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.*





Public Service Announcement: You May Know a Writer--Learn the Warning Signs!

Everyday, you see them.  They're driving in the car lane next to you.  They're in the checkout lane behind you.  They're sitting on the pew beside you at church.  They might be your co-workers.  They might be your family members.  They might even be watching...your...children. 

Writers are among us.  They're walking the streets, appearing to be perfectly normal human beings.  All the while, inside their normal-looking heads, insanity lurks.  At any moment, without warning, the writer's focus and passion can change from everyday reality to most bizarre fantasy.

What can the average non-writer citizen do? 

In ye olden days, writers were probably burned at the stake along with presumed witches and tone-deaf minstrels.  Since burning people, even writers, is now frowned upon, there is not much the average non-writer citizen CAN do.  Writers are, and will continue to be, among us.  However, there is hope.  There are ways that you, as an average non-writer, can protect yourself and your family.  Someone you know could be a writer--learn the warning signs!

1) Suspicious Notebooks.  There are many reasons people have for carrying notebooks.  Students carry notebooks.  Teachers carry notebooks.  Notebook salespeople would carry notebooks, but I'm not so sure that's a valid profession.  Writers also carry notebooks sometimes.  If you see a non-teacher/non-student/non-notebook salesperson carrying a notebook on a fairly regular basis, you should not automatically assume that this individual is, in fact, a writer, but pay attention. 

2) Vacant Expressions.  Writers are strange creatures that live in at least two different realms.  One of these realms is usually reality, and yet the writer's connection to reality is sometimes so loose that it can hardly be called a connection at all.  The other connections are to the writer's fantasy worlds.  Often, the writer's fantasy worlds might resemble reality, and other times, the writer's fantasy worlds might resemble a purple planet where unicorns make pie from magical wishing berries.  Whatever the fantasy worlds are like, the writer can visit these worlds at any time.  This means that while a writer is at work (almost all writers have to support themselves by working other jobs--otherwise the writer is known as a successful author, who is even more dangerous) or driving down the road, he or she might be somewhere else entirely.  Vacant expressions alone are not conclusive warning signs, as many people have vacant expressions, but be wary.

3) Maniacal Laughter for No Apparent Reason.  A person who pairs vacant expressions with maniacal laughter for no apparent reason is probably a) mentally unstable, b) a writer, or c) both.

4) Intense Mood Swings. A writer's emotional state can drift from absolute elation (when the writing is going well) to the depths of despair (when the writing is going badly...or not at all) in the span of about 0.021 seconds.  A writer might also feel the need to express his or her elation or depression by extensively ranting about his or her fantasy world to whoever happens to be in hearing range.  When this happens, invest in a good pair of invisible earplugs and learn to fall asleep with your eyes open, because these rants are known to last for hours and drive non-writers to the point of madness.

5) Talking to Oneself. Writers often talk to themselves--because they're trying to work out dialogue, because they actually believe they're living with unicorns who make pie, or because they've just completely gone coo-coo.

6) Delusions of Godhood. Writers are used to controlling all the things that happen in their stories.  Within the confines of their fantasy worlds, they determine who lives and who dies, who falls in love and who falls down a well.  When a writer's delusions of godhood cross over into reality, the only safe thing a non-writer can do is hide until the delusions pass--IF they pass.

7) Imaginary Friends. Writers often start relating so well to their fictional characters that they actually start believing they're alive.  If you know anyone who has imaginary friends, like, say, five Dragons that live in his/her room--then it's probably safe to assume this person is a writer.

You may have noticed that writers exhibit many of the same signs as people who are criminally insane.  This is not a coincidence, since many writers commit heinous atrocities against humanity within the confines of their suspicious notebooks.  If anyone you know displays any or all of the warning signs above, use extreme caution. 

If you encounter a writer in your day to day life, it is best to nod and smile and agree with everything the writer says (no matter how ridiculous and far-fetched it may seem), then excuse yourself as soon as humanly possible.  Do not, I repeat, DO NOT attempt to encourage them or engage in their fantasy world, or they will attempt to draw you into it.  The next thing you know, you'll be attending a magical wishing berry pie party and dressing up as a unicorn.

Run away.

SSA Ep. # 25: Would I Have Been in Dumbledore's Army?

Let's pretend Harry Potter is real.

Some people who are reading this might actually be gasping at their computer screens, shouting, "What do you mean PRETEND Harry Potter is real?  OF COURSE Harry Potter is real.  I'm pretty sure the owl who was trying to deliver my Hogwarts letter got eaten by a Kneazle, thus ending my magical education before it even started!!!" 

Ok, so for the sake of sane people, let's pretend that we're JUST pretending Harry Potter is real.  While we're at it, let's pretend that we're pretending Hogwarts is real, too.  Now let's pretend that I got my Hogwarts letter at the age of eleven and was accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  We don't have to pretend to pretend that part, because I can assure you, it did NOT happen. 

BUT if it did happen, I would have been Harry Potter's classmate.  I would have been in the same year as him, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy...you get the idea.  How do I figure that?  According to the death date on Harry's parents' gravestone, they were killed on Oct. 31, 1981.  Harry was a year old when his parents died.  Therefore, Harry Potter was born in 1980.  I was also born in 1980.  So I am the same age as Harry Potter.  (Did you know Harry Potter was 30 years old...almost 31?  The book version is.  Now you know...not that it matters...because MOST of us believe he's not real...).

So let's assume I got my Hogwarts letter and arrived at Hogwarts at the ripe old age of eleven.  I honestly don't remember much about being eleven.  I could barely tie my own shoes, so I'd imagine being on my own in ANY kind of boarding school would be an adventure...so the whole magical thing just takes it to a whole other level.  I'm pretty sure I would have been raised by Muggle parents, pretty much because I WAS raised by Muggle parents.  Well, my mom might be secretly magical...she's kind of awesome like that....

And speaking of my mom, I'm pretty sure a mama's girl like me would have a VERY difficult time adjusting to being away from home.  I would NOT have been placed in Gryffindor.  No, no.  I wouldn't be nearly brave enough.  The Sorting Hat would have taken one look at my cowardly brain and put me in HUFFLEPUFF! 

Back to reality for a moment.  Harry Potter didn't exist until I was almost an adult.  I didn't read any of the books until I was twenty-one, and by that time the fourth book was already out.  In 2001, most good Christian parents were telling their kids to stay away from Harry Potter, saying it was all about witchcraft and evil.  That encouraged me to want to read them (I'm always looking to read things that other Christians call evil--I want to make my own judgments), but I hadn't made the effort yet.  My good Christian parents?  They read the books and told me I HAD to read them.  They put the books into my hands and left me for a weekend to go visit my sister.

I mentally devoured those first four books within the span of three days.  From that time on, I was a Potterhead.  There was no going back.  I imagine that if I had gotten my hands on those books as a I teenager, I would have had wild fantasies about living at Hogwarts.  Shoot, I had wild fantasies about living at Hogwarts even in my 20s...but by that time I think I'd mellowed a little.  See, when I was a teenager, I latched on to whatever fantasy I could.  I did this because my reality pretty much sucked. 

A lot of that was my fault.  I realize that now.  And if anyone from my high school years ever reads this, please accept my apologies for being an arrogant brat.  People didn't like me, but I didn't exactly give them reason to like me.  I thought I was better than everyone, and I'm sure that attitude came out in my actions.

So yeah, I was unpopular.  I was a social misfit.  I still am, but it seems like I fit in better now.  I guess everyone else is a social misfit, too.  My attitude is a lot better now, at any rate.  But my teenage years were so uncomfortable that I sought escape.  I'm a little embarrassed to admit that my favorite fantastical escape was Star Trek.  It was bad....

But I can't help but think that I would have fantasized about Hogwarts if the books had been available when I was fourteen.  I would have imagined myself learning magical spells and going on wild adventures, facing Dementors and Death Eaters, and maybe even fighting Voldemort, himself.  The thing of it is, now that I'm older and wiser, I realize that things would not have gone like that at all.

I would have been just as unpopular at Hogwarts as I was in the real world.  I probably wouldn't have been friends with Ron or Harry.  I mean, getting to hang out with Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom would have been a step up for me.  I might have gotten along, to some degree, with Hermione. 

I even dressed up as Hermione Granger (complete with Crookshanks) for Halloween one year.

I always did well in class, so maybe Hermione would have been nice to me.  But I doubt we would have hung out socially...except for maybe the occasional study group. 

Oh wait...I always preferred to study alone.  I probably would have only left my common room for class and meal times.

And speaking of meal times, they would have been EXTREMELY detrimental to my health and social status.  I was a chunky child and a chunky teenager.  Well, the Great Hall is kind of like a magical All-You-Can-Eat buffet three times a day...and I'm pretty sure pumpkin juice wasn't that healthy.  I'm not picturing just plain old juice from a healthy pumpkin--I'm picturing liquid pumpkin pie complete with a large dollop of cool whip.  I mean, theoretically speaking, the magical food might have had some kind of calorie reducing enchantment...but I doubt it.  I would have gained even more weight at a school like Hogwarts...which would make me less popular.

And I doubt I would have mad magical skills.  Considering the fact that I was fifteen before I learned how to ride a bike and that it took me THREE tries before I got my driver's license, I'm pretty sure that broom riding would NOT be my very special talent.  And even though I understand Quidditch better than MOST sports, I probably would have not understood it enough to enjoy it.  So while the house teams were playing Quidditch and all the other students were down cheering, I'd have probably snuck up to my common room to fantasize about living in a non-magical world or something.

I also would probably suck at Potions class because, well, I can't cook.  And Defense Against the Dark Arts?  No way.  I'm pretty sure my Patronus would be a grub worm or something lame.  That wouldn't scare off any Dementors.  But...then I'd have more excuses to eat chocolate...which again...bad for my waistline and popularity.

The only place where I might have succeeded magically would have been Divinations class...but that's mainly because I like tea.

I have a feeling I'd be a Squib.

And when Voldemort came back, I'd probably just go home and hide with my non-magical parents while Harry Potter and his friends saved the day.  I wouldn't have followed spiders into the Forbidden Forest.  I wouldn't have fought for the freedom of house elves.  I wouldn't have tried to enter the Triwizard Tournament.  I wouldn't have trained in Dumbledore's Army.  I would have sat in my room wishing that my life were different...because the gillyweed is always greener on the other side of the Black Lake.

I would be a Hufflepuff, and that fact used to depress me a lot.  That's because I didn't understand how awesome Hufflepuffs are.  If I had been in Hogwarts as a teenager, I wouldn't have understood how awesome Hufflepuffs are, either.  I didn't realize Hufflepuffs were awesome until fairly recently.

I used to see Hufflepuffs as the left-overs.  If you weren't evil enough to be in Slytherin, or smart enough to be in Ravenclaw, or brave enough to be in the coveted Gryffindor, then the Sorting Hat would just throw you into Hufflepuff: The Leftover House.

But that's not a true representation of a Hufflepuff.  Cedric Diggory (before Voldemort turned him into a sparkly vampire) was in Hufflepuff.  What was so awesome about Cedric Diggory?  What's so awesome about most Hufflepuffs?  They're honest.  They're fair.  They're compassionate.  They're encouraging.  They work hard, and they care about others.  Eventually, and probably years after I graduated fair Hogwarts, I would have realized that being a Hufflepuff is a great honor.  That's when I would have known the truth that my life was just as it should be...that there was no fantasy greater than the reality of my magical life!

...but we're just pretending, remember?

Embarrassing Confession #4: RIBBONS!!!

I like ribbons. I like to wear them in my hair. A nice ribbon headband gives an outfit a bit of color and makes a great accessory. There's nothing embarrassing about that.

But the reason I like to wear ribbons in my hair is because Samwise Gamgee (not Sean Astin, but Sam Gamgee, mind you) implied that he liked it when Rosie Cotton wore ribbons in her hair. I want to be the kind of girl Samwise Gamgee would find attractive.

Oh right. He's not real.