I'd also like to label this one as "Why I love Nose Strips"
You know, those white things where you slosh your nose with water, peel the magic strip from the plastic backing, and SMACK. Onto your nose.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
AND RIP IT OFF!
What glory ensues! Look at all of the hair and dirt I have just relieved my nose of! How happy it can now be as it breathes inside and out! My pores sing great choruses of clear freedom! This is the day that Biore has made! I will rejoice and be blackhead free in it! (and then a few more lines about entering gates with thanksgiving, into courts with praise...and now I'm just stuck on choir memories. Ahhh Roanoke.)
Last year around this time, I was squandering Pinterest for the latest and greatest beauty craze. Lo! A DIY blackhead strip! Never buy from the store again!
Can this be? Is it really as good as everyone writes?
It's on the internet...nobody has given it poor reviews...I MUST EXPERIMENT!
And so I bought milk, gelatin, popsicle sticks, and plastic containers for mixing. Oh and I borrowed my roommate/best friend's face. AND WE SET TO WORK
On what was arguably the worst endeavor I've ever set forth to accomplish. I highly recommend against said facial peel unless you like the feeling of ripping off layers of skin from your face over and over. If that's your sort of thing, then by all means! Find the recipe! Rip off skin!
I'm sure it would actually be quite a fantastical thing for Halloween if you were looking to create an aura of skin peeling.
Or you could just go outside and get some sun. But who does that these days? Pft. Not me. Skin of milk, this one.
Showing posts with label roanoke flashbacks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label roanoke flashbacks. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Sunday, March 31, 2013
When I write about people
I like them to know I'm writing about them.
Not by telling them, but with the hope that they may read what I'm writing, realize "Oh no! That's me she's mentioning!" and then ask me about it.
I don't write about people to bad mouth them or make them feel bad about who they are. I write about them with the hope that when they realize they are being written about, it will spark a conversation.
"Hey, I read your blog last night. I noticed you said something about a person wearing purple pants. That's me, isn't it?" "You? You don't wear purple pants." "I definitely own purple pants." "No, no. You have been wearing red pants lately. Trust me, I've noticed." *winking face* And then we continue to discuss their wardrobe.
As if I'm really someone to discuss wardrobes. Have you seen what I wear? I need my personal stylist back in my life pronto. Shopping sprees again, por favor.
A break from the hopeful wishing: brought to you by sunset.
Not so much sunset as it was bright spring sky with many clouds and promises of a decent evening.
I was driving to Indianapolis this evening/afternoon (what is 5:30, exactly? Is it evening? Is it afternoon? At this point in the year, it's still light outside, so I hardly label it as evening. But it is far beyond noon.) to meet a group member for project preparation. If you're reading this, it was a bucking good time, on the reg. (here I go again, writing about people.)
Anyway. Back to the sunset/sun in the clouds.
10 years down the road, where will I be? Will I be in Indiana? Will I be in Florida? Will I talk to anyone I talk to currently? The sun was so beautiful that for a brief moment in time, I thought to myself, "Maybe I don't belong in Florida."
And that was the first time I've thought that outside of Florida.
I felt betrayed. Surely I was not fully aware of what I had just processed. Did I really catch myself thinking that maybe I should be staying in Indiana? What is here for me in Indiana?
What is in Florida for me? What is waiting for me anywhere?
Nothing. I must make my own opportunities.
Not by telling them, but with the hope that they may read what I'm writing, realize "Oh no! That's me she's mentioning!" and then ask me about it.
I don't write about people to bad mouth them or make them feel bad about who they are. I write about them with the hope that when they realize they are being written about, it will spark a conversation.
"Hey, I read your blog last night. I noticed you said something about a person wearing purple pants. That's me, isn't it?" "You? You don't wear purple pants." "I definitely own purple pants." "No, no. You have been wearing red pants lately. Trust me, I've noticed." *winking face* And then we continue to discuss their wardrobe.
As if I'm really someone to discuss wardrobes. Have you seen what I wear? I need my personal stylist back in my life pronto. Shopping sprees again, por favor.
A break from the hopeful wishing: brought to you by sunset.
Not so much sunset as it was bright spring sky with many clouds and promises of a decent evening.
I was driving to Indianapolis this evening/afternoon (what is 5:30, exactly? Is it evening? Is it afternoon? At this point in the year, it's still light outside, so I hardly label it as evening. But it is far beyond noon.) to meet a group member for project preparation. If you're reading this, it was a bucking good time, on the reg. (here I go again, writing about people.)
Anyway. Back to the sunset/sun in the clouds.
10 years down the road, where will I be? Will I be in Indiana? Will I be in Florida? Will I talk to anyone I talk to currently? The sun was so beautiful that for a brief moment in time, I thought to myself, "Maybe I don't belong in Florida."
And that was the first time I've thought that outside of Florida.
I felt betrayed. Surely I was not fully aware of what I had just processed. Did I really catch myself thinking that maybe I should be staying in Indiana? What is here for me in Indiana?
What is in Florida for me? What is waiting for me anywhere?
Nothing. I must make my own opportunities.
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