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DIY nails: Better from afar

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A few days ago, I began my journey into DIY nail art.

It was a mess for sure and I realized that I wasn’t cut out for — well, tape cutouts. This time around, I decided that my next move into DIY nail art would be all free-hand. I paint. I draw. I doodle. I’m surely capable of holding a brush.

It doesn’t look that bad, right? From far away, I’m damn proud of myself. But up close, this is still a crazy mess.

What these photos fail to show is the texture of my manicure. Each finger has SO MANY air bubbles that it seems like I tried to give my nails a grainy texture on purpose. How do people get rid of these blasted things? I rolled my polish instead of shaking it. I used quality OPI products. Is it just because there are so many damn layers on my nails?

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I paid for this


Got a good glimpse of my nails while I was typing away just now. Yes, this manicure is on purpose. And I just got it on Tuesday. I was inspired by silver-and-pink Chanel manicure that looked very cool. Mine, not so much… I see now why manicurist didn’t want me to do this. It looks like the color has grown out.

Lesson learned: When I try something new, I’ll do it at home (aka for free).

The Replacement

After the humiliation I suffered when my awesome keychain was stolen, I couldn’t stand to look at that nub of a key for too long.  I found this keychain at home.  It’s not as cute or big as my shoe.  It gets lost in my jean pockets.  But it’s Squidward — my compadre, my SpongeBob alter-ego.  The quic-key replacement gives me momentary solace.  The message speaks to me and puts me at ease.  Om

Now please, go be stupid somewhere else.

Ommmmm

My public service announcement

I’ve been burgled.  Robbed.  Violated, even.

My office key is not attached to the same keychain as my car and home keys.  I like it that way.  I don’t want to have to carry around a pound of keys whenever I leave on coffee breaks, or what have you.  The convenience comes at a price, though.  I lose it — a lot.  Once, I went a month without my key until I finally found it in a jacket pocket shoved in the back of my trunk.
It’s a “big deal” to lose this key.  So I’ve been told by one person, the entire office must be re-keyed.  With eight individual offices, a conference room, four outside doors and dozens with access… it’s “big deal.”  All out of my pocket… so I’ve been told.

Consider that necessary background for the following story.

I leave my office.  Walk down the hall to the bathroom.  There’s no one there.  It’s morning.  It’s summer.  It’s slow on campus.

I place my key with a super cool Chuck high top keychain on a ledge near the mirror.  Proceed into the stall.  While in there, I hear someone else enter. (Sidenote: of all the empty stalls, why plant yourself next to me? sheesh. Well, that ended up being a blessing-in-disguise and I’ll tell you why later.)

Exit stall. Wash hands. Head for key… except. It’s not there! Shit! Ok, maybe I left it hanging in the stall. (I know, I know. That’s obviously not where I left it, but you think of all possibilities in these instances.)  Nada.  I check every nook and cranny in the near-empty bathroom for a good solid minute.

Then I thinkMaybe this lady in the stall took it. Ok, I’ll ask. Except, wait, I definitely don’t want to have a conversation with her in there. I’ll wait.

I fix my hair, as I wait.  I wash my hands again, as I wait.  I’m done waiting.

Think: I’ll head to my office and grab her as she leaves. Luckily, one of the outer doors are open and I can spy from there. Luckily x2, this lady took the stall right next to me and I got a peek at her shoes.

I chill out, all stealth Continental Op-like. I’m chatting with a friend in the office and from my peripheral vision, I see the shoes. Then, I see the whole package — frizzy blonde hair, high-waisted shorts, leather-braided belt, blue polo shirt… UCLA employee.

Think: I’m set. She’s a UCLA facilities employee. She’ll do the right thing and head downstairs to turn it into Lost&Found. Even though it was never lost, but whatever.

Friend says:  “Why don’t you just ask, ‘hey did you happen to see any keys in the bathroom?'”

I say:  “Because that’s not my style. And I’m not going to be as nice as you. Trust me, it’s better to swoop in after and get my keys.”

A minute later, I head for Lost&Found. The guy tells me someone did drop off a bunch of keys.

Me: “any with a shoe keychain?”

Him: “No. Only one has a keychain. This it?” He holds up a ratty yellow-and-blue UCLA keychain. Honestly, the kind that they give out like candy aka worthless.

I see all the keys she dropped off — about eight and none with keychains.  But they look like office keys. I tell him that mine was an office key and that maybe she dropped it off without a keychain.  He checks my number against the ones there, and comes up empty.  He suggests I go to the office down the hall, across from the bathroom.  “Sometimes people drop stuff off there instead.”

Walk upstairs and down the hall and into the second office I go.  Ask this guy if anyone’s dropped off some keys.  Of course not, that would’ve been too easy.

Shit. I start thinking back at how mad this one person would be if I come back without keys. I’m ready to say that it wasn’t my fault. I was burgled, violated. I did not lose them. And just to make sure I had rock-solid evidence, I go back into the bathroom and do a quickie sweep.

Stalls — empty.

Sinks — empty

Mirrors — empty.

Towel dispensers — empty.

Trash bins — empty.

Ledge where I placed my keys to begin with — not empty. Three rolls of paper. I go through the motions of picking each one up just like the last time. Then, I see it.

A lone key. No keychain. Looking like it had always been there.

I quickly grab the key and head to my office because it could either:

A. Be my key without the keychain, or

B. Be someone else’s key in one of the stalls, and at which point I’d be doing the same to them that was done to me.

It’s my key, yes. It opens my office and the office suite. But where’s my keychain, huh?

This beeyotch stole my keychain!!  And didn’t even bother to turn in my naked key with the rest.  Now all those keys made sense.  I’m dealing with a serial keychain-stealer. Hide your keychains, boys and girls. They are not safe. Unless, of course, they’re not that cute.

PHOTO: My fly Chuck high top keychain. How will I ever replace it?