#hello. who is having an eyelash breakdown with my post

[biggy-habes]

So another year came to an end. But not just the end of a year, but the end of the decade! The '10s have come to an end. With the end of every year there is always a reflection. What happened? What was great? What really sucked? What could I have done differently? What do I hope for in the new year? Well, this was not just a single year but an entire decade to process! In the past 10 years I have lived in 3 different states. I've worked 4 different jobs. And like a typical drifter, I am a bit private with my past. I seem to just appear at a new job in a new state every couple of years and apart from some lingering drama I seem to have an undisclosed past. There are many of you who did not know me before I came to North Carolina. There are quite a few of you who did not know me before I was in recovery. And only a few of you who knew me before I lived in New York (the first time). I have lived several lives and have displayed countless shades of personality. Well, here is your chance to catch a glimpse of what my life has been like. Well, for these past 10 years anyways. The ups, the downs, the shitty heartaches, and the bitchin' experiences. A lot has happened and my memory is absolutely horrible, so I will recruit the assistance of my timeline on The Facebook and a few Spotify playlists. I have added a few songs to give a soundtrack as you are reading. I carefully selected these to be specific to the time period as well as where I was during that era. So now, here is a walk down memory lane. The Tens of Haber.

I welcomed 2010 in at a 12 Step Recovery function in Lawton, Oklahoma. I had recently moved back to Lawton after spending a year working in Washington, DC. You see, I had grown roots while stationed in Oklahoma during my time in the service. Life apparently felt like that I needed a second tour, but this time as a civilian. I had carried a lot of emotional baggage with me from my year living in Maryland, and I believed that running and starting a new life was the best course of action. When I returned to Lawton I was losing my mind. I was straight off my rocker! I was at the height of one of my worst mental breakdowns. I recently moved back to Lawton, Oklahoma. By choice. From Maryland. Yeah. See the previous statement. Anyways,  I was waist deep in 12 step programs and played a very active role in my local Narcotics Anonymous group. But one thing that I had always had was a weakness for women. I would fall hard for girls that I had no business being with. At this particular time I was messing around with girls from the local halfway house. And I was getting the results that you may expect. I had fallen hard for a girl named "Lori" (no need to drag her real name into this), who I allowed to tear into my life and my heart like a goddamn tornado! She had recently started coming to meetings after ending up how most addicts end up in the rooms. The courts. She was what you would refer to as "adorable". Short dark hair that seemed to reflect light with its shine. She had deep, sultry blue eyes with long, fluttering eyelashes. When she started to show attention to me I was immediately became hooked. When things came crashing down and my heart got crushed I started sliding down the slippery slope of sanity. Fortunately I had an amazing friend, Nicole, who lived in Oklahoma City. Nicole is one of the most enjoyable people that I have had in my life. We briefly dated and she has played an incredibly important role in my story!  I have so many wonderful stories and experiences involving us. Stories that I will save for another post.

 Anyways, Nicole and I share the same birthday, and we both love to go big so we both took a trip to Boston to celebrate my 31st birthday. As it turns out the Yankees were in town so I fulfilled a lifelong dream of watching the Sox and Yankees play in Fenway Park! We got lost in downtown Boston and had to find our way back to our hotel using public transportation in the middle of the night. Nicole, who has lived in Oklahoma all of her life, got to get a wonderful glimpse of the not-so-nice parts of South Boston. It was a great birthday weekend for the both of us.

 I got back from our trip with a clear head and I decided to get my ass back in school. I remained active in my NA group (shoutout to Different Way in Lawton, OK! That place was my home for a long time!)  I may appear salty sometimes when speaking of my time in NA, but recovery mad a lot of positive changes in my life. One of those changes was gracing me with the motivation to complete my Bachelor's Degree. My apartment was an 8 minute ride away from the local university (Cameron University…GO PIONEERS, BITCHES!!!). I was able to focus my energy on studying. I have always had a knack for school, and I really enjoyed studying psychology and sociology so I was easily able to focus on my schoolwork. I was working a side job as a per diem psychometrist for a neuropsychologist named Dr. Hamil. I have so much credit to give to him for taking me on as a mentor. He saw something special in me. He saw talent. And I was happy to work for him whenever he needed me to. I was taking a lot of trips to Oklahoma City for testing assignments in assisted living facilities. And to be honest I was making a decent amount of scratch doing it. Now my full time job was working with the trainees going through Fort Sill that were having a difficult time adjusting to military life. On slow days I would have plenty of opportunity to work on the testing data that I had collected over the weekend. One day while scoring testing paperwork that I had sprawled all over my desk there was a knock on my office door. It was the chief of the clinic giving a potential psych tech the grand tour.  "Mr. Haber, I would like you to meet one of the interviews for the tech position." She was slim and stylish, with long, dark hair and a smile that seemed to radiate comfort. And that was the first time I laid my eyes on the woman who I would eventually ask to be my wife. She extended her warm, slender hand. "Hello! I'm Amanda."

Our first encounter was short and sweet. And to be honest, it really did not leave much of an impact. A few months would pass before I would learn that she was hired. So this would be the first time that Amanda would actually enter into my life. By the time she was hired I was back working at the main behavioral health clinic on Fort Sill. I shared an office with several other psych techs. At any one time there could be 8 or more of us fighting over a computer. I walked into the clinic and was told a crop of newbies had started. I went in to introduce myself. And there she was. I reintroduced myself and blushed a little when she told me that she remembered me from our first encounter. We commenced with the getting-to-know-you chit chat. As the weeks went on we talked more and more, and flirting began. She knew about my side job in the city and asked if she could sit in on a session with me to learn more about what I do. So one night after work her and I drove to OKC for a 4 hour testing session with an ADHD child who was bouncing all over the room. Afterwards we stopped at McDonalds on our way back to Lawton and shared a 20 piece Chicken McNugget (because yo boy Haber is classy!). I would later find out that she had no interest in learning about psychometry. She just wanted a reason to spend time with me. Anyways, while driving back I mentioned that MC Hammer was going to be at the Oklahoma State Fair and if she would like to go. And that, my friends, is how my relationship with Amanda began. At an MC Hammer concert! In TRUE Haber form!

Eventually Amanda and I started dating. And it was incredible! She was a great woman. And she was great for me. When we had met I was going through a lot of internal strife, and being with her was calming me down. That November, after discussing the idea with Amanda (and after we got back together following a HUGE argument and eventual "break") we decided to adopt a pup. I went to the pound on Fort Sill. I walked down the row of cages and looked at every one of the hopeful pups. I stopped at this scrawny auburn-colored little shit who was barking as loud as he could as he put on his meanest look. But there was something in his eyes that told me that he has been in some shit and he was just needing someone to love him. I could relate to that. I asked the Poundtender (I'm really not sure what the manager of a pound would be referred to as, so we will go with this) about him and he told me that he was surrendered by an elderly couple for being too aggressive. I asked if I could take him for a walk in the yard. I sat on the grass and reached out my hand and he timidly came over to me, not certain whether to trust me or not. This was all it took for me. On November 8, 2010, I took Fennie into my home and into my life. Which means that it has been him and I for an entire decade!  Women and jobs would come and go, but he has remained by my side through all of it. He truly is my Ryde or Die!

The winter this year was unusually harsh in Oklahoma. It seemed as if at least once a week work was closed due to ice and snow. I was living in a shitty 1 BR apartment on the borders of the Lawton hood and the heat just was not capable of handling the cold temperatures for so long. There were several days where Amanda, Fennie, and I would just huddle around the fireplace and turn the oven on to keep us warm. December rolled around, and we were still in the still-kinda-dating-but-not-sure-where-this-is-going phase so I chose to spend Christmas with my family. My sister had been living in Georgia at the time and my mother had recently moved up there as well. Two days before to make the long drive to Atlanta I received a call from an old friend Jake. Jake and I had worked together at a treatment center in Tampa. He informed me that a mutual friend of ours, Emilio, was reported missing. Emilio was a gentle soul who, like most of us that got deep in the drug lifestyle, had his share of demons. But he was a kind and fair man who had a heart that was filled with love for others. He was a new daddy and one night he just vanished. While walking into Moe's to have dinner with my family Jake called to let me know that Emilio's body had been found. I will never forget that Christmas. I sat in front of my loaded burrito with a dazed feeling all over my body. Emilio was a remarkable human being, and the world lost a great man the day that he was taken from us.  

2011 began with Amanda and I…well…shit was getting kinda real.  

Amanda and I ended up making the decision that I would move into her apartment. The reasoning that she gave was that it would be more economical, but I am sure that her being afraid of staying at my shitty apartment played a major role.  Around this time I also started getting an itch to do something more with myself. I was one year away from completing my Bachelors degree and I was starting to question what I was going to do with myself now that I had no schoolwork to complete or classes to attend. This was when the idea came to me….BAM! I am going to become Dr. Haber! So this was when I made the decision to pursue my PhD in Psychology.  If I had only known how much of an uphill climb the next 3 years would be on me because of this decision, perhaps I would have reconsidered. I developed a plan of action. I would boost my vita with extracurricular positions and accolades. I was asked to join the psychology honor society and attend the Psychology Club meetings. I worked with an outstanding neuropsychologist and mentor named Dr. Jason Albano, who pushed me to be the best PhD candidate that I could possibly be. I would spend hours in his office just asking for direction and recommendations. He suggested that I take the Psychometrist Certification exam, the gold standard in the field of psychometry. Dr. Albano would help me find time to study and my colleagues were an invaluable resources.

I will get more into the certification exam. But first, I am aware that I dropped a bit of a twist earlier with the Starting Attending Mass Again comment. As you could probably deduct from my postings on The Facebook that this just ain't me! Well, let me tell you about my Catholic Jon phase. Gowing up I attending Mass every Sunday with my grandfather. This was mostly due to the fact that he would buy me McDonalds afterwards. I never really had a strong belief in a god. Even as a kid I remember reading my CCD workbook and would think "Hey, wait a second. Something does not add up."  It was once I got sent to rehab that I slowly started to build a belief in a higher power. We would get taken to 12 Step meetings and I would hear everyone talk about how you can't make it in recovery without a Higher Power. So, I guess I better get one of those! So I would work with my sponsor and talk about it at meetings and eventually I had some sort of Higher Power of my own. It hit all of the qualifications that they told me. It was loving. It was forgiving. It was greater than me. Cool cool cool. Let's go full speed ahead with this whole recovery thing. It wasn’t until I started seeing a girl named Jill in Oklahoma that I was able to call it by the name God. I would attend church with her and one day I decided to go up and get "saved". And ever since then I started learning more about Christianity and my idea of God would change as I grew. I started going back to Mass after encouragement from a friend who was heavily into the Catholic Life. One thing about me is that I latch onto something and go deep into whatever that might be. Catholicism was no different. Before too long I was absorbing anything involving Catholic Dogma that I could get my hands on. Every night I would pray the Rosary. During Lent I would practice self-mortification. When Amanda and I started she started attending Mass with me and it became a fairly strong bond in our relationship. She was accepting of my zeal towards my beliefs at the time and would support me however she could. This was something that I would eventually take for granted, and what would be a major factor in the demise of our relationship.

And that is where I will end this chapter. I will get further into all of the changes that 2011 would bring. I will label this period the "Amanda Era".

Now I will say that there was a lot of heartache involved in the ending of our relationship. However, I will only write about her in a positive light. She played a very important role in my story, and there were so many great memories in my story that involved her. At this point time has faded most of the hurtful memories and the good ones are what remained. So stayed tuned for the next chapter where we will tag along with Amanda and Jon on their journeys around the country.

[gsbrandson]

Laurels by the Bay

There was an echo in the canyon, that’s for certain. I believe the year was 1966. Sixty-six was the year where the doors of Capitol records were the entrance to paradise. Not because I could sing or play, but because I could watch and I could record it. Before what you all call the Summer Of Love, there was a lot happening in Los Angeles that really set the tone for the nitty gritty, down and dirty stuff, you know? And I’m happy to say that I was a fixture there. There were films being made in and around our homes, sure. Model Shop being one of the big ones. But no one captured what I did. Everything was stylized so naturally, you see. You can’t cut and retake the pure essence of the canyon. You have to just let it be. You have to let her speak. And she did, through all of us.

I think it was one of the record shops on Sunset that made it all clear for me. I used to sit in the listening room on these modern style chairs that were upholstered with orange leather. The spiraling cord from the KLH stereo to my ears I thought was my connection to heaven. I loved the jazz that birthed rock n roll and the local stuff, of course. Those shops were our beacon of hope and killed our worries for just a moment during the sirens of Vietnam. Those shops are where I first discovered the art of film.

 Down the street a ways from Tower Records was a brand new camera shop simply called Camera and Darkroom. And I was the Levi 501 darling of the boulevard. Well, at least one of them. There weren’t any flowers in my hair yet, but that was soon coming. Outside the camera shop they were demoing the brand new Super8 camera by Kodak. I posed and waved for the camera on the street corner and was told to come back in a week to see myself on the screen. They had a reel going in the darkroom on a white sheet. The owner of the shop had filmed his wife creating a flower arrangement in their kitchen. And of his baby boy making a sand castle on the beach on the fourth of July. I couldn’t help but cry as I watched his life on the screen. How beautiful and how precious were his memories. In live action and in color, repeating again and again. I walked through the projection and reached for a flower in the hand of his sundress wife and it hit me. I had to have one to.

 It was my newest thrill. I had my own Super8 after saving up two paychecks, getting a loan from my father in Connecticut, and telling my landlord that she would receive the rent a week late, as I was “having an emergency”. I started to shiver and squeal when I loaded the first reel of film. My first few shots were out the window of a taxi down Sunset. I loved how the glow of the neon signs came back after development, and so I walked down the strip and filmed the flickering lights of the Whisky A Go Go and the people passing by and waving at me. That’s how I met Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys and how I received my introduction to the Canyon.

 I met Brian post mental breakdown, on one of the few nights he spent out of solitude. He saw me in the street getting a shot of the cars passing by and asked what I was doing. His brothers stood behind him.

“This is a Kodak Super8,” I said. “I’m making movies.”

He invited me up to his house in the canyon and said he had something for me to film. At first, I thought he was coming onto me. But that wasn’t his way. We walked into his living room and it was empty. Apart from a white grand piano and floors covered in three feet of sand. I cannot lie, I was confused. He said, “Sit down, let me explain.” He sat at the piano, Dennis got on drums, and Carl on bass. I started recording. They performed a half buzzed version of In my Room, which I had heard in the record shop a couple of months before. A lot of people believed that God spoke through these boys, as they created the California Myth, especially Brian. And my, my, could he write. The reel from this night is marked with a California surfing edition postage stamp in my archive. I watch it from time to time and pour some Zuma Beach sand that I keep in a bottle by my bed into my hand.

 The footage I have of Dennis’ run in with Charles Manson is now the property of the FBI. I handed the reels over after the murder of Sharon Tate and Charlie’s arrest. One reel is of the state of Dennis’ home after the family’s stay in the summer of 1968. Another is of Charlie pulling a knife on Brian and Dennis at Capitol after receiving constructive criticism on his music. He could never handle that. There is one reel that I kept without the officials knowing. It begins as a pan of Malibu beach, the frame finally resting on a meditating Dennis Wilson and Charles Manson. Both shirtless and in shorts, sitting, legs crossed on large rocks by the sea. Their fingers are out in OM. They wear prayer beads around their necks that were made by the girls in the Family. A peaceful sounding scene, yes. But the way Charlie looked back at the camera is something I will never forget. His eyes looked animal, and that sinister, almost demonic smile haunts me to this day. I believed my camera to be cursed after that. I applied holy water on its handle and the Ladies of the Canyon joined hands in a circle and said seven hail Mary’s over its body. The reel is marked with a red X in my archive, and I haven’t watched it since 1975.

 I was introduced to the Byrds by I don’t remember who. I used to take a car up to their place in the canyon to film them practicing for the Fifth Dimension Tour. They brought me along to their shows on the beaches and to some of the major cities to film a backstage diary. I made them perform Wild Mountain Thyme over and over again to get the right shot. I got so many close-ups of their dark eyelashes on their cheeks when their eyes were closed. We were all so rosy and sun kissed in California. And so much in love. Not with each other, but with the music. So many girls came around and put flowers in their long messy hair and tailored their blazers for television by hand. My favorite reel of them is their TV appearance and performance of Mr. Spaceman. I was front row, and David kept looking down at me and singing through his smile. They were so nervous before that performance, and so happy. This reel is marked with a backstage photograph, rubber banded around the box. Of the boys in their nicest dressing room yet, and it’s titled with a quote from David, saying “Well boys, I think we’ve made the big time.”

 Joni Mitchell sang jazz to me and the music of the world. I was there to watch her switch between mediums. I filmed every brush stroke on canvas and every movement of her gold hair in the sun. She wrote Ladies of the Canyon on a green velvet sofa and in front of a picture window. She watches as I dance with Linda Ronstadt on the rug from Santa Fe. She laughs. And in the morning, she is topless and in jeans. She paces and drinks tea from a daffodil painted cup and saucer. She eats raspberries from a white china bowl. She scratches her head. She smells of the lover’s musk that he gave her just this morning. She keeps smelling her shoulder and writing things down. But she was my flower. She would say to me, “It’s rose day at the market. It’s about a dollar fifty for a bouquet, and about a penny for your thoughts.” These reels are on the top shelf of the archive. They are marked with some of her favorite news clippings about jazz musicians in New Orleans, a poem she wrote for me, and a single dried daffodil.

Young girls were indeed coming to the canyon. Cass Elliot kept a pill bottle of sugar cubes in her kelly green makeup case. They were laced with LSD 25. She sets her hair in the morning and watches the soap operas on NBC. Her closet was full of colorful floral trapeze dresses. Choosing one each morning was her favorite part of the day. All of the boys told her she was a stallion. Strong and majestic, yes, but her false lashes and glamour girl curl set inspired the flowery woman calls of the decade. She was a force to be reckoned with. Could sing the birds out of the trees. And now she had opened her head.

 I filmed the Papa’s thin. The doctors said they were almost to the point of no return. A pin dropping, to them, was a clap of thunder. The group had just made their sixth television appearance for the week, and I was in the dressing room filming the prelude to the California full tilt boogie. The surf shops down the coast dedicated their business hours to the ones they loved. We echoed back. That part wasn’t hard for us, my baby. It was the first time the Mama’s and their Papa’s hit the waves. I have footage of the sun-bleached surf boys teaching us the zen motions of applying sex wax to our boards. They had tan skin and bright white teeth, and they always smiled so big for my camera. I’m afraid that Papa John and Denny couldn’t tell where the waves began. They stood there, twenty feet from the water break, staring into the blue. As loud as she could, surfboard under arm, Cass ran up shore and sang “Come on in, the water’s fine.” And at that moment, the boys returned to Earth. To this day, they owe the ending of their bad trip to Mama Cass. I don’t think they dropped acid again after that. This reel is wrapped in the archive with Cass’ paisley handkerchief that she used to sop up her nosebleeds and a single sugar cube laced with LSD 25.

 It was the man that I fell in love with at the Dog Bar on the coast that brought me, for the first time, into the home of Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention. Zappa was sitting at a piano, topless and in jeans, prayer beads around his neck. The top of the piano was covered in stacks of sheet music that he had written himself. I wondered almost immediately how many of them would make the final cut of a record and how many hours a day he spent under his desk lamp with his pen. Before saying hello to me, he said, “Come here for a minute, will you tell me if this sounds ugly?” Frank was writing a song about a CIA man lurking around Laurel Canyon, which later I found out was about Brian Wilson’s schizophrenic paranoia. I was setting up my camera in the corner of the music room and before I could reply with a reassuring “No, it doesn’t sound ugly at all,” there she was in the doorway. This moment caught on tape is to this day, one of my favorites. She was the girl from the Tropicana Motel that he had found in a mini skirt and with a bright floral suitcase. She was looking for rock stars and in a way, he was looking for her. Some say she’s the girl Lou Reed wrote Femme Fatale for after traveling to LA with Warhol. But that’s just a rumor, and she liked it that way.

On this day she entered the room wearing a tiffany blue mesh robe with feathers on the trim. She had a golden fringe bang and white boots up to her knees. She knew without looking straight at us once that the camera was rolling. She sits on Frank’s lap as he continues to play and she wraps her arms around his neck. I’ve taken photographs of the screen at this moment when he looks up at her. I have it timed just right. She was not his wife, but she was, most definitely, the love of his life. She notices his eyes all lit up and laughs. She kisses him bigger than usual. Do you want to guess what he says? He says, “Suzy Creamcheese, oh baby, now, what’s got into ya?”

I don’t think I really learned what poetry truly was or really felt it until I found Jim. I found him In the lobby of the Chateau Marmont and I asked him what his sign was with a lollypop in my mouth. He smiled so big as he said Sagittarius. He was such a beautiful angel boy. And I was over the beat poets already. Jim had a way of making you feel like you were floating. I lived next door to him at that hotel, I kid you not. At night I used to hear him singing in the bathroom from the comfort of his clawfoot tub. He wrote Blue Sunday there. He was in love again, in love every five minutes. I set up my camera and filmed the goings on out the French doors and hoped that the tape recorder as close to the wall as I could get it, would pick up his humming. I eventually gathered enough courage to intrude on his bath for the shot. A wild request, I know. But he didn’t mind. I knocked on the door and received a sing song “Come in!” I heard the water splash as he moved. I believed him to be high out of his mind. The stolen flowers in the bath floated perfectly around him. He criss crossed his arms and held his shoulders. Looked at me like a starlet photographing boudoir for her husband. I think you can hear my sigh on the sound tape. He asked for more rosewater in the bath which I obliged. I have what he said next written in red ink on the reel box. He said, “This is the water of yesterday, and the flowers of tomorrow.”

 There were laurels by the bay in the summertime. And there was only one time where all of us were together. It was the beginning of a new age. The discotech revolution would follow Jim’s death in 1971. Paris, France has him forever. We could all feel a shift after Woodstock. Many of our friends and the voices of Laurel Canyon would be laid to rest in the next two decades and somehow, on this particular day, we all knew it. We were so proud to be from California, even if honorarily so. We spent our final days of love in the ocean spray and in the sun. I do believe whole heartedly that this time altered our ideas of God. We had all been looking for him since 1960. It was 1970 now and it felt like the moon had at last fallen in line with the sun. We were all flying so high above it all for so long. We had pioneered so much and I don’t think any of us went into the 60s knowing what we could reach.

 The reels I have of all of us were shot in God’s country. At Pfeiffer beach and at Big Sur. I still have my admission ticket taped up inside my windshield. This is the footage that I watch the most. It’s the footage that the historians and television stations offer me the most money for. I always decline. I suppose because you can’t put a price on this. These memories are mine. How beautiful and how precious they are. We were all like children climbing through the rocky caves with bare feet and laughing with every wave hit. We were on our beach towels and in large sunglasses, drinking sangria out of a clear mason pitcher and dancing until we were out of breath. We thought the sun could never set on us. The sand was our stage that day. We performed the Ballad of the Bonfire Children, 1969 at nightfall. Our grand finale at the West Coast cabaret. I believe the tourists mistook us for the sirens of the cove or the choir of the sea. “It’s just so hard to leave work at work.” We would all say and laugh. I miss them, all of them. How beautiful they were with their sea salt curls and their tanning oil skin.

 You should have heard them harmonize in the footage on the last reel. They brought us back to 1963 when it all really began. All of them stood around the fire and sang Brian’s Surfer Girl. I have a sound cue on the tape of my thumbs up extending from behind the lens. On the sound tape you can hear me count them in. You can hear the crackling fire in the background. And you can hear me blubbering when they sing “So I say from me to you, I can make your dreams come true.” Because they had.

Dennis Wilson would succumb to a shallow water blackout in 1983. I find it so fitting that he ends our era with one line, well, technically two. He walks to the camera and puts his face so close you can see the sand on his cheeks. He was elated and wrinkled just a bit from sun exposure. When you read his lips, you can almost hear him speak. He says, “This is it, we’re signing off.”

[glitterdustcyclops]

five times bridget saw frankie (and one time she didn’t)

i have literally maybe only ever finished two stories in my entire life, and this is now one of them. i’m proud of how it turned out and so i’m posting it here. read on for gay smooches, angst, and pining. also see my sad gay feelings playlist for the soundtrack to this dumb little fic. enjoy~

1.

The first time Bridget sees Frankie is a hazy summer day. A party. They’ve just finished their junior year of high school and there’s this pervasive sense of freedom in the air, a yearning towards something; hundreds of sticky sweaty bodies in need of a distraction.

Summer parties happen at Brianna’s house, because Brianna’s got a swank mansion with a giant pool and incredibly permissive parents, and pool parties are a good excuse to be more naked than usual. Rampant hedonism and red plastic solo cups. Things get pretty crazy at Brianna’s summer parties.

There’s terrible music and screaming-giggling girls, a splash as someone is “accidentally” knocked into the pool, and Bridget is sitting on a patio chair by herself feeling like a sad loser. Her and Brianna are fighting again—not that Brianna would ever actually admit that—and her and Ryan are fighting because her and Brianna are fighting and her other so-called friends are ignoring her and Bridget’s actually pretty sure she wasn’t even invited to this stupid asshole party and like honestly, she didn’t even want to come anyway, she has no idea what she’s even doing here, this is the fucking worst and she’s going to leave and then—

She sees her.

Frankie.

Frankie is standing there in a halter-neck top straight out of an episode of I Love Lucy with a coordinating pair of high-waisted polka-dot patterned shorts, looking all innocent and batting her pretty little eyelashes. Talking to Ryan and pretending like she doesn’t notice the way he’s sizing her up like a goddamn meal. God, fuck her. Okay, so maybe it isn’t necessarily Frankie’s fault—Bridget was the one who suggested she and Ryan go on a “break” in the first place, and more importantly, she fucking hates him right now because he fucking sucks but, still.

It’s Frankie.

Bridge has hated Frankie since middle school. She can’t even really remember how it started, but Frankie doesn’t exactly make it hard to hate her. She’s just so fucking stuck up, all the time. She’s so weird, and she has to be doing it on purpose for attention, no one is just genuinely like that. And, okay, so they’re probably definitely way too old to keep doing this Mean Girl shit, but still. It’s one thing to have to put up with Frankie in class—always the teacher’s pet, the gold star favorite—it’s quite another to have to deal with her here, so perfect and pretty waltzing around like the Indie Romcom Sweetheart with her stupid pink hair and her stupid vintage clothes and her stupid instant camera and her stupid cat-eye glasses and—and—

Just who the fuck does Francine Takahashi think she is, anyway?

And before Bridget even knows what she’s doing, she finds herself headed towards them, towards Ryan with his fucking shirt off and water glistening on his carefully sculpted abs, standing too close and just leering—and Bridget’s already got some stupid plan half-formed in her head.

2.

The second time Bridget sees Frankie is about two weeks later. She’s done her best to put the whole stupid drunken night behind her, as much of it as she can remember anyway. Which is not a lot, but enough to know that Bridget hopes she never has to look at Francine Takahashi again. Ryan and Bridget are still not talking but she’s back to orbiting around Bri, because she doesn’t know what else to do with herself. And then, one day, Bridget finds herself in a mall food court, realizing not for the first time that teenage girls are fucking awful.

“Bridgie oh my God really?” Brianna whines behind her, voice Valley-Girl perfect. “So now you’re just gonna throw a fit and walk away? Okay fine, later loser!”

Bridget is walking away but she can practically hear Brianna’s eyeroll, her “oh I’m so totally not affected by this at all” put-upon sigh. Of course, she knows Bri way too well to buy that. She is pissed. Good. Fucking whore.

Bridget storms halfway across the food court—impulsive, anger sparking along her nerve endings—and that’s when she notices her.

Frankie.

She is perched at a table near the escalators by herself, drinking a smoothie and reading a book. Because of course she can’t scroll through her phone like a normal human being. Annoyance flares in Bridget’s eyes for a second, irritation tinged with regret, but somehow, she finds herself headed towards the other girl anyway.

“Uh, hi,” Bridget says once she’s close enough, all these mixed emotions settled in the pit of her stomach like a lead weight, and she’s already deeply regretting her choices thus far.

Decades, eons, a literal eternity passes before Frankie finally looks up from her book, setting it face down on the table and quirking up an eyebrow slightly.

“Oh, hello,” she says, politely enough. Maybe that’s a good sign.

“C-can I sit here?” Bridget blurts out. What the fuck—oh my god no—why—what are you doing?!

Frankie half shrugs up a shoulder, casual, and then just sits there, staring at her. Blinking. Waiting. Bridget takes the opposite chair.

Frankie blinks. Bridget swallows.

Silence. It’s awkward.

And then—

“Okay no, I gotta ask,” Frankie finally says, half to herself, “why?”

“Uh, why what?” Real smooth there Bridget, she thinks, bitterly.

Frankie makes a—a sound, strangled in her throat, her nostrils flaring; and then suddenly, she’s talking, or more like yelling, words spilling out of her in a barely-restrained angry huff.

“Ohh no. No no no, you know exactly what I’m talking about. How the fuck are you gonna sit there pretending like—like you didn’t—like, okay, sure I get the first time. Let’s play spin the bottle and embarrass the Lesbo! Ha ha, very funny—”

Bridget winces with embarrassment. She wants to run away again, wants to hide, to pretend like it never happened, but the lead in her belly keeps her anchored at the table. Like, like she deserves it somehow.

“I—I’m—”

“Oh what, are you sorry?” Frankie snaps back, eyes hard—glinting—this mean little half-smile on her blue-painted lips, and it’s just fucking weird seeing that expression on sweet-innocent-perfect Frankie’s face.

Bridget shrinks back a little, almost subconsciously, but that doesn’t stop Frankie. She’s on a roll now.

“For which part are you sorry Bridget? The part where you tried to play the lamest prank on me in the history of ever, or maybe, do you mean later when you came and you found me and you—”

“Stop!” Bridget feels her throat—tight, constricted—something sour and ugly bubbling up from the lead in her stomach. She doesn’t—she can’t—not here, there’s too many people here.

“Stop what?” Frankie sneers, arms crossed in front of her chest, nails digging into the skin. Everything about her is like a pit bull on a chain, snarling and ready to lunge, and it makes the dread in Bridget’s stomach boil higher. “You fucking kissed me, okay, and I’m not a fucking idiot. I know the difference between a prank and—and that. Don’t fucking do that.”

“I—” Bridget is frozen. She knows, oh God she knows.

“Well? Say something Bridget! Tell me how it was all just a big funny joke, tell me how when you moaned against me you were just totally kidding, no homo. Come on Bridget—”

“Shut up!”

To Bridget’s surprise, Frankie actually does. Her eyes big and wide and shocked while a couple at a table nearby stares at them. Bridget will probably definitely die of total mortification about this later, but for now all she can see is Frankie, all that hurt and anger her face and—fuck. Guilt tightens Bridget’s throat; the sicksour dread and anxiety of it all, and if she could zip herself out of her own skin right now, she totally would.

“I’m sorry okay!” Bridget shouts back, words bubbling up from her stomach to her too-tight throat, all of it crashing together and spilling out in a horrible jumble. “I’m sorry it was stupid and I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have—just, I please, just please, please I’m sorry! Are you happy now? Okay? I’m the worst and you should probably just hate me forever like everyone else does and—”

Bridget knows she’s about to spill over into a full-blown emotional breakdown. She can hear how hysterical she sounds, but she can’t stop it, like her whole body’s on autopilot and she’s just screaming trapped in her brain trying to hit the buttons but they’re not doing anything, and the small rational part of her left just wants to melt into the floor from the embarrassment of it all. Especially when she feels tears welling up in her eyes, a couple drops breaking free to spill over her cheeks with that horrible wad of wet, messy emotions still caught in her throat.

“Uh…” Frankie looks at her, caught somewhere between utter confusion and rage, which must be a weird emotional place to be in, and Bridget will definitely be dying about this later.

“Do—I mean—” Frankie attempts, while Bridget feels the hot red splotches on her cheeks, and then, still just completely and totally mortally embarrassed about it all, gives a hiccupping little gasp of a sob. “Here, let’s uh, let’s go somewhere more—private.”

And then Bridget finds herself being more-or-less dragged to the women’s bathroom. Frankie deposits her in front of the sink, handing her a handful of paper towels while Bridget stares intently at the tile floor and tries to get her breathing under control. She blots ineffectively at her eyes, feeling like a complete and utter lunatic standing there under the harsh fluorescent lighting and completely losing her shit.

“Are you alright Bridget? Wait, no, that was dumb, I mean—look. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“You’re apologizing to me?” Bridget looks up at Frankie, tries to laugh it off, but it mostly comes out as a teary little blub.

“Yeah? I mean, I’m still pretty fucking pissed off, but I didn’t mean to like make you cry or anything. I just—I wanted you to at least acknowledge what you did to me.”

Frankie’s expression darkens for a moment, a shade of that cruel angry glare from before, but then she sighs—resigned—and continues, almost defeated sounding, “I, I wanted to know why.”

God. Bridget really wants to melt into the floor now. Even if she’s never been particularly fond of the girl, Bridget has the self-awareness to acknowledge that what she did was messed up, and it makes her skin feel all itchy. Guilty, she thinks pointedly, that’s all I’m feeling, just guilt, nothing else. And then before Frankie can make her feel any worse the excuses come pouring out of Bridget, another jumbled mess she only half-understands as she’s saying it—just, anything, whatever she can think of to make Frankie stop looking at her like that.

“I’m sorry Frankie. Really, I am. I’ve been acting weird for weeks, Ryan and I are fighting right now, and not that it’s like your fault, you didn’t even know, but I’m still so fucking mad at him, and you—just, when I saw you talking to him—I guess, I went kind of crazy?”

“Kind of?” Frankie chuckles, but it somehow manages to make Bridget feel a little bit less like the scum of the earth, so she’ll take it.

“Okay, fine,” Bridget rolls her eyes, “I went full-on psycho bitch.”

They share a small laugh at Bridget’s expense, and a part of the knot in her throat maybe almost starts to loosen, just a bit.

“I know it’s fucked up to take it out on you. I don’t—I was drunk and stupid and weird and such an asshole, and I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything. I’m a fucking mess right now but that’s got nothing to do with you, Frankie. I’m—I’m sorry.”

There’s another silence while a pit opens up in Bridget’s stomach, a yawning cavernous void of anxiety as Frankie gives her this look, like—like she doesn’t really buy it, but then, finally Frankie sighs, nodding, and that deep black pit in Bridget closes up. At least a little.

“Alright. Thank you for explaining Bridget.” There’s a pause as Frankie gives her a wicked sort of smile and then continues, “I will be the bigger person and choose to forgive you.”

And then she laughs, a real honest laugh, deeply amused at her stupid not-quite-a-joke. Bridget rolls her eyes, but it is actually a relief that Frankie’s gone back to being her normal annoying self. Receiving sympathy from the girl is almost worse than being shouted at by the mean angry cruel Frankie from before.

“Oh thanks,” Bridget snarks at her, but in spite of herself, she laughs a little bit too. And then she realizes how they must look, the two of them still standing in front of the sink, face-to-face weirdly close together, Frankie with her arms folded loosely around herself, near enough Bridget almost feels the warmth from her body while Bridget’s a tear-streaked mess, holding onto the wet paper towel and sniffling softly. So, she takes one precise step back and away from Frankie’s bubble, straightening herself, blinking away the remaining tears in her eyes.

“And don’t worry Princess,” Frankie is saying, all smirk now, “I won’t tell anyone about your meltdown. Secret’s safe with me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bridget replies. She’s decided the best course of action is to go back to pretending like none of this happened and she doesn’t have feelings, like Frankie totally didn’t just watch her sobbing in a mall food court, and that she isn’t still holding that snotty crumple of paper towel.

She quickly tosses the offending ball into the trashcan and then goes back over to the sink to wash her hands. As if that would somehow help. God, her face is all puffy now, ugly blotches of red on her cheeks, her nose.

Frankie moves to lean against the back wall, watching Bridget in the mirror and looking far too amused at the entire situation. But at least she doesn’t say anything else; perfectly silent as Bridget tries in vain to fix her mascara.

Maybe, Bridget thinks, she really will be good on her word and won’t tell anyone, and then Bridget can bury this brief horrible moment way deep down inside her with all the other ones. She hopes so, even though she has no right to. It would only be fair, after all, for Frankie to use this newfound upper hand to give Bridget a taste of her own medicine. After all those years of torment Brianna and Bridget put her through? She wouldn’t blame her.

Bridget winces again, guilty just thinking about it. All throughout middle school Bridget and Brianna and Brooklyn did whatever they could to make Frankie’s life miserable for no other reason than she was weird and they could. Hell, they practically tortured the girl, every day for years, and sure Frankie was annoying and stuck up, but still. Looking back on it now, the whole thing just seems so petty and pointless.

“Hey Frankie?” Bridget says with a resigned sigh, meeting Frankie’s eyes in the mirror before looking back down again. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a horrid bitch to you for like, ever.”

“Yeah, you were kind of the worst,” Frankie laughs, and Bridget is about to get defensive again but Frankie’s still talking, all casual and breezy like they’re just having a chat about the weather outside and not the multiple years of bullying (and Bridget can’t even pretend like that wasn’t what it was, not in her own head) that they put her through.

“But that was like forever ago, everyone was a terrible monster when we were twelve. I’ve gotten over it,” she shrugs.

Bridget wants to say “Really?” all incredulous, how could anyone just shrug and be over that, but then she meets Frankie’s eyes in the mirror again, and she looks—maybe not exactly pleased, but definitely not traumatized or anything. Maybe that’s something.

“Thank you for apologizing, dude,” Frankie continues when Bridget doesn’t respond, still staring uselessly down at the counter. “I appreciate it.”

And she sounds like she really means it.

“You’re welcome, I guess?” Bridget replies lamely.

There’s another silence then, the soft drip drip of the faucet the only sound between them, but it’s a tiny bit less awkward now. Maybe we’ve bonded, Bridget thinks sarcastically.

“So maybe let’s get out of the bathroom yeah?” Frankie says, gesturing over her shoulder towards the door.

“Uh yeah, probably.”

Frankie turns around and heads back out to the food court and Bridget, at a loss for what to do, follows her.

“What are your plans for the day?” Frankie is asking as they walk together, looking over at Bridget like she’s actually interested in the answer.

“Uh—” Bridget stops to think about it. Brianna has almost certainly ditched her ass by now, and she won’t be able to get a ride from anyone else for a while. She’s not sure if she really wants to anyway; the mall is cool inside and being here is better than being stuck at home. Even with Frankie it might not be so bad, maybe, the two of them wandering around together.

Bridget’s sure then, that’s she well and truly lost it, suffering from heat stroke or psychosis or something. But she plays it cool.

“Nothing really,” she says with a bit of a shrug, “Brianna was my ride.”

“Oh,” Frankie chuckles again, “whoops!”

“Yeah.”

“Well, come on then,” Frankie says expectantly, waving for Bridget to follow her.

“Uh, what?” Bridget says instead.

“Let’s have an Adventure!”

And then Frankie stops walking, turning back around and giving Bridget this look that gleams, bright, mischievous, and Bridget is definitely not sure she likes that look. But since today is already strange enough as it is, Bridget sighs to herself, shrugging again. Fuck it, why not, she thinks.

It’s not like things between them could get any weirder.

Together they walk around downtown, something that Bridget’s done maybe hundreds of times, but following Frankie is like seeing it all for the first time again. Of course, she knows all these obscure places off the beaten path where tourists don’t usually go. A thrift store, naturally, with one of those weird fortune telling machines out front; a racist caricature in a turban that vaguely predicts something that may or may not be happening to them in the future. An actual photobooth in another random little boutique, a shitty arcade where Frankie wins Bridget a weird stuffed alien toy, record stores and stationery shops, and then they top it all off with vegan ice cream from a quaint local parlor that does strange flavors like black charcoal, or something called Unicorn Vomit. But it’s surprisingly good (even though Bridget sticks with tried and true vanilla, thank-you-very-much) and, in spite of herself, Bridget finds that she’s actually like, having fun?

They talk and they laugh while Bridget is pulled this way and that, clutching her new little alien friend and posing for dumb photos, and she finds that it’s quite an enjoyable afternoon.

With Frankie.

Wonders never cease.

But of course eventually all things must end. It’s getting to be early evening now, and Bridget realizes she was supposed to be home—Jesus, an hour ago. So they make the trek back to the mall, back to where Frankie’s car is safely waiting for them in the parking garage. And of course, Frankie drives a lime green Volkswagen Beetle with white daisy decals on the sides, of fucking course. Frankie drives her home blasting a Beach Boys tape the whole way—because of course her car is old enough to still have a tape deck, and of course Frankie listens to the fucking Beach Boys on cassette—and somewhere along the way Frankie asks Bridget for her number, oh-so-casually, like it barely even matters, and Bridget doesn’t think twice before she gives it to her.

And then suddenly Bridget is home, walking up to her room, ignoring the lecture her mom is currently shouting at her from the kitchen while she holds her phone in her hand, one new message from an as-yet unsaved number blinking up at her: hay gurl hay. And Bridget feels this lightness bubbling up from her, from where the lead weight and the anxiety-pit had been before. Not even her asshole mother can ruin her mood. For the first time in what seems like a long time, Bridget feels—good. More than good. Happy, she realizes.

And isn’t that pathetic? She’s happy from just one afternoon spent hanging out with her former mortal enemy. But Bridget can’t deny that she is. She’s happy, and she had fun, and she decides that she’s just not going to think too hard about why.

3.

The third time Bridget sees Frankie, she can’t actually see her very well at all. They’re at the Garden Arts Cinema, a small local movie theater, and it’s all dark and cool inside. Too dark to see much of anything. Which of course hasn’t stopped Bridget from trying to sneak sideways glances whenever she thinks she can get away with it.

They go to a lot of movies for a reason.

It’s been a few weeks now and Bridge is finding herself enjoying this weird sort of secret friendship they’ve got going on. Frankie has found a way, somehow, to make all the normally annoying things about her magically endearing. She loves telling dumb jokes and she loves to laugh, and her laugh is so infectious that Bridget usually can’t help but start laughing too.

She’s basically stopped talking to Bri and Brooklyn right now. Besides a random “where r u???” text and a couple Instagram messages they haven’t really interacted at all since that fateful day at the mall. It doesn’t seem like Bri misses her company, and Bridget doesn’t really miss her either. She prefers her Adventures with Frankie. With Frankie it’s just so easy, she doesn’t feel like she has to put up a front. She can just let herself exist, for once.

Frankie seems to enjoy her company too. Desperate, she had told Bridget. All her friends out of town, on their own vacations. And Bridget carefully felt nothing at all about it, when Frankie told her that she was essentially her last resort. It doesn’t matter. They’re just having fun together.

Frankie comes and picks her up in her ridiculous little hippie Bug and they hang out wherever she’s decided. Thrift stores—of course Frankie knows all of them—where she’ll try on atrociously tacky clothing just to make Bridget laugh, or they’ll hit up the arcade and compete for the most tickets. And then, of course, movies. Frankie likes Garden Arts because they do a lot of classic cinema and weird indies and every Tuesday tickets are five bucks.

Bridget likes that no one their age ever goes there, and on a sunny Tuesday afternoon even with $5 tickets, the theater’s almost always basically empty. Safe and dark and private. It’s not like Bridget’s ashamed of being seen with Frankie or anything like that. She just—she doesn’t want to deal with the questions she knows people would ask her. And she shouldn’t have to! This is—theirs, their thing. Their secret sort-of-friendship, born of desperation, and that doesn’t have to mean anything.

Frankie doesn’t complain about it, thankfully. Hardly seems to notice at all, really, that Bridget studiously avoids going anywhere somewhere might recognize them, doesn’t let Frankie come inside her house or see her friends. Honestly, she probably wouldn’t want to hang out with Bridge’s horrid Mean Girl clique anyway. Bridget barely wants to hang out with them.

So instead they go to Frankie’s places. Quaint cafes, weird restaurants. Empty movie theaters.

Frankie picked their movie today—they trade off—which means they’re watching a really bad horror movie from probably the 70s. Bridget has never voluntarily seen so many horror movies; it took her literal years before she could make it all the way through a Saw. Just, all that blood? No thank you. But she’s a Good Friend, and so she lets Frankie pick. Frankie has suffered through several bad romcoms for her, so it’s the least she could do. And Frankie’s kind enough not to make fun of her for being startled by the jump scares or hiding behind her during the goriest parts.

Like now, for instance.

“God please tell me when it stops!” Bridget practically squeals, squeezing her eyes shut and clinging to Frankie for dear life.

Frankie chuckles softly under her breath, but she doesn’t say anything.

And maybe Bridget lets herself cling longer that she strictly needs to, head turned into the crook of Frankie’s neck, breathing in the smell of her. Her shampoo—which always smells amazing—and her perfume and just her, her skin, and then Bridget realizes how fucking weird that is and she stiffens, pulling away and rearranging herself back into her seat.

Okay. So, Bridget officially has A Problem.

She’s not quite sure when it started, she didn’t notice when the change happened. When she suddenly stopped thinking of Frankie as the annoying stuck up hipster, or the slightly-less annoying girl she’s kinda casually hanging with, to—well. This. It’s just, sometimes Frankie just looks at her, when Bridget has cracked a particularly amusing joke, or even when they’re just sitting next to each other at a café saying nothing much at all, and it’s enough to make Bridget’s stomach go all…flippy and weird. Or sometimes Bridget will catch herself staring at Frankie and realize she hasn’t really heard anything she’s said for the past couple of minutes. She keeps getting distracted. By Frankie’s lips especially.

It doesn’t help that Frankie’s always wearing something on her lips. Whether it’s sparkly lip gloss or something stranger like black, or one time, memorably, fucking sunflower-yellow lipstick; and it draws attention. Like a bright yellow traffic sign. And it doesn’t help either that Frankie’s got a fucking obsession with candy. Lollipops that she keeps stashed in her purse and pulls out randomly, sucking on them for hours. Or, if not lollipops, then bubblegum; blowing giant ridiculous bubbles and popping them, over and over. And Bridget fucking hates it. It’s like Frankie knows, somehow. Like she’s doing it on purpose just to torment her.

And it definitely, definitely doesn’t help that Bridget still remembers what those lips felt like against hers. She can’t stop remembering it, in perfect painful clarity. It keeps her up at night, that wretched first kiss—and then, even worse, the second. It makes her stomach feel like she’s swallowed hot coals, like she can’t breathe. And it most definitely doesn’t help that Bridget can’t stop fucking wondering what it would feel like to have Frankie’s lips pressed against other places.

Seriously, it’s a fucking problem.

Suddenly there’s a blood-curdling scream from the pretty blond meat on screen and Bridget practically jumps out of her own skin, reaching out for Frankie’s arm again, her heart pounding in a sympathetic rush of adrenaline. And then, Bridget’s heart threatens to pound right on out of her fucking chest when Frankie just reaches over oh-so-casually and tangles their fingers together. Bridget thinks she might actually be having a heart attack right now, her stomach doing somersaults while she tries to remember how to breathe like a normal person.

Frankie doesn’t even look at her, her attention focused on the screen of course, taking a sip of her giant cherry Icee with her other hand, but Bridget can almost swear she sees the faintest hit of a smirk on the other girl’s face, limned in light from the screen.

Those lips. Cherry red today.

Oh no. Wrong thing to be thinking about while they’re fucking holding hands. Oh God oh God oh God—

But then, just as sudden, Frankie pulls her fingers free so she can grab a handful of popcorn from the bucket balanced on Bridget’s lap, and Bridget absolutely hates the way she misses that brief contact.

The rest of the movie passes in a blur. Frankie doesn’t try to hold her hand again and Bridget holds herself stiff as a board in her seat. She’s actually pretty sure that she’s died in fact, and this is her eternal torment in Hell, for being such a shitty person or something. It seems fitting.

“Alright? Movie didn’t scare you too bad, right?” Frankie is asking her as they stand in the lobby, just a hint of playful mockery in her voice.

“What? Oh yeah. Yeah, I’m—fine,” Bridget replies absently. She’s just a bit distracted at the moment. Why is my hand tingling right now?

“Ha ha okay. Come on, let’s get you home before midnight, Princess,” Frankie laughs, and Bridget especially hates the stupid flip her stomach does every time Frankie calls her that stupid nickname.

They head out together into the late afternoon summer heat, and before Bridget even realizes what she’s doing, she’s reaching down and grabbing Frankie’s hand again. Fuck. Frankie doesn’t say anything about it, hardly seems to notice, really. She just walks hand-in-hand with Bridget, laughing about something dumb that supposedly happened during the movie.

Meanwhile, Bridget is basically on the verge of a goddamn meltdown, the warmth of Frankie’s hand in hers making her heart go all stupid again. She thinks it’s probably a little weird (and definitely incredibly stupid) to be walking hand-in-hand with another girl when they’re seventeen years old—a gay girl no less—and it’s probably even weirder that she’s so fucking freaked out about it. Bridget wants to let go but she also kind of doesn’t, and she’s totally way overthinking holding hands with someone, this is officially insane—and, and Frankie’s laughing again at some joke Bridget missed.

Inside Frankie’s car they sit and wait—it’s old enough the AC takes a while to kick in—and it’s quiet except for Frankie’s favorite Beach Boys tape. The poppy fun music is completely at odds with how Bridget is currently feeling, too distracted by the rapid beatbeatbeat of her own heart to make casual conversation.

“Bridget,” Frankie says suddenly, entirely too serious.

“Yeah?” Bridget turns to meet Frankie’s eyes for the first time in, God, hours.

She’s caught in Frankie’s deep brown gaze, those eyes practically magnified by the ridiculous glasses she wears, surrounded by thick dark lashes, and Bridget’s throat goes dry. She swallows. There’s a beat as she hangs suspended for a moment in that tension, and then, because Bridget has evidently gone completely and totally one hundred percent absolutely nuts, she leans in towards Frankie and then—

Then, before Bridget quite realizes it’s happening, Frankie leans in too, over the center console; close, too close, and then—and then—

Then Frankie is suddenly fucking kissing her.

It’s just a quick little peck, barely anything at all really, but it still somehow feels like lightning sparking down Bridget’s spine; and then just as fast Frankie is pulling back with a wicked little smirk.

“There. Now we’re even,” she giggles.

Oh for fuck’s sake—Bridget feels like she’s gonna vomit up her own fucking heart. That’s it. A girl can only be reasonably expected to take so much torment. So she grabs Frankie by the shoulders and pulls her in close and then kisses her for real, goddamnit.

Apparently her memory is a liar, because this kiss feels nothing like the other ones did. Those hazy nightmare-dream kisses that still fucking haunt her. No, this one is way better. Maybe it’s because she isn’t drunk off her ass and miserable this time, but God, this is. Right. She feels the crushing weight of her heart hammering away in her chest, and she thinks she might actually explode with it as Frankie leans in and kiss her back, and it’s all just so different-new-thrilling-exciting-terrifying—and Bridget knows she’s definitely dead now, because she’s actually pretty sure she’s stopped breathing. Her grip on Frankie’s shoulders is white-knuckled, and she doesn’t stop until her lungs burn.

When they finally part for air Bridget can’t help but notice the way Frankie’s gone all breathless, and that does something absolutely stupid to Bridget’s heart.

“Finally,” Frankie says, relieved, giddy, some other emotion Bridget doesn’t have a name for.

“What?” Bridget blinks at her, lips tingling as she sits there stunned stupid, feeling like a moron.

“Honestly, I’ve been waiting for like a week now for you to get over whatever your deal is and kiss me already, but you’re a pretty stubborn lady, you know?”

“You—you knew?”

Oh, wow Bridge, not even gonna try and deny it, huh?

“Uh yeah?” Frankie says like it’s obvious. “I mean, I hate to tell you this sweetie,” and there goes Bridget’s heart again, “but you haven’t exactly been. Uh. Subtle.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh come on Bridge, I’m not blind. I can see you staring at me when you think I don’t notice. You blush. Either I’ve got a second head growing out of my neck I haven’t noticed that you’re too embarrassed to tell me about, or you’re into me.”

“What—I—” Bridget sighs. She really can’t pretend not to know what Frankie’s talking about, not when her stomach feels like it’s flipped all the way inside out and her heart won’t stop fucking beating, and all she can think is I wanna kiss her again. It’s hopeless.

Bridget wants to grab Frankie again and kiss her silly, and it terrifies her.

“Sorry,” Bridget mumbles, a supremely weird mix of embarrassed and horny.

“You don’t have to apologize, Bridge. I was trying to take things slow, give you space. Didn’t wanna freak you out. I thought—”

“What?”

“It’s silly.”

Bridget gives her a look.

“Well, okay, but I thought if I flirted enough, you’d get the hint? But goddamn you are oblivious, or maybe I’m worse at flirting than I thought—”

“You were—were flirting with me?!” Bridget blurts out before she can stop herself.

“Oh. Okay, so I guess I am worse at that than I thought.”

And is it just Bridget’s imagination, or does Frankie sound embarrassed?

“No! Shut up that’s not what—I, I’m sorry. I just—why?”

And now Frankie’s staring at Bridge like she’s the one with the second head.

“Uh, because I like you too?” Frankie says, as though Bridget had asked her what color the sky was. “Okay, just so we’re clear here, I uh, I really kinda like you Bridget? And I’m pretty sure you like me too, I mean—”

Frankie waves vaguely to the space between them while Bridget feels her face heat all over.

“And uh,” Frankie stops, swallowing. Holy shit, she’s nervous. Finally, it isn’t just Bridget freaking out by herself. “I dunno, maybe you wanna go out sometime?”

And then Frankie’s round freckle-dotted cheeks go absolutely bright pink, and Bridget is definitely in trouble, because it’s the cutest fucking thing she’s ever seen. She’s sure now. She’s died, and maybe she’s not in hell, but this is clearly some weird afterlife-fantasy scenario. There is no way this is really actually happening.

Bridget stares at Frankie for a minute, lost for words.

Frankie, with her neon-pink-orange bob and her blunt bangs that make her look a bit like a comic book character, with her thick black cat-eye glasses and her delicate features, her softly almond-shaped eyes so dark, dark enough to get lost in; with her elegant pale throat and the black choker wrapped around it, and the voice that comes out of it, the one Bridget can’t stop dreaming about.

Frankie, who is a complete and total weirdo and so deeply, genuinely sincere about it. Bridget can’t believe she used to think it was some kind of act. She knows better now of course, knows that it’s impossible for Frankie to be anything other than herself. This goofy sweet silly smiling pixie, who is just so fucking beautiful that it makes Bridget’s heart ache.

Frankie, who for some unfathomable reason, actually likes Bridget too.

Why? What could Frankie possibly see in her?

In Bridget, the never-quite-as-pretty one, the boring one, the side-kick-in-her-own-damn-life one. She honestly has no idea why Frankie would like her, why anyone would, for that matter. But maybe—maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe, she could—maybe, just maybe—

Why not, Bridget thinks. She might not understand it, but she wants to believe Frankie, believe that another person, this person, could know her and still want to be around her, be with her. So, she pulls Frankie close and tries to tell her with a kiss, since she can’t say the words.

Yes yes yes I wanna go out I like you so much I wanna be your girlfriend please like me too please oh God please don’t stop kissing me, never stop—

“So, is that a yes?” Frankie says, all sweet and innocent, once they’ve parted again.

Bridget rolls her eyes. She’s the worst, Bridget thinks, but then, God I’m totally into it aren’t I?

“Ugh. Fine. Yes.”

Her stomach, miraculously, does not manage to come up her throat with the words, as much as it threatens to.

“Good,” Frankie laughs, the sound making Bridget’s stomach flip back over, and then she kisses her again.

That night Bridget goes to bed with a heart full of glitter, all her nerve endings spark-fizzing with joy while warmth blooms down deep in the pit of her stomach. She swears she can almost still feel the pressure of Frankie’s lips against hers, the slick wet heat of their mouths pressed together, the taste of Frankie’s cherry-flavored lip gloss.

God, Bridget thinks, lying in bed and staring at her phone, the text message from a still-unsaved number (several sparkly heart emojis and a ridiculous kissy face) that makes her feel like she’s flying as she runs a finger over her screen. God, I am in so much fucking trouble.

4.

The fourth time she sees Frankie, Bridget’s sprawled out on a picnic blanket watching her, watching as Frankie dances to the music they’re playing off her phone, watches her twirling and singing along enthusiastically and generally being a complete and total dork. Just to make Bridget laugh.

This is their Fifth Official Date (not that Bridget’s been counting or anything); an almost disgustingly adorable picnic in the park. Frankie has brought an honest-to-God picnic basket and everything. There is iced tea and sandwiches carefully cut out with a heart-shaped cookie cutter, because of course there is.

Frankie just does shit like that. It’s absolutely ridiculous and she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care if someone might make fun of her or call it stupid, she takes Bridget on cheesy-romantic dates and sends her “good morning babe,” and “sweet dreams hon,” texts every single day and makes her actual mixtapes and heart-shaped goddamn sandwiches, and it all drives Bridget absolutely crazy. It makes her heart feel like it’s about to explode into confetti.

Today is a beautiful almost-breezy late afternoon and they’ve managed to find a nice shady spot under some trees and down a steep hill that’s relatively private. No one’s around to bother them for playing their music too loud, and even better, there’s no prying eyes to judge her when Bridget decides she can’t take it anymore and pulls Frankie down on top of her.

Frankie giggles like crazy—which always makes Bridget’s stomach feel like she’s swallowed a bunch of butterflies—as she tumbles into an awkward heap on top of Bridget’s lap and into her waiting warms, laughing and squirming as Bridge assaults her with kisses wherever she can reach.

It’s pretty fucking incredible that she can just do that, now.

So far they’re trying to keep it casual. Well, as casual as Frankie can be. Bridget is quickly discovering that Frankie has a hard time being casual about anything she feels—if the mixtapes and picnics are any indication—but, it’s casual enough. Taking it slow. It’s—it’s not like Bridget’s ashamed or anything. She just hasn’t told anyone yet.

And it’s not like she has to, anyway. It’s no one’s business but their own. Just the two of them. This little world they’ve created, these little stolen moments. With Frankie everything else just disappears for a while and Bridget doesn’t have to worry so much about everything. She doesn’t have to care what people would think, what they would say; she doesn’t have to care about anything but this girl.

This impossible wonderful ridiculous girl with pink-orange hair and strawberry lip gloss, who makes Bridget heart-shaped sandwiches and makes her head spin. This thing, so precious and pure. Is it so wrong that she wants to protect it as long as she can?

She hopes Frankie understands. They haven’t exactly discussed it, but Bridget thinks that she does.

“Hey you,” Frankie says, still sprawled on her lap, arms resting casually around Bridget’s shoulders, hands tangled in her hair. Rubbing idly at the back of her neck. That feels nice.

“Hey yourself,” Bridget replies, with a giant ridiculous grin on her face, looking up at Frankie and the plastic pickles that are dangling from her ears. Because of course, Frankie has a pair of earrings shaped like plastic pickles.

God I’m just absolutely stupid for her, aren’t I?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Frankie asks her.

Bridge shrugs. “It—it’s nothing. You. This, I like this.”

She waves a hand between them.

“Hmm, me too.” Another casual kiss to Bridget’s cheek, and Frankie smiles, that smile that just lights up every single corner of Bridget’s stupid idiot heart.

Casual, she warns herself. Easy. Nice and light. She’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. To keep the rest of the world away from them.

5.

The fifth time Bridget sees Frankie is the worst, because they’re fighting. It seems like they’re always fighting these days. They’ve been whatever they are for over a month now, and Frankie’s frustrated. Clearly. Tired of keeping it a secret, of hiding. And Bridget knows that, she hates making Frankie feel like she’s ashamed of her, of what they have together.

But.

She just—

Brianna has started noticing things. They’re talking again, and she’s asking questions. Questions Bridget doesn’t—can’t answer. Doesn’t have the words to even begin answering them. And Ryan too—Christ they’re still technically dating, aren’t they? They made up before he left, and now he’s still texting her, even away at football camp, and she texts him back and it makes her feel—

Rotten.

Even her parents have almost caught them twice, and she can’t keep—she can’t keep doing this.

Bridget is scared. She’s panicking, she knows it, and she can’t stop. Can’t stop the anxiety that bubbles up whenever she’s not with Frankie. And lately, even when she is with her. Like now for instance. They’re at their spot, their safe private spot in the park but Bridget swore she saw someone from school walk by and now she’s totally freaking out. This is way too much, way more than she asked for.

It’s just—it’s, it’s too good.

So, Bridget pushes. Pushes Frankie away, and of course Frankie’s so stubborn she just pushes right back, and lately all they do is yell at each other, and—

And it just sucks so fucking much. Bridget knows that she picks fights with Frankie on purpose, some part of her just knows that Frankie’s way too good for her, so she’s decided to burn it all down before Frankie has a chance to get sick of her, to hurt her first. And Bridget hates herself so fucking much for it, for doing this, but somehow, she just can’t stop.

Coward, she thinks bitterly, as Frankie storms off, and Bridget immediately regrets it. The words she said still echo like a firework, like gunshots—why are you so fucking clingy all the time—and Bridget wants to call her back, to apologize. To beg and plead and make promises she can’t actually keep, to do whatever it takes just to see that smile back on her lovely Frankie’s face.

But she can’t.

Coward.

So the next time Frankie texts her to apologize, Bridget doesn’t respond. Through all the time they’ve been hanging out, she’s never once ignored a text from Frankie, but she just. Can’t. So she doesn’t.

And when Frankie texts again, worried, asking if she’s okay, Bridget just deletes the message, heart sunk like a stone deep in the black void of her stomach.

Bridget keeps deleting them, feeling her heart crack open a little more with each new notification, each new message more and more worried. And then the worried messages turn to angry messages, and it’s what she deserves, so Bridget doesn’t delete those. She reads every single one and lets them pierce through her empty cavernous chest, the ruined crater of her heart, all the while thinking coward, thinking monster, thinking—no knowing that she’s the worst person who ever lived.

And then finally, horribly, the texts just stop coming altogether.

Bridget pretends like she isn’t dying inside, looking down at that last message from Frankie: okay fine fuck you too you fucking bitch. It makes Bridget feel like she’s swallowed broken glass, seeing those words there. But she can’t fix it. This is what I deserve.

Instead she goes back to Ryan, back from camp now looking all boyish charm and tan and big muscly arms, and it’s just easy, so easy to flirt and to bat her eyelashes and let him woo her again; and she goes back to Brianna and Brooklyn, and they don’t ask questions.

And the worst part of it all really, is that Bridget can’t tell anyone about it. No one even knows. The whole wretched summer is locked away in some alternate universe and she can’t say a single goddamn word. And then, even worse: the one person who could possibly comfort her in a situation like this, the one person who had so quickly become her biggest emotional support, so vital to her, is the exact fucking person she can’t turn to, because Bridget is a fucking monster who has ruined everything good in her life.

So, she pushes it all back down, way deep down into the pit of her, to rot with the rest of her emotions. Bridget had been well-practiced in the art of bottling shit up way before she had ever met Frankie, and she can do it again. She can smile and laugh and be pretty and perfect and popular. With her handsome wonderful boyfriend and her two best friends. All of it just so fucking perfect.

But no, that’s not even the worst part.

The worst part comes a week later, at the tail end of summer, when she gets home from Brianna’s house one evening to find her parents waiting for her in the kitchen, her laptop open on the table and a small box she’d somehow forgotten about sitting next to it. Bridget recognizes that box instantly, and it feels like a bullet straight to her heart. She stops dead in her tracks, voice caught in her throat.

That box. Random empty packaging from a birthday present, kept hidden under her bed. Secret, safe. And after—after everything, she’d simply forgotten all about it, forgot to throw it away. The things inside aren’t that important; photobooth strips and a couple silly little arcade prizes, the mix tapes, cute notes folded into origami hearts—but then, not quite so meaningless: the ring. It hadn’t been anything like, crazy, just, they’d been them for a couple weeks, and Bridget had spotted this pretty rose gold ring in one of their favorite thrift stores. It was a small, delicate thing, shaped like a wreathe of intricate little leaves. No stone, but elegant and dainty and nothing like Bridget had ever owned. So Frankie had surprised her with it the next time they went out. And absurdly, Bridget had almost wanted to cry when Frankie gave it to her.

She never wore it, of course—that felt like too much of something—but even just keeping it near her, in her little vault of treasures, it was—

Ryan had never bought her jewelry before.

Seeing that box now, on the table, it feels like Bridget’s entire chest has been sliced open, every awful weeping oozing thing she’s been trying to keep bottled up leaking out all over their pristine tile floor. She feels—flayed. Raw. She wants, bizarrely, to laugh almost; and then suddenly, she wants to cry, and the rush of emotions makes her feel dizzy.

They know.

“Bridget,” her father says, his voice so cold hard angry that it gives Bridget goose bumps. They. Know. “Your mother and I found some—concerning messages on your phone last night, on your computer, and we’d just like to talk to you.”

They know oh God they know how did they—

It’s all come tumbling down, crashing in on her, crushing her under the weight of it. Catching her breathless and she can’t—Bridget can’t—she—so she does the only thing she can think to do. She lies.

When it’s all said and done, her parents know all about poor Bridget and her Psycho Lesbian Stalker. She pours it all out of her, exactly what they want to hear. How she’s just so sorry she didn’t tell them, how she was so scared—because Frankie scared her—they were just friends, Bridget was being nice because she pitied her until Frankie got all crazy and delusional and obsessed with her and Bridget couldn’t tell them, she wanted to so bad of course, but she couldn’t, she was just so embarrassed about it all.

There’s threats of a restraining order; a tense meeting between her parents and Frankie’s parents and lawyers (it’s almost ironic, Bridget thinks, that this is how she finally meets Frankie’s family), and when it’s all said and done, Frankie promises to stay away from Bridget at school, promises not to try and contact her again so they don’t have to involve the authorities in this ugly business. Frankie will leave Bridget alone and no one else has to know.

And the whole time, Bridget can’t look anyone in the eye. She decides then, sitting in that horrible office watching Frankie caved in on herself, defeated, that she is done feeling things for good.

She doesn’t tell Ryan or Brianna anything about it. She couldn’t do that to Frankie. Not that. Of course it doesn’t matter, it couldn’t possibly make up for the colossal mountain of horrible things Bridget has already done to Frankie, but still. She doesn’t want to talk about it anyway.

And then about four days later Bridget finally breaks up with Ryan for good. Sick of him, sick of being near him and pretending. She’s sick of seeing the way Brianna looks at him, like she’s mentally inserting herself where Bridget’s standing next to him. And of course, they’ve barely finished typing their goodbye texts—amicable enough—when Brianna is suddenly calling her, utterly, utterly heartbroken but wanting to know if Bridget minds, maybe, if she asks Ryan out. Apparently, she had just dumped Matt, her so-called True Love, the day before.

Bridget honestly does not fucking care anymore. She feels emphatically nothing about it, about either of them. Fine. Let Brianna have him. Bridget honestly can’t even remember why she wanted him so badly in the first place, except because Brianna did too. Whatever. She hopes they get married and have a bunch of perfect fucking children and grow old together and die.

She lets it go. All of it, she keeps on Not Feeling Things all the way until school starts. Right until the night before, when she wakes up suddenly, startled by a nightmare, her heart aching with fear and guilt. Bridget reaches out—still half-asleep—like somehow Frankie would be there, would be beside her telling her that it’s alright and to go back to sleep. But all Bridget feels is the empty sheets instead.

And then, Bridget is done pretending she doesn’t feel things. All at once it all bursts out of her, all the regret and shame and guilt and anger and wretched awful heartbreak pining, all the gross ugly tears she’s been keeping locked up for way longer than this summer. All of that pain finally pouring out, spilling out all over her, and Bridget just hopes she doesn’t sob too loudly.

Thankfully no one wakes up or comes to check on her, and that’s almost worse, somehow. Bridget curls up into a ball on her floor, and that’s when she notices the a small forgotten plushie under her bed. She recognizes it instantly. Herman the Alien. The very first thing Frankie had given her, before, before everything, before they’d even—it was that very first time they hung out together, at the arcade. He’d somehow come out of the box and managed to escape the Great Purge.

Bridget looks at him through the tears streaming down her face, his giant black eyes and tiny little smile, and this stupid green alien plushie just breaks something inside her, another wall come crumbling down. So, fully aware how completely and totally pathetic she must look, Bridget crawls over and pulls him out, cuddles him close. Wishing it could somehow bring her comfort, that it could somehow bring Frankie back.

Stupidly, Bridget wishes that she could go back in time and undo the entire awful summer, that she could fix this, and she’s not entirely sure which part she wants to change. She hardly understands anything anymore, really, except that she misses Frankie, right down to her marrow, and she hates it so much.

Most of all, Bridget wishes that she was a different person, a better person. Somehow who could have deserved something as sweet and as good as what she had with Frankie. She wishes that she hadn’t been such a colossal idiot, a coward about it, and that she hadn’t thrown it all away.

But it’s useless. Bridget is not a better person. She’s known that all along, of course. This is what she deserves. She is a horrible monster who fucked everything up, and she can’t ever fix it. So instead, she holds a dumb stuffed alien and she cries and cries and cries.

It doesn’t help.

6.

The first day of school, Bridget walks up to Green Valley with her head held high. There are rumors swirling around, but there always are, and Bridget is too used to pretending she doesn’t hear them. Everyone knows about the Ryan-Brianna situation by now of course, and the looks of pity people shoot her would normally drive her nuts, but Bridget doesn’t feel anything anymore, so she hardly notices them. She finds Brianna waiting at their normal spot, her and Ryan standing close together like they had been made for each other in a lab somewhere, his paws draped all over her. Obnoxious. And the rest of their friends stand there too, all of them talking and laughing and just so fucking perfect.

Bridget can’t help but notice that Matt is conspicuously absent, however. She doesn’t blame him.

Of course, her and Brianna and Brooklyn have all their classes together. They’d set up their schedules at the end of last year, before the summer, before—everything. It had seemed natural, logical, at the time. The three of them always had all their classes together. Now though, Bridget walks into first period wishing she could join the witness protection program and move to another country where no one speaks English.

Their first period is Chemistry—which is already torture enough, honestly—and she comes in and sits at their usual spot, back corner, forever Brianna’s right hand woman. The two of them talk like they don’t secretly hate each other’s guts, performing for their audience.

And so of course in first period Chemistry with Bridget’s blood near boiling, simmering rage and everything carefully hidden underneath, all bottled up but almost leaking out of her, that’s when—

God. She walks in.

Frankie. In one of her fanciest tea-length floral-print vintage skirts, all perfect poofy petticoat and hair freshly dyed a bright aqua-teal color; bangs straight, eyeliner sharp. Looking for all the world like a woman on a mission. Determined. Proud. Bridget’s heart aches.

She watches Frankie’s eyes scanning the room, looking for something, and then—she sees Bridget staring at her and her mouth drops open in a small, startled “oh.” Almost like, like she’d forgotten, somehow. Bridget feels what remains of her heart shatter into impossibly tinier pieces, feels like she’s about to vomit up every single wretched shard right there on the table and so—

So, Bridget looks away, and she pretends she doesn’t see her.

[batterymonster2021]

Eyelash Extensions 101 | Full Tutorial on Application

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/eyelash-extensions-101-full-tutorial-on-application/

Eyelash Extensions 101 | Full Tutorial on Application

Hello guys! Welcome again to my channel thanks for tuning in at present. We’re gonna go over eyelash extensions one hundred and one so the purchaser i am gonna exhibit on, she wanted an extraordinarily typical eyelash set… That is the consumer’s very first time of ever getting eyelash extensions so i’m going to illustrate how I provide an explanation for and the way I advisor them by way of the method so they may be not scared they usually’re relaxed for the period of it so i’ll quilt the prepping, the appliance, what I do with them it would be the entire-on process and i’m going to reply tips and methods as i go so it’s variety of a protracted video so if it is if specified components that you just think like you do not maintain or you know tips on how to do i’ll put a breakdown of the time of which query I reply and what time of the video and that you can just skip by way of and get your questions answered however clearly let me read you the list of the questions i am gonna answer a at the same time i am doing the entire set of basic ordinary seem on this customer.K so in this video i will go over learn how to tape down the bottom lashes or use under eye patches should you prefer to the place to position the eyelash extension so that you may position it or observe it to the patron’s normal eyelashes and the reasoning in the back of that and how I opt for the curl and the size established on what the patron wants in this video she wants a very common seem so and it is her very first time of ever getting eyelash extensions so i am gonna go over how I choose the lashes to ensure it can be now not gonna be too dramatic for somebody who’s on no account had eyelash extensions.I’m going to also go over the choices of consumers who have very straight eyelashes the way to investigate if you must do the eyelash extensions what curl to prefer for them or if it is a greater choice to do a elevate after which do the eyelash extensions on top of them i will additionally duvet what what to do within the process if the client is opening to feel uncomfortable or if the tape below eye patches form of moved and it’s itching them or find out how to isolate and practice the eyelash extension on top of the usual lashes. I’m going to also answer the question of what to do with baby lashes if it is k to use an extension on there or now not and learn how to investigate that how so much glue to make use of and the place to prefer up the eyelash from…I quit! So first thing we’re gonna do is tape down your bottom eyelashes to safeguard them from sticking to the top ok so um it’s a little weird however it’s now not uncomfortable or it would not damage so it is just a bit weird when your eyes are open however whenever you shut them you do not particularly consider some thing okay so open for me k I comprehend it’s super weird okay there we go and this is to preserve them from touching the highest okay i’m going to provide you with a break k are attempting opening once more or let your eyes loose kind of shut them but let them loose and i’m going to just carry there without opening them ok regularly that’s extra secure okay that was once the worst section I promise is that ok ok it’s no longer a foul one that’s cool don’t worry about your eyes twitching a bit keep it closed they’ll come down once they believe me.I am simply gonna put a little bit further layer of clear tape on high of that tape same method and this is by and large to have a smoother floor just in case if any of the lashes get stuck we can with no trouble just peel them off with out unsafe or hurting your average lashes k Worse than surgical procedure? I know the first-time so it’s super weird however I promise. So now i am gonna just put this tissue for your forehead okay only a tissue i am gonna gently tape it down this is what i’m gonna use to place the extension on the way to practice it to your ordinary eyelashes k and to also no longer have my palms stick to your brow. Only a tiny bit longer than yours appears like So i am gonna do a D curl which is somewhat bit further curly on the grounds that your usual eyelashes are so straight this curl will support it have extra curl so what it’s, honestly, the extension itself is curlier so the bottom of the extension is connected to your common eyelash after which the relaxation of it will curl up. It won’t curl your traditional eyelashes however the way in which it sits on there it look curly overall and i will type of also probably create just a little little bit of a double layer effect in your ordinary eyelashes given that they are a little bit straighter and it should give it, it gives it a particularly first-rate seem.So yet another choice with straight eyelashes is now we have a lift or a perm approach so if you need your natural eyelashes to stay completely curly for two months then we will just do that and we can curl them and it stays like that for two months and then if you wish to have it more dramatic than we are able to add extensions so a variety of occasions persons are k with simply having the curlier extensions, in many instances men and women that want them quite curly then they might curl their usual eyelashes if they have got them particularly rather straight and then put the extensions on the highest but due to the fact you want a traditional this must be satisfactory you don’t must memorize that we will write it down and your method so when you adore it or if we wish to organize whatever to change if your gonna get them filled we can continuously we are able to consistently have a establishing point and maintain making minor changes to get that perfect seem you want however I believe you can be completely happy with this given that additionally for those who open your eye when the glue’s no longer fully dry, it kinda stings or tingles so each time you’re gonna open or gonna adjust something I wish to be certain we thoroughly dry it earlier than we repair or we prepare the tape otherwise you open ok so do not open except I let you know sincerely.Yeah it can be the tape that’s it Yeah hold it closed k it’s the inner nook or each? Did that aid? Sometimes it sneaks up whilst it’s closed, it just wiggles up. Is that better overall? K if it sort of moves up once more and it’s itching you let me understand okay Do you intellect if I do like a little bit speaking for the video? Ok so I zoomed within the video so that you guys can see how i’m setting apart making certain that there is only one common eyelash in between my tweezers before I follow the extension ok and it is very primary to do this and not stick something together given that that is when that you could intent damage to the natural eyelash due to the fact that each eyelash has a further development expense so if too many matters are stuck together like that and one is trying to develop out and the one subsequent to it isn’t capable to develop or yeah develop yet it is gonna be pulling, pulling the eyelash that’s now not capable to grow.. Does that make experience? I’m hoping it is smart! K, if it does not make feel remark under, i’ll give an explanation for extra however clearly very very fundamental for you to make certain nothing’s caught collectively and you’re only applying one extension on one of the crucial common eyelashes k and in addition if you can see how a long way i’m applying them from the natural progress of the eyelash line there it’s only one or two millimeters away from it okay you do not need it to contact the skin since that’s when you can intent infection or close the pore of hair follicle however you also don’t need it too a long way so it doesn’t seem funny okay so about one to two millimeters proper there and that i need to show you guys you see how there may be all these little baby hairs around this one eyelash if they may be very very tiny do not follow it on these but for instance this one’s a bit bit thicker we will still follow a shorter lash on it because the more we apply the longer they’re gonna final.In view that customers or on the grounds that each person loses 1 to five hairs a day, you want to attempt to position it on almost each single eyelash unless they’re very very tiny youngster hairs and the rule of thumb of thumb is you not ever want to apply greater than double the quantity of extension as the typical eyelash so if the typical eyelash is ready that thick I on no account wish to put something greater than double the thickness of that k or else it can be gonna be too heavy and it is now not gonna help it. I additionally need to exhibit you easy methods to dip the eyelash extension within the glue given that some people put too much glue or don’t know what’s sufficient to make sure it is gonna be proper so what I do what my trick is in the event you guys can see my little glue ring over right here once I grab the eyelash and you’ll discover I seize it from practically on prime of the place the hair is and i dip it in more virtually all of the method except it’s not touching my tweezers and then I kind of wipe it on the rim of the glue ring after which I observe it so like that i am getting enough allotted in all places the eyelash yet i’m not losing time into you recognize casting off any excess over here or yeah i am hoping that is sensible.I am gonna attempt to center of attention on the glue ring so you guys can see okay so clutch an eyelash i’m grabbing it practically from the highest and i am dipping it in almost where my tweezers are and i’m wiping on the rim after which it goes on the usual eyelash. See there is a youngster hair attaching to it so i will gently peel that off to make sure nothing’s stuck together. Sorry there it wasn’t specializing in this so there was this little little one hair that was once hooked up to my eyelash extension all I did was kind of peel it off from it to make sure nothing’s caught to nothing’s caught collectively alright to preserve the wellbeing of the typical eyelash. Now they’re getting pretty full so it’s tougher for me to find any further empty normal eyelashes to use on but i’m gonna try my satisfactory to seem and ensure, ensure that we’re putting on virtually or each single certainly one of her traditional lashes. See after I went again and looked for it again I located another one so i am gonna go ahead and practice one other one i am gonna maintain shopping.Oh seem there’s a different one so consistently double double verify to ensure you received each single eyelash if you want a just right full set i suppose on account that when you don’t put adequate they will not last as long because we do lose one to five a day okay it is going to seem excellent in the beginning but they is not going to last so you need to make sure that you’re double-checking although it appears relatively full now that it appears like I put it on every single eyelash i am still gonna go in there and style of carry them and seem around to peer if there’s whatever that I would have missed the primary time around appear there is one other so do the due diligence and take further five minutes to do this and that’s what will set you aside compared to someone who would not take their time to try this for his or her purchasers and of direction that is what makes a loyal purchaser or a joyful consumer and you that is your intention to be certain everyone’s glad.I want to dry them relatively well so it doesn’t burn while you open i am gonna go ahead and untape this phase. We are going to determine to be certain nothing is caught we’re just right. So maintain it shut i am gonna gently take the tape out I might pull somewhat, should no longer be too dangerous however we’re gonna try to dry just a little extra and i will additionally need to tape this facet so that you would be able to open *BLOOPERS* She also asks the query in there hi guys welcome back to my channel Yegi right here I need to go over… In a couple of days i’m going to go forward and put up an extra video in order that what occurred with this customer used to be virtually after we have been done with her very first time ever doing eyelash extensions she thought they appeared method too ordinary okay so plenty of occasions it’s better and it can be safer to go more traditional for a consumer who’s under no circumstances had them earlier than on the grounds that if they’re no longer used to it frequently they consider oh my god is simply too dramatic it can be an excessive amount of and it can be tougher to eliminate them then add a number of additional okay so what I so in few days i will put up a video of how I control that challenge and how I turned it into a hybrid appear to offer her a bit of bit fuller appear and preserve her happy and sure that is i am accomplished for in these days.Bye! .

[airoasis]

Eyelash Extensions 101 | Full Tutorial on Application

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/eyelash-extensions-101-full-tutorial-on-application/

Eyelash Extensions 101 | Full Tutorial on Application

Hello guys! Welcome again to my channel thanks for tuning in at present. We’re gonna go over eyelash extensions one hundred and one so the purchaser i am gonna exhibit on, she wanted an extraordinarily typical eyelash set… That is the consumer’s very first time of ever getting eyelash extensions so i’m going to illustrate how I provide an explanation for and the way I advisor them by way of the method so they may be not scared they usually’re relaxed for the period of it so i’ll quilt the prepping, the appliance, what I do with them it would be the entire-on process and i’m going to reply tips and methods as i go so it’s variety of a protracted video so if it is if specified components that you just think like you do not maintain or you know tips on how to do i’ll put a breakdown of the time of which query I reply and what time of the video and that you can just skip by way of and get your questions answered however clearly let me read you the list of the questions i am gonna answer a at the same time i am doing the entire set of basic ordinary seem on this customer.K so in this video i will go over learn how to tape down the bottom lashes or use under eye patches should you prefer to the place to position the eyelash extension so that you may position it or observe it to the patron’s normal eyelashes and the reasoning in the back of that and how I opt for the curl and the size established on what the patron wants in this video she wants a very common seem so and it is her very first time of ever getting eyelash extensions so i am gonna go over how I choose the lashes to ensure it can be now not gonna be too dramatic for somebody who’s on no account had eyelash extensions.I’m going to also go over the choices of consumers who have very straight eyelashes the way to investigate if you must do the eyelash extensions what curl to prefer for them or if it is a greater choice to do a elevate after which do the eyelash extensions on top of them i will additionally duvet what what to do within the process if the client is opening to feel uncomfortable or if the tape below eye patches form of moved and it’s itching them or find out how to isolate and practice the eyelash extension on top of the usual lashes. I’m going to also answer the question of what to do with baby lashes if it is k to use an extension on there or now not and learn how to investigate that how so much glue to make use of and the place to prefer up the eyelash from…I quit! So first thing we’re gonna do is tape down your bottom eyelashes to safeguard them from sticking to the top ok so um it’s a little weird however it’s now not uncomfortable or it would not damage so it is just a bit weird when your eyes are open however whenever you shut them you do not particularly consider some thing okay so open for me k I comprehend it’s super weird okay there we go and this is to preserve them from touching the highest okay i’m going to provide you with a break k are attempting opening once more or let your eyes loose kind of shut them but let them loose and i’m going to just carry there without opening them ok regularly that’s extra secure okay that was once the worst section I promise is that ok ok it’s no longer a foul one that’s cool don’t worry about your eyes twitching a bit keep it closed they’ll come down once they believe me.I am simply gonna put a little bit further layer of clear tape on high of that tape same method and this is by and large to have a smoother floor just in case if any of the lashes get stuck we can with no trouble just peel them off with out unsafe or hurting your average lashes k Worse than surgical procedure? I know the first-time so it’s super weird however I promise. So now i am gonna just put this tissue for your forehead okay only a tissue i am gonna gently tape it down this is what i’m gonna use to place the extension on the way to practice it to your ordinary eyelashes k and to also no longer have my palms stick to your brow. Only a tiny bit longer than yours appears like So i am gonna do a D curl which is somewhat bit further curly on the grounds that your usual eyelashes are so straight this curl will support it have extra curl so what it’s, honestly, the extension itself is curlier so the bottom of the extension is connected to your common eyelash after which the relaxation of it will curl up. It won’t curl your traditional eyelashes however the way in which it sits on there it look curly overall and i will type of also probably create just a little little bit of a double layer effect in your ordinary eyelashes given that they are a little bit straighter and it should give it, it gives it a particularly first-rate seem.So yet another choice with straight eyelashes is now we have a lift or a perm approach so if you need your natural eyelashes to stay completely curly for two months then we will just do that and we can curl them and it stays like that for two months and then if you wish to have it more dramatic than we are able to add extensions so a variety of occasions persons are k with simply having the curlier extensions, in many instances men and women that want them quite curly then they might curl their usual eyelashes if they have got them particularly rather straight and then put the extensions on the highest but due to the fact you want a traditional this must be satisfactory you don’t must memorize that we will write it down and your method so when you adore it or if we wish to organize whatever to change if your gonna get them filled we can continuously we are able to consistently have a establishing point and maintain making minor changes to get that perfect seem you want however I believe you can be completely happy with this given that additionally for those who open your eye when the glue’s no longer fully dry, it kinda stings or tingles so each time you’re gonna open or gonna adjust something I wish to be certain we thoroughly dry it earlier than we repair or we prepare the tape otherwise you open ok so do not open except I let you know sincerely.Yeah it can be the tape that’s it Yeah hold it closed k it’s the inner nook or each? Did that aid? Sometimes it sneaks up whilst it’s closed, it just wiggles up. Is that better overall? K if it sort of moves up once more and it’s itching you let me understand okay Do you intellect if I do like a little bit speaking for the video? Ok so I zoomed within the video so that you guys can see how i’m setting apart making certain that there is only one common eyelash in between my tweezers before I follow the extension ok and it is very primary to do this and not stick something together given that that is when that you could intent damage to the natural eyelash due to the fact that each eyelash has a further development expense so if too many matters are stuck together like that and one is trying to develop out and the one subsequent to it isn’t capable to develop or yeah develop yet it is gonna be pulling, pulling the eyelash that’s now not capable to grow.. Does that make experience? I’m hoping it is smart! K, if it does not make feel remark under, i’ll give an explanation for extra however clearly very very fundamental for you to make certain nothing’s caught collectively and you’re only applying one extension on one of the crucial common eyelashes k and in addition if you can see how a long way i’m applying them from the natural progress of the eyelash line there it’s only one or two millimeters away from it okay you do not need it to contact the skin since that’s when you can intent infection or close the pore of hair follicle however you also don’t need it too a long way so it doesn’t seem funny okay so about one to two millimeters proper there and that i need to show you guys you see how there may be all these little baby hairs around this one eyelash if they may be very very tiny do not follow it on these but for instance this one’s a bit bit thicker we will still follow a shorter lash on it because the more we apply the longer they’re gonna final.In view that customers or on the grounds that each person loses 1 to five hairs a day, you want to attempt to position it on almost each single eyelash unless they’re very very tiny youngster hairs and the rule of thumb of thumb is you not ever want to apply greater than double the quantity of extension as the typical eyelash so if the typical eyelash is ready that thick I on no account wish to put something greater than double the thickness of that k or else it can be gonna be too heavy and it is now not gonna help it. I additionally need to exhibit you easy methods to dip the eyelash extension within the glue given that some people put too much glue or don’t know what’s sufficient to make sure it is gonna be proper so what I do what my trick is in the event you guys can see my little glue ring over right here once I grab the eyelash and you’ll discover I seize it from practically on prime of the place the hair is and i dip it in more virtually all of the method except it’s not touching my tweezers and then I kind of wipe it on the rim of the glue ring after which I observe it so like that i am getting enough allotted in all places the eyelash yet i’m not losing time into you recognize casting off any excess over here or yeah i am hoping that is sensible.I am gonna attempt to center of attention on the glue ring so you guys can see okay so clutch an eyelash i’m grabbing it practically from the highest and i am dipping it in almost where my tweezers are and i’m wiping on the rim after which it goes on the usual eyelash. See there is a youngster hair attaching to it so i will gently peel that off to make sure nothing’s stuck together. Sorry there it wasn’t specializing in this so there was this little little one hair that was once hooked up to my eyelash extension all I did was kind of peel it off from it to make sure nothing’s caught to nothing’s caught collectively alright to preserve the wellbeing of the typical eyelash. Now they’re getting pretty full so it’s tougher for me to find any further empty normal eyelashes to use on but i’m gonna try my satisfactory to seem and ensure, ensure that we’re putting on virtually or each single certainly one of her traditional lashes. See after I went again and looked for it again I located another one so i am gonna go ahead and practice one other one i am gonna maintain shopping.Oh seem there’s a different one so consistently double double verify to ensure you received each single eyelash if you want a just right full set i suppose on account that when you don’t put adequate they will not last as long because we do lose one to five a day okay it is going to seem excellent in the beginning but they is not going to last so you need to make sure that you’re double-checking although it appears relatively full now that it appears like I put it on every single eyelash i am still gonna go in there and style of carry them and seem around to peer if there’s whatever that I would have missed the primary time around appear there is one other so do the due diligence and take further five minutes to do this and that’s what will set you aside compared to someone who would not take their time to try this for his or her purchasers and of direction that is what makes a loyal purchaser or a joyful consumer and you that is your intention to be certain everyone’s glad.I want to dry them relatively well so it doesn’t burn while you open i am gonna go ahead and untape this phase. We are going to determine to be certain nothing is caught we’re just right. So maintain it shut i am gonna gently take the tape out I might pull somewhat, should no longer be too dangerous however we’re gonna try to dry just a little extra and i will additionally need to tape this facet so that you would be able to open *BLOOPERS* She also asks the query in there hi guys welcome back to my channel Yegi right here I need to go over… In a couple of days i’m going to go forward and put up an extra video in order that what occurred with this customer used to be virtually after we have been done with her very first time ever doing eyelash extensions she thought they appeared method too ordinary okay so plenty of occasions it’s better and it can be safer to go more traditional for a consumer who’s under no circumstances had them earlier than on the grounds that if they’re no longer used to it frequently they consider oh my god is simply too dramatic it can be an excessive amount of and it can be tougher to eliminate them then add a number of additional okay so what I so in few days i will put up a video of how I control that challenge and how I turned it into a hybrid appear to offer her a bit of bit fuller appear and preserve her happy and sure that is i am accomplished for in these days.Bye! .