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Can you see it now?

5 Jul

Apparently when one becomes an adult, things change. Which, PS!!, I wish they had more classes for these things… not just how to use a condom(which that doesn’t seem to have sunk in with a majority of the population), but maybe more tips on how to do taxes, where to buy anti-wrinkle cream that tastes good, and how to budget when watching late night infomercials. Who do I need to write a letter to?!

I have discovered that one of those scintillating changes include acne getting a promoted title… and becoming “adult acne.” hawt.

Adult acne, as many of you know, is super fun!

Not really.

It’s a huge bitch.

I thought acne would stop when my raging hormone driven outbursts and bi-polar tendencies once a month were leveled out by the coming of age trek through college and into hell. AKA “Adult-dom.” 

But those seem to be sticking around too.

So basically, being adult is the same as being a kid you just get to have sex legally and make trips to the DMV for fun. My assumption that once I turned 18… or 21… or 25… or…30??…  my face would miraculously become  the photo shopped- porcelain- envy of all to behold…was apparently  ridiculous!! because I’m still applying anything green to anything red on my face like color wheel math or Christmas day is going to save the “situation” on my new adult version skin.

Think again.

I tried Bare Essentials … and it worked real well… but lucky for us they just discovered it is going to give cancer conveniently to the entire female masses… Which what isn’t amiright? I’m at the cancer stage where it’s not IF I’m gonna get it… it’s WHICH one am I going to get (taking bets now) and let’s hope either the guy who has the secret recipe to curing cancer gets it before me or I get the kind that goes real fast so I can die with my flaw ridden skin intact and bright red.

I also tried a Clarisonic… I really like it… on my patient days… you know those days when 2 minutes doesn’t feel like a year in a Chuckie Cheese at kid happy hour. Both painful.

But THEN my friend invited me to a “makeup” party. Ya know, one of those parties where you wanna go for the free food (and moral support offff coooourse 😉 )but you really don’t want to buy anything and it immediately turns into a see-saw of guilt and being a cheap ass for the whole evening, that you just end up drinking the entire booze section of the free table and go ahead and purchase the entire catalog that is offered… waking up the next day feeling as if you’ve hit rock bottom and promising yourself you’ll get your shit together… soon… and keep it in your wallet.

Well SOMETHING like that happened, but my purchase was not rock bottom… it was a ray of light from the heavens.

It’s called Jordan Essentials and everyone with sensitive skin, hard to deal with skin, or just skin at all needs to try it. (WARNING: If you don’t have skin then this is not for you.)

I got the oatmeal facial bar and am proud to announce I feel like dancing around with an umbrella and pulling my hair back for alllll the world to see.

They have makeup, self tanner, deodorant, lotion… basically EVERYTHING you could EVER want. (Besides anti- depression medication… and triple gallon sized bottles of wine… you have to go elsewhere for that.)

Jordan Essentials products are made with high quality ingredients such as, Shea Butter, Soy, Coconut oil, Dead Sea Salts, Beeswax, and Grapeseed oils. They avoid ingredients such as DEA, isopropyl alcohol, mineral oil, parabens, SLS/SLES and aluminum.

So you’re saying there’s only a 58.999999923451…% of it giving you cancer? Sign me up!!

Here’s the link.  http://www.myjestore.com/Nacy/

You’re welcome.

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Seraphim Blues

26 Jun

Reading has been a lifelong pain in my ass since I’ve decided to be a student… until I die.

However, this summer has brought employment that forces me to take a full hour lunch, leading me to want to slit my wrists and to take up reading as a hobby again… what is that?!! Someone get a thermometer!

A couple of summers ago I interned in New Zealand for what turned out to be one of the coolest dudes ever… I don’t think the feelings were as mutual.

Turns out he’s a writer.

Turns out he is an awesome writer.

Turns out his book is my absolute favorite.

Turns out they’re turning it into a movie.

Aaaanndddd it’s not 1,000,052 pages long.

Jackpot!

I may like this book because I’ve spent most of my life sure I’m going to die before 30 (which is getting eerily closer than I ever imagined it would)  and taken advantage of my fierce hypochondria by  travelling the world,  avoiding settling down into anything, and accruing overdeveloped opinions. You’re welcome.

Turns out the main character in the book is doing the exact same thing… but he’s actually really young and really dying. Bummer I know.

The movie is called “The Most Fun You Can Have Dying” and the book is called “Seraphim Blues” by Steven Gannaway.

I had been trying to track down a copy in the states for two years until I finally found it on Lulu.com.

Gannaway’s opinion’s on living life, discovering death, understanding an unconventional faith, and making the most of what you are given, is the BEST I have EVER seen. (Yes, you heard correct… I AM being positive about something. You can close your mouth.) He keeps your attention (which with my ADD that takes over in the first 5 sentences is VERY impressive), he provokes thought about the meaning of our existence, what your dreams are, and how we can all figure out a way to either obtain cancer or fake cancer in order to take the money and run… to life.

Trailer for “The Most Fun You Can Have Dying:” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jjvf-wxHl50

Hairy situation.

21 Jun

When did wearing fake hair for the freaking fun of it become acceptable in our society??

Perhaps it was when Jessica Simpson started taking over the world with idiocracy… In case you don’t remember those good ol’ days… it was back when she had her FABULOUUUSSSS  ken-doll -look –alike- with- a- someone- make- it- go- away- NOW!- soul- patch- hairdresser to back her up… and speak for her, thank God for that. Amiright?

It’s rare these days to not see a chick with someone else’s hair on their head playing it cool like “Yeah, I like grew this myself, duhhhhh. Hahahahaha. Hahahahaha. Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

It’s gross… and unnatural … and a little bit scary… and I just think it’s a waste for the cancer patients and drag queens that REALLY need that shit.

Plus, I think it’s a liiiiiiieeee.

You meet someone with a cute pixie cut and BAM! the next day they show up with 6 ft Rapunzel hair that looks similar to a well planned mullet or Britney Spears BEFORE she shaved her head (yeah, that statement made me feel REAL old) and bingo! She’s a whole new girl!

No thank you.

I like to be upfront in the beginning with all things including my disdain for douchebags and my ability to sorta grow my hair with the help of 8 hour long prayer sessions, crossing my fingers, and consuming cases of Biotin. As well as ensuring that what is on my head will NOT be on the floor if pulled too tight, caught in an elevator, or ravaged in a brutal girl brawl.

And the upkeep!! I’ve seen girls wash them, brush the things, and hang them out to dry like they just shaved Barbie’s head and are planning a secret burning ritual for little girls everywhere.

And sleeping on them… after a long night the next morning is like waking up to cousin IT’s murder crime scene.

To make matters worse things are being injected into hair as well, like feathers…and beads… and shame. Booo.

Additionally if your child can’t walk… leave their heads alone!! Noone should be forced to look slutty before they are able to run away from the craziness!

Save the children.

Ok I’ll stop bitching. But the point I was trying to make 400 words ago is that: real is better, it’s ok to have hair shorter than your ass, and call me old fashion, but maybe less CAN be more…

Maybe? Maybe maybe maybe? 😉

 

You want me to put that needle where?

19 Jun

When did plastic surgery become a thing that people to the right of California would have to worry about?

 I don’t feel that old… yet… but amongst my friends, I think I was the only one shocked when a botox birthday party came on the menu??

Hold on one second. At near…. Ahhhheeemmmm 27….. I just bought my first bout of anti-wrinkle cream … and use it like I’m a tender 45-year -old –Bravo-housewife burn victim.

And yes, I’m comfortable with that.

I was sure I had at least a decade until needles and Meg Ryan dreams were involved in my daily routine.

I don’t do needles… hence why I don’t have tattoos or attempt to save lives by giving blood and plasma (know, I know… I would really just be doing it for the $$… you caught me).  I was hoping for at least another two decades for some Mark Zuckerburg-type to invent a permanent 21-year-old hologram to go parading around in my place once I found that hill everyone is talking about … and trip over it.

Plus, when did it become fun to have a birthday party where everyone gets stabbed on purpose?? I think I would rather join the cast of Saw 56 and just be pushed into a vat of syringes.

Is there a certain age that women can look to start maintaining their beauty? Have we all lost our minds and are wrinkles before the age of 30 “white girl problem” #6,000,005.3?

 Or is there really something graceful about taking age as it is… finding ourselves caking on the makeup and dying from over face hydration and whatever cancer is in anti-wrinkle cream and homemade face masks made of mayonnaise and foot smell…

…or possibly the answer is just committing suicide when the first crow’s feet pop up to say good morning.

Invitations for my debut botox party are already in the mail.  

Hey Girl Heyyyyyyyy

13 Jun

I don’t…. I don’t… I just really don’t get these Ryan Gosling “Hey Girl” things that have taken over the web.

Yeah, I get that he’s hot… I get that ’cause I’m neither blind nor suffering from lesbianism… and he’s desirable,,, and beautiful… and perfect…. and “apparently” he’s sensitive… which I don’t understand who cares about that besides Eva Mendes (lucky bitch) and his mother.

Maybe I’m just too dense to get what most of them mean…. wouldn’t be the first time something went over my head… or though it.

Maybe I’m too busy looking at the pictures… cause let’s face it… the man photographs slightly better than chopped liver…but only slightly. 😉

But all the things he says in those posters are NOTHING I would ever wanna hear…  If you were within 100 miles of Ryan Gosling I’m pretty positive noone would be talking about attending craft fairs or discussing the difference between types of scissors or Pinterest projects that girls dream they could execute past the 3 second pin job on their lunch break.

First, you’d have to peel my skin off of his skin; second,  wipe the drool off my mouth; and lastly, carry me to the nearest smelling salts.

I don’t even get what half the references are to begin with, but perhaps that’s my lack of crafting knowledge, my hatred for discussing the food pyramid, or just the fact that who wants a dude as awesome as Ryan to be pussified into a female version of prince charming?

No, thank you.

I’ll take him quiet… quieter the better… and manly.

And if I ever do encounter Ryan and his first words start with “hey girl” … they better be followed by “I want to have your babies” … NOT “I bet I can guess your favorite color of fabric for throw pillows.”

And then finally he should serenede me with some sort of string instrument.. after the smelling salts have kicked in. Duh.

What the……??????

???

Edwards Scissorhands and an 80’s band.

21 Mar

Feeling a bit frisky this week I decided to take my chances and go to the hair salon… in a foreign country. It’s a first and I was feeling …adventurous. Also, the Mtn. Dew Yellow color that had taken residence on my head coupled with the shadow of a Jewish Kippah was screaming “Don’t take me in public!!” So I gave in.

Enter Oscar.

His combat boots, super chic mohawk, and little bit of hair related English made me feel in good hands.

Then he passed me off to Edward Scissorhands.

There’s nothing quite like watching your hair being chopped off at rapid speeds and having to watch it in tense anxiety waiting for the deeply desired moment it will stop and you can breathe again. It’s like watching someone being pinched to death by a cage filled of lobsters and not having any boiling water and butter to come to the rescue.

WHY do salon’s have mirrors so you can watch? A) It’s never gonna make you feel good to watch the mutilation of your wet, hard-earned follicles flying through the air and hitting the floor never to be glued back on again. And B) You ALWAYS wish you could freshen up your makeup ASAP to help the  ultra-lighted grotesqueness you are being forced to watch.

Also, I now understand why hair stylists talk so much. It used to annoy me, but I will really appreciate the constant jabber from henceforth. When there is a language barrier the deafening silence makes the funeral for your locks a much more cringe worthy experience. You need someone there to bullshit you through the pain. AND make you trust that the finale is going to be fantastic and all the boys will love you and all the girls will hate you.

Edward did not instill any of these whilst she masterfully crafted… my mullet.

During my torture I luckily looked to the left and realized the lesbians’ shaved head and landing strip on her scalp next to me was ALWAYS going to be worse than what was happening on my own globe. However, if I would have known we were getting serious, I would have donated the shit to Locks of Love and then had something to write on my sign I’m going to wear for the next 6 months explaining my “situation” until it all evens out.

Surprisingly, it was only 37 euros. So it was cheap torture, and to be fair I can’t blame Edward for not magically making me look like Carrie Underwood in the picture I brought. They can’t do that in America either.

I’m just gonna need to lose 20 lbs, get a tan, and stock up on multi seasonal hats to go with my new do.

PS Carrie… you pull off a mullet magically… what’s your secret??

I need to brush up on the old tambourine and join an 80’s band stat.

Put Down the Powder.

24 Jan

When did this outward obsession with material things become so prominent?

Did I just now take my head out of my ass or is the world revolving towards ultra-ego at an ultra rapid pace?

It’s like a spiral into all things self obsessed and stuck-up. Recently while going out with some… we’ll call them  “friends” and taking time to notice  everything that was happening around me, I realized that this ultra chic bar did not provide any kind of chicness at all. Underneath all the pretty lights, suited up bouncers, well dressed guests, and roaring music, was insecurity, greed, self-fulfilling desires, and obsession.

When did it become ok for girls to spend 5 or more minutes self examining their pictures and when did it become normal to take at least three tries to get a perfectly posed photo, and when did carrying makeup and “touching up” become an hourly routine? With the pressure to look perfect, the pressure of Hollywood and its Photoshop magic, the pressure of relationships in a free sex world, and the pressure of the perfect profile facade, when does the outward appearance stop making the entire difference?

Now don’t get me wrong. I am ALL for looking put together, dressing nice, taking care of yourself, and …. I’m especially all for hygiene. I’m not saying let’s all be hippies. I’m just saying I think there needs to be less fake hair, less concern about our looks, less focus on landing money and fame and sex, and more focus on the person we are and finding love… not in a posh club, but perhaps in the real world where things aren’t always perfect and a little flaw can create character, not classlessness.

 

“Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”

21 Dec

Of all the things I have never been, conventional is one of them. I never understood the socially accepted norm of get a job, work til retirement, then die…maybe have a couple kids and a couple marriages thrown in there… you know… whatever the wind brings you.

No thank you.

I was watching Eat, Pray, Love one day and it just occurred to me… Why is that women who get divorced and have a lot of money are the only ones that can afford to go searching for themselves in other countries and in exciting places or shake up their lives to discover the real meaning of their existence? I’m 26 and I’m just as lost as some 40-year-old divorcee. And of ALL things, the money issue should NEVER hold back anyone. If there is a will there IS a way. I know how to save up money (thanks to very understanding and loving parents) and live on nothing to get myself somewhere that I think would help me grow as a person, expand my understanding of the world, and help me to find myself (Really, isn’t that more important than cars and houses and designer labels?)

And that is exactly what I plan to do.

Constantly you hear people talk about “oh, I want to this…” and “I need to do that some day.” Well guess what, you may not have “someday,” but we all have today.

In 20 days I embark on a journey starting in Madrid to find myself, to defy the norm, and to bring about an adventure that cannot let me down. No one ever says “I really regret going to Madrid,” or “I really regret seeing the world.” So that is exactly what I plan to do.

Hello world I am coming for you… again (maybe it will stick this time.)

I’ll admit embarking on the unknown and doing it independently without a real plan or anyone to hold your hand is the SCARIEST thing I have EVER done… and this isn’t my first rodeo (literally 😉 ) But the rewards thus far are immense even leading up to D-day, and the growth to come I know will be endless.

Of all things I am most proud of in myself  and that I hope for others to understand in their own existence is to never settle. Settling leads to regrets and unhappiness… and becoming a divorcee.

Don’t settle in men, don’t settle in love, don’t settle for friends, don’t settle in work, and don’t settle in your set life.

Comfortable is easy, but real “life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”

Where are you on the comfort scale? As the new year approaches, what could be a better time to assess your life and start living?

You will never regret it.

Girly Gift #7: Colorful Christmas

16 Dec

I’m feeling girly again… watch out!

With hair trends being long, and my hair being long, I get really excited when things get ‘colorful.’ Especially since I have had the same hair style for… the last decade.

Katy Perry is paving the way with bursts of color for the head and I am ready to join in on the fun (I can’t decide if my openness with color is because I’m hanging around more “sparkly” girly-girls or this scrooge-ess is emerging out of her all black closet… either way I’m temporarily TEMPORARILY going with it)

You can get the hair coloring done through oil pastels… but that sounds a little messy for my OCD lifestyle. So I found a great alternative. It’s called Color Bug and it appears to be the mess-free way to get your pink, purple and orange on.

Can you say stocking stuffer??

It’s made by Kevin Murphy out of Australia. You can’t get it on his website, but if you go there you can find salons around your area that carry the stuff.

$25 for a temporary good time (I have commitment issues)… I’m down.

Anyone wanna loan me $25? 😉

FYI 9 days until Christmas!! Like you didn’t know… 😉

I hate you Tracy Anderson.

15 Dec

I think the only thing I hate more than exercising, is people who say they LIKE exercising.

I know that is a lie. EVERYONE would rather sit their ass on the couch and eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s… if afore-mentioned ass would promise to stay in the same spot until the day they die. Don’t lie.

Exercise enthusiasts who talk about how “fun” working out is and how they “can’t wait” to go to the gym bring about a sort of violence inside that makes me want to punch them in the face… three times… unexpectedly.

In the last few years the term “gravity” has taken on new meaning and I have tried my best to look away. However, it’s getting more clever with its prescence and I’m starting to become both nauseas and suicidal when I look in the mirror, dress, or cross my legs. Soooooo I went searching for something.

After half-hearted bouts on the treadmill and convincing myself that every piece of chocolate I eat CAN be zeroed out with 5-10 jumping jacks… and being bored out of my mind with this thing they call “yoga” I was determined to give up and start looking for my first cat.

BUT thankfully in my darkest hour I found the greatest woman alive and I would like to pick up an application to be her best friend.

Tracy Anderson.

She is Gwyneth Paltrow’s trainer… and anyone who says they wouldn’t want to look like her is a liar, too. Maybe, all three of us can be best friends?? Please say yes. I’ll be waiting for your rejection acceptance letter (think positive, think positive) to put in my ginormous pile of acceptance letters that I get everyday… 😉

After obtaining Tracy’s workout videos… watching a quick run through of them while sitting on the couch and eating Ben & Jerry’s… I decided I could POSSIBLY do that.

And I can! And I did. And I like it! Whaaaaaaa…. the world is definitely ending soon.

The mat video is my favorite. Not only is Tracy pretty to look at, she doesn’t talk a lot (which is BIG in my book), you don’t need a lot of fancy equipment, you can watch TV simultaneously, and it hurts like hell.

I hate her, but I really love her… and so does my ass… because it has decided to fit in those “skinny” jeans I was planning a burning service for and move up a couple of levels to join the rest of the world.

The cardio video is another story… it initially made me want to cry and call my old best friends B & J, but I persevered and realized I am not a dancer, never will be, and just imitating her is WAYYYY less frustrating than pretending I know what this thing called “choreography” is and that it should be a part of my uncoordinated existence. It shouldn’t.

Either way! Everyone should try Tracy’s videos out (be a hella of a Christmas gift)… and be impressed with the transformation… and thank me later.

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