I'm Savannah, the single chick about whom and by whom this blog is written. The name of this blog is (hopefully) self-explanatory. However, the name of the website – WastedMakeup.com – is the product of a thought that occurred to me in the wake of the umpteenth dreadful first-date I'd had in the year 2006....
I’d been so excited while getting ready the evening of that date. I labored over my outfit decision, blow dried my hair, and then applied my eye makeup with surgical precision – light on the lids, dark in the creases and a razor thin line of kohl above the lashes. I was getting ready for a hot date, and I wanted to look irresistible.
At 7pm, I set off in my car. The night held such promise.
By 9pm, I was driving home, slouching in my car seat, defeated, depressed and on the verge of tears.
Three nights later, I was again at my vanity, preparing for my second first-date of the week and again, however naively, overwhelmed with excitement. I then looked down at the $26 compact of department store eyeshadow before taking a swipe and thought to myself, “This shit is expensive. I would never squander it for no good reason, so I sure as hell hope I’m not wasting it on another crappy date with another crappy douche.”
But I did. It was another wasted night and more wasted makeup. And out of that experience came the loaded concept of wasted makeup, representing the thus-far futility of my efforts to fashion an un-lonely future for myself.
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Wasted Makeup: the phenomenon associated with a date that is so horrific you are forced to realize that you are not only wasting valuable time but also precious quantities of mascara, eyeshadow, lip gloss, and blush.
* * *
Someone must have really pissed in my dating pool.
Seriously.
Somewhere along the way, my dating life devolved into a murky mess of mistakes, misjudgment, missed opportunities and mishaps, taking me from Miss to Mrs and back to back again (update: ...then from Miss to almost-Mrs and now back to Miss). Thankfully, my boundless cynicism and proclivity for self-deprecation has managed to convert my tragic personal life into endless entertainment for friends and family.
I’ve now decided to blog about it.
With regard to my motivations, I’m not compelled to do this out of some narcissistic assumption that my life is so intensely fascinating that others – whether I know them or not – are clamoring to get the scoop on my day-to-day existence. Rather, I suspect it’s out of some primal need for a deeper catharsis that I’ve decided to turn my almost-hyperbolic heartbreak into fodder for the masses. To an extent, I’m also driven by the idea that there may exist other chronically single souls that could find some cold comfort in knowing they aren’t alone.
Then, of course, there is the simple fact that four-minute phone conversations and quick a.m. debriefings with aforementioned friends and family are not a sufficient means of truly conveying and/or illustrating the hilarity, absurdity, or misfortune that is inevitably observed during my many encounters with the opposite sex -- these typically resulting from electronic exchanges, be it emails, text messages, or dating site solicitations. A blog, I reason, will enable me to communicate this content more effectively. I must also acknowledge the distinct possibility that my friends and family don’t always find my short stories entertaining or may not necessarily be in the mood to listen to my perpetual venting and lamenting – in which case, they can simply choose to read or not to read.
Admittedly and from a self-serving sense, I’d also kinda like to force a little meaning into what I feel is the otherwise pointless personal torment inflicted by my love life’s failings. Those closest to me, long ago, resorted to quelling me with the everything-happens-for-a-reason consolation. All I can say at this point is that if there is a reason, it certainly hasn’t made itself known yet – and the what-doesn't-kill-you-makes-you-stronger rationale is little more than a slightly philosophical way of answering the question “Why?” with “Because." -- so that doesn’t count as a reason in my mind. That said, maybe, just maybe, this blog will lend me a little sense of much-needed purpose as I forge on in pursuit of that one good man who has managed to elude me for going on two (update: three) decades now.
And so, without further ado, please turn your attention to the regularly scheduled drama of my life, already in progress…
