This Post Is TOTALLY About Me. (Currently Working on a Song to Go With It, Though Apparently It Will Have Nothing To Do With David Geffen.)

You know what makes you feel like a total asshole? Taking close up pictures of your own eyes. It also helps to push a 3 year old off the bathroom stool because she is in your light. But wait! Here is my eye! MOVE!
I call this one "January 5th, 2010, with mascara." And below, "2 Minutes Later, Without." Riveting stuff, n'est ce pas? (Coming soon: I attempt to fashion farm animals from my belly button lint. Do stay tuned!)
So here's the thing: eyelashes are the new teeth. Because way back when in 1994 our teeth were ecru, ivory, corn silk stained with tea, our shirts sized too small for 6 year olds. Oh, it was a time. And then one day someone decided to get her teeth whitened and then laughed at a joke, making a woman passing by in the hallway feel as if her own teeth wore sweaters sold as "oleo" in the latest Tweeds catalog. So that girl then whitened her teeth, and so on and so forth until sometime in 2000 the 100th monkey used Crest Whitestrips and now we all smile like newscasters and drink our soda through straws.

My eyelashes were stubby. I mean, not really. No, they were fine... for 2008. But dude, this is 2010; nowadays people get eyelash extensions and mascara is made with boosters, packaged with primers, collagen fibers, stimulators, eye 'roids, wigs & merkins for mascara. If you don't have to comb your eyelashes you might as well not have eyes at all. Which is not true, but I caved nonetheless after a girl at work told me she knew a girl who had a friend who actually had to cut her lashes with kitchen scissors, and so I thought to myself: I want to cut my lashes with scissors! Wax my pubic hair and pluck my brows! Dye my hair, straighten it each morning, rub some $40 Moroccan hair oil through the ends and pull it back with a $28 chiffon flower headband from Anthropologie! I want looong motherfuckin' eyelashes, I do!
I call this one "March 4th, 2010 with mascara."

I opted to go with Lilash because it is cheaper than the others and I am too lazy slash scared of legal medical disclaimers to get a prescription, plus I have just never warmed up to a post-pubescent Brooke Shields, feeling, as I do, that her face is too square.

You tell me (if you can get past the 5 o'clock shadow of my Berts groomed Ernie), am I a natural beauty now without makeup, my eyes fringed as they are with parabens, colloidal silver and 15S-trihydroxy-17-Phenyl 18?
Although it would have been downright rad and somewhat scientific to apply the Lilash to only one eye for 8 weeks, I firmly believe that lab coats don't do a thing for my waist. Above is a pic of my other eye without any makeup.

Not yet convinced that I am a total asshole? Here's the clincher: self-portrait snapped in the reflection of the mirror of my lash growth stimulated eyes taken with iphone, and my fingers are positively twitching to make some sort of pun on the I-ness of it all.
*Side effects may include slight discoloration of the lid, possible patches of hair growth under the eyes, and the inability to walk past reflective surfaces without checking to see if your lashes cast shadows of Snuffleupagusian proportions. Not surprisingly, I have always been partial to Snuffleupagus and adore the little-known fact that his first name is Aloysius. If you have learned nothing else here, today, and you probably haven't, now you know Snuffy's first name and that his favorite food is cabbage. Which is probably why he lives in a cave far away from the more densely populated Street.

Here's lookin' at you,
S