...In which our heroine is tough as nails.

 I've always struggled to balance my femininity with liking "boys stuff." There was this article from Cinematical about a month ago, and I totally identified with the little girl being teased for having a Star Wars lunch box. I'll trade a zombie movie over a chick flick any day.

It's taken me this long, 21 years, to realize liking "boys stuff" is just fine and a lot of boys quite appreciate when a pair of boobs can out gross them. In my always male dominated film classes, I always make it a point to bring up something totally perverse within the first few classes - in Production I, I brought up how Patrick Bateman walks around with a severed head on his dick in week two, and suddenly, I had the respect of my male peers. Obviously there's a larger problem that I have to prove myself to said males, but I digress.

There is one aspect of my life where am I totally, unabashedly beauty obsessed. While most days require a five-minute make-up, blow dry, and a pair of jeans, my nails are always impeccable. This practice comes from my mother - hers were always lovely, and she instilled in me that nice nails say something about a woman, what she does, what she cares about. These are the things she told me when she'd do my nails when I was little.

Being well-manicured (and pedicured too, but not as much of a priority) is one of my favorite beauty rituals. My roommates make fun of me for how much time I spend, my OCD about even the smallest chip, but for me, impeccable nails always make me feel pretty, somehow put together. Even working at Bob Evans or operating film cameras didn't keep me from keeping them long, always polished.

Perhaps it is an old school tradition, one that screams housewifery and antiquated values, but it's my thing. And it takes a lot of goddamn work: filing, base coat, three coats of color, and one top coat after each color. And all for at most, ten days of perfection. Then start from scratch. Nevermind mishaps, like slamming my right ring finger in my dad's car door, thus the left hand photo...

But I love the ritual. It's girly, it's my mother, and now it's mine. Professional mani-pedis GROSS me the fuck out. Someone else's tools and polish? No thanks. I'll stick to the DIY attitude.

So while I may still like boys stuff, and use the ten impeccable manicured nails to break up "tobacco," or load film, or assemble bookshelves, I'll always have nice hands doing it. To me, nothing says I care about my appearance like well-done nails because we use our hands always, and to keep them perfect shows care. I've been asked many times if my nails are fake, which is about the best compliment I could get.

Favorite products? Nail Magic for base coat. OPI ideally for polish, but it's expensive so I also like Sally Hansen Complete Salon Manicure, and Hard as Nails if I'm going on the cheap. Shades of red, pink, and coral only, except for toes. None of that novelty multi-color shit, or porn star french tips. And then for top coat, Sally Hansen's Insta-Dri Top Coat, which really does dry in about a minute. It's my favorite beauty product ever...except for Smith's Rosebud Salve.

The snow is falling like forgiveness...