The hardest part

I don't need you to see me,
reach me and keep me.
To stop me from doing something dangerous
I feel myself falling apart tonight.
Hold my hand and this bitter feeling may leave us.
I see my dingy hope glowing in the flourescent moonlight

we tried to work it out
and that's fine I guess.
until I saw
your knife in the center of my chest.

You're like a cancer
I just want to cut you out.
I thought there was something to save
because you could always make my day.
Then you started making it hell
And without looking where I was going
into this festering wound I fell.

I'd rather make myself bleed
than set myself free.
Because after you nothing will be the same
As much as I can hate the tired games we play
I don't know how else to survive the day.

Barely

My bathroom counter is littered with tubes, bottles, gels, potions, lotions, wands, brushes and god knows how many shades of lip gloss. I haven't seen my eyebrows au natural since 1997. I have beauty tools that look like medieval torture devices (the first time I saw a blackhead extractor I was a little scared. Then I used it and was delighted. It's sick, I know.)

Over the years, I have probably spent more money on makeup than food. And I'm not including pedicures, waxing, skin care, tooth whitening and hair...good God. Do not even get me started on hair care. Hair deserves it's own blog.

I know I am not alone in this pursuit of beauty. The complex relationship of women and makeup has lasted for centuries. Just look at the ancient Egyptians for example. Even in a state of mummification, they had their game faces on.

I say all of this not to win a vapidity contest. Nor am I here to bemoan the double standard society holds to women, that to be considered "beautiful" we must be made up to resemble some creepy baby doll sex toy while men get away with a shave and occasional haircut. And believe me, I am not here to declare my face a makeup-free zone. As usual I am just making an observation.

Recently, I was in my bathroom, surrounded by my arsenal. I had concealed and powdered, and was just moving onto my eyes when something startling crossed my mind: "I am getting made up to go see a man, who I've had sex with many times. Yet he has never seen me without makeup. Damn, the threshold of time it takes for a man to see me naked is brief in comparison to the time it takes him to see my face naked. What does that say about me?"

Of course I'm not saying that once you have sex, the glamour is out the window and my image should be permanently reduced to sweatpants and a scrunchie. I am saying that this particular instance happened at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning and we were going for a run together. Something is wrong with this picture, no?

I push the thought out of my head and continue to line my eyes and define my lashes. He appreciates that I am a woman who takes care of herself, right? I look nice. He doesn't need to see every flaw and blemish! I'm doing this for me, but also for him.

However, If I let myself think brutally honest thoughts, I realize that makeup is literally and figuratively a mask. Its a way of keeping my guard up, and making sure that no one sees my freckles, or the faint scar on my forehead from a childhood accident. It's one aspect of my life I've got full control of. I feel that if the makeup is thick enough, I've done what I can to ensure I'm perceived in a certain way and in that way, remain protected.

And that's really what's at the bottom of my makeup bag (besides the used Q-tips). The fact that I feel detached from my body, and while I'm willing to give that up from time to time, my face is the last frontier, the truest test of how much I trust a man.

It's vanity, it's insecurity. I know that. But it's the truth. My admission that I don't like to be seen without makeup is possibly the most honest thing about me.

They can do that?

Over coffee with a good friend recently, the topic turned to her current boyfriend. We'll call him Doug. He was a nice guy whom she met through mutual friends. They had been dating a few months. Doug was not exactly her type (This guy was as boy-next-door as he could be, and sadly, a little on the short side. My friend liked her men tall, a little mysterious and, well, just nothing like Doug.)The new BF also had been divorced, something my friend was not entirely sure she was ready to contend with. I completely understood the hesitation and figured poor Doug would last another couple of weeks at the most. Then my friend said something to me that is still ringing in my ears. I remember she glanced down at the table, then back up at me before saying, "It's like he just wants to make things easier for me." Her voice was at once puzzled and amused. She took a sip of her latte, and smiled to herself.

I was floored. I couldn't believe it. A man who's goal was to make her life easier? What does that mean? And where can I find one?

I say that without a trace of sarcasm. In all my years of dating, it's never occurred to me that a relationship can create harmony. My relationships with men brought me many things: sleepless nights, some new experiences and maybe a blog entry or two. But the concept of a man bringing a measure of ease to my hectic life was totally foreign.

After coffee, I sat in my kitchen, taking stock of the men I dated. After plenty of reflection I realized that each brought me some challenge, and I don't mean he just played hard-to-get. I mean a give-me-a-migraine type problem. Each had something that my better judgement had to contend with: A suspected gambling problem, majorly toxic family issues, no drive or ambition, or some other red-flag waving issue which eventually complicated my life in some way.

Not that I don't have issues; clearly I date men who need "fixing". But now that I'm aware of this hopefully I can avoid it. I know I'm never going to meet a man devoid of all bad habits and annoying quirks. However, if they're damaging enough to be waving a big red flag in my face, I need to be smart enough to run the other direction.

I'm pleased to report that Doug is still in my friend's (significantly easier) life. Their unexpected relationship taught me a valuable lesson: When I choose to make a man a part of my life, it should enhance my existence, not take away from it. Men are not meant to be my mission, or my fixer-upper project.

And now that I know a man is capable of making my life easier, I wonder what other tricks they've been hiding. I'm thinking it's cold fusion.