the fish lived to be about three or four, which is a long time for a fish. Gene Kelly the man lived well into his eighties, and danced in roller skates IN the eighties...or seventies...whenever that weird Xanadu movie came out.

So after Gene Kelly died, the fish, not the actor/singer/dancer/God's gift to women, I figured I knew how to keep a fish alive for awhile.

So I visited Pet Smart and adopted the lovely Julie Andrews. She didn't make it through the night. So I packed up her fish carcass and returned it to Pet Smart. I wonder what they do with all their returned fish carcasses....

That night, I brought home Johnny Depp. He made it abut six days before going the way of his fathers. Sleeping with the fishes. Whatever you want to say. He was an ex fishy.

So that was the dark time known as The Week I Killed Julie Andrews and Johnny Depp.

It was also the week Michael Jackson died (the real one, not some fishy moonswimmer). So in retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to post on Facebook that Johnny Depp was dead, without explaining myself....

The actor, Johnny Depp, to my knowledge, is still alive. Captain Jack Sparrow did die once, but they brought him back. Incidentally, Captain Jack Harkness has got Sparrow beat by a LOT on ressurections. But who's counting?

And who's counting how many fish I killed? In a week.  Yeah. Even if I named a fish John Barrowman, I couldn't keep it alive.

I couldn't have fish. I couldn't have cats. I refused to make friends with the palmetto bugs that invaded my apartment (those things are harder to kill than Jack Harkness!). I had my Dragon-Muses, but they aren't pets. I'm more like their pet!

So...it seemed that I would be doomed to have no pets, no little friends to keep me company.

I tried to make the most of it. I pet sat a lot. I borrowed the dog of the kids I watch so I wouldn't have to walk alone. I talked to the stray cat that sometimes lives on my porch, who won't let me come near because it can smell the crazy cat lady on me. But...it just wasn't the same.

Then, one morning, I heard it. It was the strangest sound. Oh, how can I describe it. It was as if a giant witch had swallowed her own pointy fingernails as they were being dragged across a chalkboard while she cackled and simultaneously choked on her aforementioned pointy fingernails.

I had never heard such a noise, so I peeked out my window. And there he was, literally bright eyed and bushy tailed: A SQUIRREL!

He was squawking at some birds who, in his mind, were stealing his breakfast. 

But I soon learned that Phil, as I had named him, was not just a morning squawker. And he didn't just squawk at birds. He squawked at thin air, because that's the kind of nutty squirrel that Phil is. He's actually kind of cranky.

Well, I've realized now that Phil has claimed that tree right outside my bedroom window as his own. He squawks outside at various times throughout the day. It would be nice to think a handsome squirrel was serenading me, but truth is, he's probably singing for some cuter squirrel-type ladies.

But I wasn't completely sure.

Cuz, well, really, all I know abut squirrel love is from the squirrel scene in that Disney flick, "The Sword and the Stone." So, since I wanted to be a good fake owner to Phil, I decided to Google some squirrel courting rituals, you know, just in case the obnoxious squawking wasn't working for him.

It is, right now, in fact, squirrel mating season #2. Squirrels are too squirrelly to have just one season of love.  And Phil's eager, persistent, repetitive squawks were probably intended to attract the ladies.

If he had been successful, my Google searches led me to believe that the female would choose a male to chase her.  Then she would make sure he was chasing her. Then she would run away until either he caught her or she just got tired of running. Then, badda boom, badda bing, the lady squirrel would boss the guy around, the squirrel stork would visit, and the guy squirrel would be like, "See ya!" In other words, a pretty typical romance.

Single mom would raise her kids, kick them out after about three months (abut time, you freeloaders!), then look for a new Mr. Right (Now) to chase her.

Which is so not cool of cartoon Merlin, who led generations of Disney-raised kids to believe that lady squirrels mated for life.  Not cool. I mean, as a child (and possibly also last month), I think I cried a full week on behalf of poor dejected rejected red-headed squirrel.

But Phil, good ol' Phil. I think he's cute, but for some reason, he's just not hitting it off with the ladies. No wonder he's so cranky.

But if I know Phil, I know he won't give up! He won't give up squawking and screaming and chattering, not until he chases a fine lady squirrel right into that tree outside my window.

Right outside my window.

...I want Phil to be happy, but I sure am NOT looking forward to being woken up one morning by the sounds of him entertaining a lady friend.

Sigh.

Maybe I'll just get a pet rock.

And name it Patrick Swayze. He's already dead, so I can't kill him.