So I FINALLY got a gel light and ordered some gummy jelly and the no wipe top coat from enailcouture. I freaking love it. There are probably better products to use to do these built up gel droplets but I was just messing around with it as I don’t have any gems yet.
I put Sinful Colors Orange cream as a base color and the rest is acrylic paints and the little gem looking things are just a holographic glitter piece with built up gel. I also built up the gummy jelly on top of the lady bugs to make them more 3D.
I really did, I swear. Not a day
went by when I didn’t want to punch his stupid face in, throw him into a
truck’s path, send him off on a weather balloon to space. I really despised
bit of backstory:
lived with my father, my mother, and my little brother, George, or
“Georgie” as a nickname. George was 11. He had sandy brown hair, and
George was my parents’ little angel. He could do no wrong in their eyes. In
everyone else’s, though, Georgie was a tiny demon sent from the depths of the
Underworld. He harassed smaller children, stole lunch money, and did worse
things I don’t even want to say. Almost once a week, our neighbors or George’s
teacher would show up at our door, forced smiles frozen on our faces.
come to have a chat about George,” they would say.
parents would gasp at each “false” relevation. Someone killed the
class hamster and wrote GT (George’s initials) in blood on the tabletop? No
way. Our angel couldn’t do that! They would proclaim. Someone stole Samantha’s
lunch, stuffed it in the girls’ toilet, and forced her to eat it during recess?
How dare you accuse Georgie of that! It must have been some other child, though
Samantha had to go to a mental hospital for a while because of the trauma. Our
George burned someone’s homework? Lies. Our George kicked a kitten? False. Our
George stole $78 worth of candy from a store? Of course not. He told us he
bought that candy.
list goes on.
parents never got worn down. They never stopped to consider these claims, even
when obvious evidence was presented. Ever. George was a sweet little honeycake.
But as George’s sister, by God, it was 1,000x worse.
would take my homework and hide it, burn it, or stuff it in the toilet. I came
to school empty handed those days, and the teachers nodded and gave me 100s.
They knew George.
came home from school one day and all of my stuffed animals were hanging by
their necks from nooses on the ceiling of my room. I screamed, ran downstairs
for my parents, and when they came up they yelled at me because if I
“wanted to make a statement”, then I could have just asked them to
repaint my room black or dark blue or whatever.
torture was endless.
this brings me to about 2 weeks ago, when our house was being repainted in
George’s room. One of my friends, Titi (her real name was Tatiana, but
she hated it) had enough.
know,” she said to me, mischeviously, “we could get him back.”