Hey! Hey, you know what I did? I went out and bought more of those Just Bitten lipsticks by Revlon and took a bunch of photos of me wearing them so you can see how they look on a darker person.

(Also, please note that this post is NOT SPONSORED. I will never, ever do that sponsored shit to you unless I’m super hard up for cash, because it makes me not trust bloggers. I paid for this stuff myself, and got paid zero dollars to write this.)

Alright, anyway, here I am about to post a lot more photos of my face, which is totally not what this blog needs, but I’m doing this FOR YOU. For you who hate the makeup counter ladies and who are not the color of a white piece of paper (so, that would be all of you), and thus cannot ascertain what a lipstick color looks like from the tube.

Here’s what I got:

Two of these are labeled as “balm stains” and look like crayons. Two of these are labeled “lip stain + balm” which sounds like THE EXACT SAME FUCKING THING. But it’s not! Of course not, makeup marketers of America. How could those two things be the same? The lip stain MATH SYMBOL balm is like a little marker on one end with a lip balm (clear) on the other.

The colors here, from fingers to palm are: Smitten (balm stain), Honey (balm stain), Victorian (lip stain and balm) and Passion (lip stain and balm).

I put the colors on lightest to darkest, hoping it wouldn’t affect my regular lip color, and I scrubbed off the lipstick in between photos very scientifically, with a wad of toilet paper.

This is the lightest, Honey, which also happens to be my favorite:

I know, you can’t get over my attractive facial expressions.

Do you see how the tube color looks NOTHING LIKE the lipstick? Yeah, that. This is closest to my natural lip color, but with a little oomph.

Next up is Victorian, which was the first one I bought and really, really like. I like the “marker” part of the lip stain, and it stays on longer than regular lipstick.

Please don’t be jealous of that zit under my lip. We can’t have it all.

This is Smitten. I’m not smitten with it, but I’ll probably still use it.

Hey! It kind of matches the tube color. Whoa, scientists must have worked on that one.

And here is one I DO NOT LIKE. I do not know why I thought this would look good on me. It’s Passion.

I forgot to look grumpy or hold up the lipstick tube because chickens were attacking my feet looking for meal worms. That look in my eyes is the look I have before my fight-or-flight reflexes kick in and I start kicking birds to the ground. They clearly did not appreciate Passion either.

There. Now. I have to go put my hands over my face for the rest of the day.

Full non-FTC disclosure: I look the opposite of good today, like I got dressed in a darkened wind tunnel, and was required to wear clothes only the legally blind could see.

Sachin woke up this morning covered in a rash. I had to rush Keshi to school and take Sachin  to the pediatrician and so I didn’t have any time to tame my hair, put on makeup, or wear anything that doesn’t pain other people to look at. Oh well. (Sachin is fine–he had an allergic reaction and/or a virus, but who knows. He shall be drinking a jug o’ Benadryl for lunch.)

Do you really want to know the components of this, er, “outfit”?

Sweater: Anthropologie

Shirt: Boden

Skirt: LOFT

Tights: Target

Shoes: TOMS

Also, did you know I have a lot of hair?

Yesterday I was reorganizing my drawers and found a dress I haven’t worn since I was pregnant with Sachin. I decided to wear it today, but after I put it on, it appeared that I was still pregnant with Sachin. Too bad I had to rush to school drop-off in it. Then I came home and promptly changed into an all-black slimming outfit that totally didn’t work at slimming.

Tomorrow is another day.

Sweater, Jeans: Gap

Tank, Scarf: Old Navy

Shoes: Rieker

Remember how very long ago (yesterday) I said I might take a hiatus? I think maybe I won’t. I feel a little bit like a friend who mopes about her love life to her friends (who constantly reassure her everything will be fine and she *will* find The One), and she cries on their shoulders and eats lots of pie with them and really appreciates all their support.

And then along comes a hunky bohunk (technical term) and she runs off and abandons her loyal, sweet friends. I’ve decided I’m never going to abandon you for a hunky bohunk (which in this case would be a renewed sense of self). I’m going to be a good friend who sticks around.

Well, unless the hunky bohunk has a really nice beard.

Sweater: H & M (old)

Mock(ing) turtleneck: Target (old)

Skirt: Old Navy

Shoes: Listen, the brand inside says “Remont Dorndorf,” but when I look that up on Zappos it redirects the brand to Rieker. So I’ll go with “Rieker” from here on out.

I am thinking of taking a brief blogging hiatus to finish other projects. But every time I have tried to do this in the past, I’ve taken, oh, a day? Two days off? And then I’m back. But this time I MEAN IT. Maybe.

Shirt: Gap

Tank: LOFT (really old)

Jeans: AG Stevie

Socks: Target

Shoes: TOMS

It’s snowing today (in Seattle you say it like this: sNOOOOOOO!).

AND it’s a day off of school for the boys, which makes me want to say lots of Hail Marys (the rosary kind, not the football kind) (I don’t know anything about football, fyi).

AND I finally have my writing mojo on this revision AND I can’t do anything about that until 6pm when Gregg gets home.

AND the chickens keep me from getting good shots, totally ruining any fashion blogger cred I had.

All totally typical problems.

(The sNOOOOOOOOOO! makes it a Pajamas For Clothes day.)

Sweater: Thrifted

Shirt: Gap

Skirt: Old Navy

Leggings: Under Armour

sNOOOOOOOO! boots that are totally gratuitous and unnecessary like celebrities who live in LA and wear Uggs when it dips to 60F: Sorel

I am BUZZING with happy today. And it’s not even coffee-induced happy. I’M SO HAPPY. I’m so happy I had to wear a yellow sweater. I’m so happy I woke up at 3:30 in the morning excited and couldn’t go back to sleep for an hour. I’M SO HAPPY.

I won’t dwell on it, though, because happy people can be super annoying. I’m sure my sullen and awkward state shall return shortly.

Question: I once in a while oh so occasionally get asked how to do makeup by other ladynerds like myself. Would that be something of interest? I am obviously not heavy on the makeup here, and I try to make it look natural-ish, so if you’re looking to be a future drag queen, I’m not your woman. But otherwise, would that be a yay or a nay?

Sweater: Anthropologie

Shirt: Boden

Skirt: Thrifted

Belt: Ruche

Shoes: Remont Dorndorf/Rieker

This is….obviously not the greatest most covetous outfit in the world. I mean, I’m not even wearing makeup. Or lip balm. My nails are kind of ragged, too, if you want to know the truth. But they can’t all be golden. Plus it’s cold and rainy and blah out, so, you know. Mr. Rogers wrinkly sweater and tennis shoes.

Hey, I had an epiphany this morning about getting dressed (am v. v. deep and introspective). It doesn’t really fit anywhere else, so I’m going to stick it here, for posterity.

So, I always wait until all of the other stuff is done for the morning (breakfast dishes, dishwasher unloaded, beds made, lunches and backpacks packed) before I so much as brush my teeth or wash my face. And I think this is what I’m telling myself by doing this each morning: everything else is more important. Everyone else is more important. And…no more. I’m going to try and get dressed first thing in the morning. Well, I mean, after I drink coffee. Priorities.

Sweater (which I totally tried to iron this morning with my hair straightener) (it didn’t work) (duh): Madewell

Shirt: Boden

Jeans: Gap

Ratty tennis shoes because you so totally want them: Nike Free

I feel pretty in this outfit and yet distinctly not like myself. Maybe it’s because I don’t own anything like this? Maybe because I’m always quirkily overdressed? Maybe because it follows a trend and I couldn’t follow a trend with GPS and a road map outlined with red? I feel weirdly grown-up in it, and even though it doesn’t cover my, er, areas that I like to keep concealed, it’s alright for a day of sitting at home and drinking pots of coffee and writing grants.

Sweater tunic dress thing: Old Navy

Necklace: Gift

Leggings: (not really leggings–they’re my running tights and are really, really warm, shhh don’t tell) Under Armour

Boots: Frye

I used to not like photos of myself. I’m still pretty blah about them. But I’ve come to terms with things I struggled with for many, many years. I really dislike my big, soft belly paired with my skinny legs. I don’t love my face. But I’ve come to terms that: it’s my body and it’s my face and I have them for a reason. I am me for a reason, and hating my features isn’t going to do anyone, least of all me, any good.

It’s made me a lot stronger, putting my face up here for public scrutiny. I can tell you now that in college I remember riding the bus to class and if anyone so much as looked my direction, I assumed it was to gawk at how disgusting I was, how vile I looked, what a mess I was. That had more to do with what was wrong on the inside, but I remember walking with my head down everywhere I went. I knew people were going to look at me and hate what they saw but I wanted to live in denial of that fact. I really and truly hated myself. (Sally also wrote about this.)

I don’t hate myself any longer. I don’t hate anything about myself. I may not love the fact that I have a big, soft belly or a gray streak or a few acne scars, but it’s not disgusting. If someone looks my way, I assume it’s either to be polite, because I happened to be in her eye line, or to admire something about me, not to gawk. It took a LOT to get to this point, to not wish I was born blue-eyed, blonde-haired, five foot ten with big pink lips and rosy cheeks and peaches and cream skin.

I definitely wasn’t this strong when I started this project in January. But seeing my face on my blog every single day? I…think I’m okay. I am pretty to me, and to my husband, and it doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks. I like my hair and my face and my body for what it is. And it’s not because anyone else tells me this. No one can give me the compliments that I needed to give myself. It’s just growing up and maturing and self-acceptance. And that’s good, because now when someone calls me fat (I’m going to try to love you anyway, person taking your mental garbage out on me, because I know you’re not really seeing me) or that I’m ugly, well, I know that person is wrong, and I refuse to keep my head down a second longer.

Striped shirt: Thrifted

T-shirt: Threadless

Scarf: Gift from R at Am Doing My Best

Jeans: AG Stevie

Shoes: Keen

(As always, you can click on the photos to embiggen–Wordpress crops them for gallery view.)