Elf make up brushes - Lime green make up

Elf Make Up Brushes

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  • constitution: the way in which someone or something is composed
  • The combination of qualities that form a person's temperament
  • Cosmetics such as lipstick or powder applied to the face, used to enhance or alter the appearance
  • The composition or constitution of something
  • constitute: form or compose; "This money is my only income"; "The stone wall was the backdrop for the performance"; "These constitute my entire belonging"; "The children made up the chorus"; "This sum represents my entire income for a year"; "These few men comprise his entire army"
  • makeup: an event that is substituted for a previously cancelled event; "he missed the test and had to take a makeup"; "the two teams played a makeup one week later"
  • (brush) a dense growth of bushes
  • An act of sweeping, applying, or arranging with such an implement or with one's hand
  • A thin stick set with long wire bristles, used to make a soft hissing sound on drums or cymbals
  • An implement with a handle, consisting of bristles, hair, or wire set into a block, used for cleaning or scrubbing, applying a liquid or powder to a surface, arranging the hair, or other purposes
  • (brush) rub with a brush, or as if with a brush; "Johnson brushed the hairs from his jacket"
  • (brush) an implement that has hairs or bristles firmly set into a handle
  • A supernatural creature of folk tales, typically represented as a small, elusive figure in human form with pointed ears, magical powers, and a capricious nature
  • (folklore) fairies that are somewhat mischievous
  • extremely low frequency: below 3 kilohertz
  • (elves) an acronym for emissions of light and very low frequency perturbations due to electromagnetic pulse sources; extremely bright extremely short (less than a msec) electrical flashes forming a huge ring (up to 400 km diameter) in the ionosphere

not Fergie, but the golden-haired wife of the god Thor
not Fergie, but the golden-haired wife of the god Thor
Despite the movie portraying Sif as a Xena-like warrior, the mythological Sif was completely different. Not much in known about Thor’s wife Sif. Thor was her 2nd husband and the identity of the first husband is unknown, though she did have a son by him who was named Ull. Her story is the beginning of the myth of several prominent objects in Norse mythology. Her most striking feature was her golden hair. In all likelihood, Sif was a fertility goddess, with her hair representing ripening corn. However Sif’s importance had diminished in Norse folklore by the time the myth was recorded. Her marriage to Thor, though, is significant pointer to the way in which Thor was regarded by the Norsemen. The mischievous shape-shifting god Loki boasted that he had made love to her and was extremely jealous of Thor. Due to anger at Sif’s marriage to Thor, Loki managed to get into Sif’s locked bedroom, and as she slept. Loki raised his blade and with quick dexterous strokes, removed Sif’s shining hair. Sif murmured, but did not awaken; the hair left on her cropped head stuck upward like stubble. Loki dropped the skeins of shining hair on to the floor, he stared at the mound of glowing hair, smiled, and then departed Sif’s bedroom. When Thor returned to Sif, and discovered what had happened, both he and Sif knew that only Loki would have done such a treacherous act. Enraged, Thor pursued and located Loki and with his immense stature and strength, gripped Loki by the throat lifted him from the ground. Claiming it was only a joke, Loki swears that the hair will be replaced with the aid of the dwarves and elves. Under the threat that Thor will smash every bone in his body, Loki assures Thor and Sif that the hair will be replaced. Loki made his way to a cave that is the home of the dark elves, the sons of Ivaldi. Loki knows that the sons of Ivaldi are skilled enough to spin golden hair as fine as Sif’s and imbue it with such magic that it will grow upon her head. The dubious elves asked Loki what they would gain out of all this. Loki assured that they would receive the thanks of Sif, Thor and the other gods and goddesses. Still not convinced, Loki further added a guarantee that he would repay the elves in full measure, should they ever have need of his services. As the elves spun the gold into glimmering strands of fine hair, they murmured spells over the strands and to further please the Norse gods, the two sons of Ivaldi fashioned a marvelous ship for Freyr, called Skidbladnir, and forged a mighty spear for Odin, called Gungnir – as strong as it was slender. The two elves gave Loki the Ship, the Spear and the Golden Strands of Hair, as they explained their magical powers. As usual, Loki was at no loss for words and with boisterous thanks, he departed back to Midgard see Thor and Sif. Loki decided not to head directly back to Midgard, but instead opted for a side trip to see two dwarves: Brokk and Eitri. Once there, Loki showed the dwarves the treasures meant for the gods and goddesses. Knowing that these twin dwarves were extremely skilled, he tempted Brokk and Eitri to make gifts comparable to the ones the sons of Ivaldi had made. Brokk and Eitri boasted they could create gifts much finer; in disbelief Loki staked his head that they could not do more intricate and extraordinary work. Brokk and Eitri, eager to take up Loki on this challenge, as it would not only rid them of the ‘schemer’ Loki, but the treasures made by the Sons of Ivaldi would be theirs for the taking, as Loki would be beheaded by the gods, due to his arrogance and foolishness to dare gamble with the gifts to the gods. Brokk and Eitri went to work. Brokk was warned not to allow the bellows to stop, or the treasures would be ruined. Eitri began forming the fine metals, as Brokk worked the bellows a fly landed upon Brokk’s hand, instantly stinging him. Brokk looked down, but did not pause in his efforts. The first of the treasures, the Gullinbursti (a boar with Bristles of Gold), was pulled from the forge. The dwarves began the second of the treasures for the gods. Eitri picked up a great block of flawless gold, heated it until glowing and malleable then hammered and shaped the item, placed it into the forge once more, warning Brokk to pump the bellows until he pulled it from the forge. Eitri departed, just as the fly returned, settled onto the back of Brokk’s neck, stinging him twice as sharply as before Brokk winced, but did not pause when Eitri returned, he removed the Draupnir (an arm-ring of solid gold) from the forge. Once more Eitri placed a great hunk of fine iron into the forge once heated, Eitri hammered it into shape, returned it to the forge and once more warned Brokk to remain pumping the bellows until he returned or the treasure would be ruined. Just as a weary Eitri departed the forge, the fly buzzed through the arch into the smithery alcove, this time settling between Brokk’s eyes and at once stun
Damn. Forgot camera. Here's a picture of an epileptic scarlet ibis I took last time I was here. Pamela, Steve and I travel to pick Mike up at the airport in Vancouver. The border patrol agent is one of the young ones. His demeanor implies that we are dangerous terrorists. It works--we are all instantly irrationally stricken with guilt. Maybe the listening devices picked up Steve telling us that he put jihadist down as his occupation on last year's tax return? He asks the usual questions about who we are and where we’re going and why. “You say you all know each other, but your driver’s licenses say you live in Coupeville and yours says you live in Bellingham.” He impatiently brushes aside our explanation that the towns are only an hour apart. “So this “friend” of yours that you’re meeting—what’s his name?” He uses air quotes. Then the guy asks what we all do for a living and Steve throws him off by cheerfully replying that he doesn’t do anything. Shaken, he makes us pop the trunk and lets us go before we have to admit that our friend is an elf from an online role-playing game. Later on when I open the trunk, I see that a pair of my pants and a tank top covered in dried blood (from a recent fall that gashed open my knee and my palms) are in plain view. At the airport, talk naturally turns to airplane crashes and Lost. Unfortunately we can’t seem to remember many of the key characters or plot points. We watch a tour guide round up a bunch of Asian tourists by waving a purple flag at them. Mike-the-elf walks up to us from a completely unexpected direction. (Maybe he is a terrorist.) He fends off hugs because he is shockingly sweaty. (Probably nervous about whatever nefarious act he has planned.) Next on the agenda is the Capilano suspension bridge. Google research promised that we would experience unbelievable natural beauty in a setting kind of like a real life version of Teldrassil. A lot of people are there for a weekday afternoon in fall—don’t kids go to school anymore? I misidentify a worker wearing a broad brimmed hat as mentally challenged and then realize that all the workers are dressed oddly. The dress code appears to be vaguely old-timey (except for the mariachi band). We finally identify the look as Ye Ole Tourist Trap. The gorge and the stream really are beautiful, unfortunately, there are too many people to linger. Our tree top adventure is decidedly underwhelming. Pamela reports that one employee’s job is to stare intently at the bridge all day and use a microphone to admonish children to stop running. She’s wearing what looks like a nun’s habit with a cameo pinned to it. Driving to dinner we see the tour guide with the purple flag again. She’s in Stanley Park, showing her group a cruise ship that appears to be on a collision course with the Lion’s Gate Bridge. I am torn between watching the destruction and watching a ridiculously nice-looking runner stretching nearby. Dinner is delicious. You can tell it’s a nice restaurant because there are things we can’t identify on our plates (fennel, gooseberries.) The Vancouver Central Library is gorgeous. From below we can see trees spilling over the sides, but they won’t let us up onto the roof garden. We decide to head back to Bellingham. The border guard on the way back is older. He does not interrogate us and even tells us to have a nice evening. We go back to Pamela’s fantastic house. it's surrounded by old-growth forest and ferns, but has a really airy, light-filled design. An additional advantage is that you can find it easily because some rascals have spray painted an enormous penis onto the pavement outside. We talk for a long time.

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