As I write this, I'm preparing to attend the Daytime Emmy Awards.
A show I worked on, "Project Mc2," was nominated for best children's series. Amid all the hugs and excitement is a strain of panic. No, I'm not worried about whether or not we win. This show was such a collaborative labor of love that I truly feel like a winner already. I'm not worried about getting star-struck or whether I will trip on my way to the stage — though knowing me, I should be. I'm worried about what to wear. Joan Rivers is haunting me.
I hate being dressed up. Hate it. I cared little about what I wore on my wedding day and even less about what I wore to prom. These days spent with pampering and pretty-making fill me with dread. And yet. And yet. This time, it's the Emmys. As a young woman, I didn't fantasize about my wedding day or the prom. I fantasized about the red carpet. So this week, I engaged in a ritual I have thus far managed to avoid and often ridiculed. This week, I engaged in beautification.
Well, I tried to engage in beautification.
—Juice cleanse. I'm still carrying quite a bit of baby weight, so I asked my friends whether they had any fast, if not permanent, weight-loss tricks. "Juice cleanse" was the unanimous answer. I had done a starvation cleanse once before, when I was 20 years old. For a week, I had consumed nothing but water and tea. My roommates had told me I'd feel wonderful during it and afterward. My roommates were evil butt-faced liars. I was miserable. I had dreams about Snickers bars. And nightmares about Snickers. And waking dreams about Snickers. And the weird thing is that I hate Snickers. Hands down the worst candy bar there is. But I'd survived, so I thought I could do it again.
On Monday, I bought the juices. On Tuesday, I suffered through the red and green juices. On Wednesday, I washed down the yellow juices with three slices of leftover pizza and a mug of wine. On Thursday, I drank mimosas, which totally counts. On Friday, I ordered cheesesteaks and took my dress in to be let out so the zipper would close. All in all, a fairly successful cleanse.
—Makeup. One of my best friends from high school was visiting last weekend, so I took the opportunity to have her help me buy makeup, seeing as everything I owned was old and probably riddled with parasites and disease. My black mascara was very likely holding the bubonic plague in its bristles. And it's a good thing I had her help, because the makeup aisle is more confusing than Middle Eastern politics.
Me: This is a pretty eye shadow.
Friend: That's foundation.
Me: It's green.
Friend: What are you doing now?
Me: Trying out this sparkly nail polish. But it's not really sticking to my nails.
Friend: That's because it's lip gloss.
Me: Then why does it come with a mini brush?! Here, I found the lipstick crayon color I was looking for. Let's get out of here.
Friend: We can't.
Me: Why not?
Friend: Because that's eye shadow.
—High heels. I am 5 feet 9 inches tall and a klutz, so I never really learned how to walk in high heels. This occasion, however, called for it. I headed to DSW and tried on pair after pair of shoes, trying to find one that offered lots of support and comfort and was not likely to cause a Jennifer-Lawrence-tripping-on-the-stairs-to-accept-her-Oscar moment. I found a cute pair of kitten heels. I took a stroll around the store, feeling quite confident. A little girl pointed to me and said I looked like a baby giraffe. I bought flat sandals instead.
—Facial. I know I should, but I don't use face cream or lotion. I barely remember to wear sunscreen in the summer months, but last night, in preparation for the Emmys, I made a homemade facial of brown sugar, lemon juice and honey. I scrubbed it into my face. Washed it off. Then I rubbed avocado into my face. I'm not sure whether the facial worked, but the dinner and cocktail I made with the leftovers were delicious.
As red carpet-ready as I'll ever be, it's time to start worrying about what really matters: not getting a paper cut from handling the winner's envelope. Those things really hurt!
Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. To find out more about Katiedid Langrock and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.
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