UPDATE: The Boy made it back okay. In fact, he called me shortly after I blogged my previous entry. Apparently, the traffic and cell phone usage of Houston made it difficult to find and use a payphone. He recounts all his adventures and, yes, that he finally got his work permit here.

And now my rant of the day:
Last night, my roomie, my fiance, and I were out at a bookstore, drooling over all the books we want but can't afford . In the clearance section, I ran across a few sets of boxed-how-to-do-it sets for children. One was about making bead jewelry, one was about balloon animals, and one was about beauty. That's right, BEAUTY. Contrary to what you hopefuls may have been expecting, this box did not advertise natural beauty and being content knowing that all nine year-old (at least, that's how old the girl on the box looked) little girls are beautiful without makeup. Instead, this box pictured a very cute little girl - not even old enough to be called a preteen yet - wearing orange sparkly eye shadow and liner, way too much blush on already naturally rosy cheeks, and very shiny, red lip gloss. I was so upset by the sight of this, er, crap, that I honestly wanted to by all the boxed kits just so I could burn them. Being unable to afford that, though, I opted not to overdraw my checking account. However, I did share my rage with my roommate, who totally understood.

The problem is, faithful readers, that I am one of the lucky ones. My mother did not let me wear makeup until I was fifteen. Even then, I could only wear it for drill team performances (a topic for another day). Thus, by the time I could wear makeup, I did, and I was really excited about it for about a year because I was surrounded by girls who thought they didn't look good without it. Then I quit drill team and wasting my hard-earned Taco Bell money on makeup. I realized that I didn't have as much acne when I didn't wear it, I didn't feel like I had a maske when I did't wear it, and that I could rub my eye without fearing smeared mascara when I wasn't wearing makeup. Thinking I was ugly without makeup and fatter than I should have been (at a whopping size, like, 26, waist) was only a phase for me. That doesn't mean I don't sympathize with women who didn't escape, as I did.
I am reminded of an Oprah show I saw about a year ago. Before you roll your eyes, faithful readers, stay with me for a minute. Oprah had received letters from many women who went as far as sleeping and having their babies in full makeup. Some of their husbands had never seen them without it in umpteen years of marriage. These women saw their daughters imitating them and, knowing those children were beautiful just as they were, decided it was time to break their addiction to makeup. Oprah took three of these women and removed all of their makeup from their houses, purses, etc. For a week or two, they were not allowed to use any makeup at all. They each were left with video cameras to be used as diaries. All the women were fine the first day, but by the third day, they all were in tears. When brought back to the show - facially nude - all agreed that getting rid of their makeup made them realize how insecure they felt without it.

Roomie and I were discussing how we both hate trying on clothes because after a while, it just gets depressing. Nothing fits right, nothing fits right, and nothing fits right. We end up leaving stores, feeling like we have freakishly abnormal body shapes and types. In reality, both our bodies are like most other womens': curvy in places were wish they weren't and flat in places we wish were curvy. Why, then, are the clothes still made to fit waifish women?

Now, you, my readers, are smart cookies; have you made the connection? Why do we continue to perpetuate the same unattainable image of flawless beatuy? It's frustrating. That's all for now.