They Grow Up So Fast

Natural Beauty

Makeup, Makedown, Make It All Around

I've always had somewhat of a delicate relationship with makeup. I wasn't really that interested in makeup as a child because I considered myself a tomboy. When my sister and I played dress-up, usually the only makeup I was wearing was a mascara mustache. 

As I got older though, it became more and more apparent that I look like a pale dead zombie person without makeup on. I have pretty light colored eyelashes and not a lot of natural color in my face, especially under florescent lights. My mother used to hold me down and put blush on me before we went to church so it didn't look like she kept me in a dark attic room all the time. She did, but she didn't want people to know that.

Eventually I got into high school and I decided that I needed to start wearing makeup so boys would like me (spoiler alert: they don't care) so I starter painting my face of my own accord. One would think that, as an artist, I would be super pro at putting on warpaint, but alas. Turns out drawing on a paper and drawing on your own face are two very different skills. All the YouTube tutorials on the internet couldn't save me now.

I have the kind of face that isn't made for makeup. Firstly, I have combination skin, so finding makeup that doesn't either turn my face into the desert sands or turn it into a greasy mess is a challenge. Add to that the fact that, try as I might, I can't resist touching my face all the time, and you have a total disaster. Plus, somehow my facial features make it so there is a veeerrrrrry fine line between undead and The Joker. 

These days, I'm trying this grand social experiment where I wear gradually more and more makeup until I look so horrific, people actually think I look better without makeup. It started from no makeup:

"Oh, Jackie, you look so pretty today!" people would say. "Did you change your hair?"

It wasn't a noticeable change at first really, maybe a bit of mascara and some powder to put some life back in my face. But the comments were encouraging, so I tried to take it maybe a step further.

I have pretty beefy eyelashes, so I got a volumizing mascara, and people noticed! "Wow, look at your lashes! Do you have fake eyelashes on? How do you deal with that? Are those REAL?!"

I didn't usually point out that I can barely get past putting my hair in a ponytail in the morning, so why on earth would I bother gluing wads of Barbie hair to my face. People tend to overestimate how much time I spend on myself in the morning. I'm reeeally lazy.

Versus, without makeup, people would say things like "You look tired." or "Rough night?"

Nevertheless, the winged eyeliner trend came around and I learned that I could make my eyes look bigger with some black eyeliner and a wee bit of shadow. I've always  been self conscious about having beady eyes, even though my dad says I have Bambi eyes. He has to say that though, he's my dad. So, I stepped it up again.

"Wow, Jackie, you look cute today! I wish I could get my eyeliner to look like that. You're like a princess!"

Versus "You look sick" or, one of my personal favorites which a person actually said to me, "Are you okay? Because you look like you got punched in both eyes really hard."

"Wow, uh, you look fancy today! What's the occasion? Why are you all dressed up?"

Yeah, okay, at this point I'm trying too hard. It clearly took longer than usual to get ready and I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. 

Now, this is the part where things take a turn. In all my overcompensating, I start to cross a line. Of course, at this point it's semi-deliberate and also revenge for the black-eye comment. Here is where I jump the border between "lots of makeup" and "Snooki-face."

All of a sudden, No-Makeup Jackie doesn't look all that bad! Suddenly, I start hearing things like "You look so much better without makeup. You look so natural! You should try to go natural more often."

I haven't quite passed the Lady Gaga stage just yet, but I don't know if I'm ready to full-on commit to one of those air-brush contraptions or taking the time to actually bother to address the secret horror that is my eyebrows. Maybe there's a way to gradually work my way back down the makeup scale?

Either way, in the meantime maybe I'll try to stick with the old classic. 

Valar Meow-ghulis

R.I.P.

Rest in pieces, The Hug.

I drew this picture on the very first day I got my wonderful car, on July 3, 2012. We only had two and a half short years together before The Hug's shoddy brakes betrayed the both of us, and we ran a red light and smashed into the side of a Jeep (which came away with nothing but a substantial dent in comparison).

Farewell, sweet The Hug. Journey on into the Autobahn of the netherworld, where you can finally break 85 without making that unsettling groaning noise, where your paint has no scratches and your windshield no cracks. May you always have a full tank of gas, and may you never again be pooped upon by the birds that live in our carport. 

Go softly into the night. Heaven knows you never did anything softly in life.

THE HUG

2000-2015

Trading Habitats

At my mother's behest, I have also scanned and thus forever preserved one of my crowning achievements in middle-school science assignments. Hopefully you all enjoy it as much as she does.

"Jackie, are you scanning and posting all your childhood drawings because you're too lazy to draw new things?"

I... uh, what? No! Shut up. Read this adorable educational book I wrote.

Also, since this lovely note from a teacher was included in the same folder with this book, I thought I'd share it as a little bonus, so you can all see what a wonderful mother I have.

Even More Super Weasel

In case you thought I was done with Super Weasel comics, don't worry! There's more where that came from!

Today's collection samples a few of the shorter episodes, from three panels to two pages. That way if you don't have time to try and decipher a whole long episode of Tweenage-Jackie handwriting in one go, you can take it in short bursts.

The first comic for this post actually started out as a school assignment and probably won me some major brownie points with my history teacher (yes, I was That Kid in school.)

Now let's travel back together to a time when life was simpler, and apparently everyone wore berets...

Click the image to enlarge.

That is definitely the version of that story they should teach in schools.

The next couple of comics are a very incredibly brief explanation of how Super Weasel ended up with the responsibility of protecting an entire city, and a Mother's Day Super Weasel Special. 

These comics feature a great inside look at the inside of Super Weasel's super sweet titanium steel fortress.

I'll bet you've never seen a weasel wear high heels before!

And last but not least, a comic that I had entirely forgotten about but that made me laugh real hard when I read it for the first time in who knows how long.

It says "Continued" at the end, but I have no idea if it ever actually was, or where I might have been going with that. But the first half is still hilarious!

Also, good news, I found some very, very rough drafts of a heretofore UNSEEN episode of Super Weasel, which I shall be transcribing into comic form in the coming week. Prepare yourselves for...

The Attack of the Wicked Wanda Weasel!

Coming soon to a blog near you.

Super Weasel: The Squirrels (Parts I-III)

This is a story about Super Weasel's frenimies, The Squirrels. This story has an important moral, which makes absolutely no sense. 

I'm wishing I had the original copies of these so I could make better scans, but alas... They are lost to the ages.

Click the image to enlarge.

The Adventures of Super Weasel

Once upon a time, loooooong ago, before I had a blog...

 

Before I had a computer...

 

Before I drew pictures on the internet...

 

...there was Super Weasel.

 

When I was very young, I was assigned in my English class to adapt a fairy tale to my own telling. I think, at least... it was a long time ago, who can remember. How it started isn't important, what matters is what came of it. Even as a young child I was super hilarious, so that simple assignment would turn into a legacy that would last for decades to come.

 

Weasels have always been a family in-joke where I come from, so I always used to draw cartoon weasels all over everything. Middle school created an opportunity for me to channel those cartoon weasels into comic form.

 

Recently, while going through some files at my parents' house, I came upon the complete works of Young Jackie, and the Super Weasel legacy in (mostly) full. Even more recently, I acquired my very own scanner, so I can upload the legacy to the interwebs.

 

The scans are kinda wonky, because they're copies of copies of copies. It's like the King James Bible.

 

So without further ado, I present to you the first episode of the amazing Super Weasel!

 

Click the image to enlarge.

 



You Think You Know?

This post came to me today as I was eating leftover soup out of a mixing bowl and staring at the internet. I just saw something on Facebook and was so inspired to write this. I think it's just so important that everyone knows.

Before you judge someone...

That girl you teased for wearing a sweater that didn't match her leggings?

That's the only sweater she has right now, because she hasn't done laundry for like three weeks and it's too hard because you have to sort it and stuff, and there are a lot of cat videos on the internet to catch up on.

That girl you laughed at for eating cereal out of a mug with a plastic fork?

She doesn't have a dishwasher, and washing dishes by hand is a pain in the butt and it's gross sometimes, so she doesn't have any cereal bowls or silverware left. Plus the plastic spoons are on a high shelf that she can't reach.

That girl you scoffed at for climbing over her own back fence?

The wind blew really hard and all the leaves piled up in front of the gate and then it rained and froze, and the rake is in the front yard so it would be too long of a walk to go get it and bring it back. Plus now they're all soggy and nasty.

That girl you made fun of for still having her Halloween candy bowl out even though she put up the Christmas tree like a week ago?

She's just trying to keep the holiday spirit alive all year round. All of the holiday spirits. And also she hasn't really figured out what to do with the bowl, and besides, the Halloween candy isn't gone yet.

That girl you called a loser for trying to balance the last piece of garbage on top of the huge pile?

She doesn't have shoes on to take the garbage out, so she'd have to go find shoes and socks, and it's kind of cold outside so probably a sweater too. Plus there's a giant pile of leaves in front of the back gate.

You think you know them! Guess what? You don't!

Repost if you are against bullying. I bet 99% of you won't, but share this if you're that 1% with a heart.

Once I Got Mono

This week is my birthday and also I am sickly. 

This time spent wallowing in my illness has caused me to reflect upon the time I was the sickest I have ever been: The time I got mono.

It was about two years ago, when Daniel and I were first engaged...

"How did you get mono?" you may ask. From my sister, I may answer. It's a long story... well, no it's not. My sister got mono, I assume from smooching a lot of people, and then she licked me. Or maybe she just spit in my drink or something, I dunno. But I got it from her. 

Time for a science lesson! Mono, also known as infectious mononucleosis, is a terrible malady caused by the Epstein-Barr Virus and transferred primarily through saliva. By the age of 40, over 90% of adults will carry and have developed an immunity to the virus. It doesn't have much of an effect on kids, but by the time you are a teenager/young adult, the symptoms can be AWFUL AND A HALF.

Other fun facts about mono: 

It is very rare to see actual cases of the illness in developing countries, since people are exposed to it at a younger age and therefore don't really show any symptoms before they develop an immunity. Also, one of the less common but life-threatening symptoms of mono is swelling of the spleen, which can rupture if you participate in certain contact sports or especially strenuous physical activity. And finally, once infected with the virus, it can be up to 6 weeks before you actually manifest any symptoms.

Most everyone knows the signs of what one of my friends recently referred to as "the STD for 8th graders," so when I came down with it, I knew right away what was wrong. I went straight to the doctor to find out what to do next.

The nurse told me that to find out what exactly was wrong with me, they were going to do three tests: A mono spot, which would take about 5 minutes, an Epstein-Barr test, which would take about 48 hours, and a broad spectrum bacterial test to see if there was another cause. 

"I'm like 94% sure it's mono, but okay, sounds good," I said. 

She sent me back to get three vials of blood drawn by what appeared to be a 12-year-old phlebotomist. Three entire vials seemed excessive, but I'm no medical professional, so I complied.

The kid drawing my blood, bless his little heart, obviously had no idea what he was doing. Eventually he managed to fill three small vials with my precious life-juice and I went on my merry way to await the results of my tests.

A few days later, I received a call from the clinic saying "Your mono spot and Epstein-Barr came back negative for mono, so you're probably fine. Walk it off."

"What happened to the third test?" I asked.

"What third test?" they asked back.

"Um... there was like... a broad something bacteria something? They took three vials..."

"No, I only see record of two tests on here. There was no third test."

So, I don't know what ever happened to the rest of my blood. For all I know, that pre-pubescent phlebotomist took it home for his collection or something, or perhaps that clinic is just so grossly negligent that they regularly lose people's bodily fluids. We may never know.

What I did know, however, was that I was definitely not fine. I kept getting sicker and weaker, and it definitely wasn't a cold.

Finally, Daniel and I decided to go to the clinic at the university. I wasn't exactly a student at the time, but I still had my ID number, so it wasn't hard to sneak me in. 

I had been to the university clinic several times before crying mono, but each time it had turned out to be a false alarm, and they sent me away. I've always been a wee bit of a hypochondriac, so it was to the point that one of the nurses recognized me in public once. 

I was so sickly by the time we went to the clinic that I couldn't even sit up by myself. When the nurse came out to call me in, I was slumped over a chair in the waiting room, hovering on the edge of consciousness.

The nurse had me sit on a little examination table while she took my blood pressure and pulse. She ended up having to prop up the back of the table so I could even sit up on my own. My resting heart rate, in my fevered delirium, came out to over 120 beats per minute, so she sent for the doctor. 

This particular doctor had seen me a few times for my previous mono scares, among other things, so we had developed a routine. This visit was clearly different from the rest, though, and he poked my finger to take a single drop of blood for another mono spot test.

Might I point out... one drop of blood. Not a gallon and a half.

Anyway.

Daniel and I waited for a few minutes, and the doctor came back in with the results.

"You have mono!" he sang, and did a little dance of joy. Daniel was weirded out, but I got it. At last, I was proven right, hooray! But at the same time, I was less than thrilled to be correct in my internet-prognosis. Having mono seemed fun and fashionable until I actually had mono. 

"What do you prescribe, good doctor?" I asked, but more likely probably mumbled unintelligibly. 

"Well," he said, "there is no real treatment for mono. You just have to get over it. Get lots of rest, drink tons of fluids, and have you gentleman friend here wait on you hand and foot. Doctor's orders."

That sounded like a decent prescription to me, and he gave me a doctor's note to take the next three weeks off work. THREE WEEKS, people. That's how long it took for me to be able to walk up stairs again. 

Fortunately, once you get mono and suffer through the terribleness, you never really have to worry about it again. You do, however, carry the virus for the rest of your life, and it can occasionally flare up again and become infectious without any real symptoms or illness. 

For all you know, you could be spreading the virus RIGHT. NOW.

Thanks a lot.