When focus = obsession = spending

My focus this past month has been on skin care as my skin has been having a tragical time of it. This is possibly due to a hormonal upheaval which is possibly due to the fact that my recent birthday puts me firmly on the threshold of a new decade. My skin care regime now involves anti-aging, wrinkle repair, moisturizing, and acne wrangling. Oh yes, it is a delicate balance and a tricky tightrope to maneuver indeed.

This momentous birthday came with the overall intention to focus on my health and skin which in my mind will stave off any depression over not being 21 anymore.

Of course with me any new focus usually involves spending money on crazy things that will help me keep focused. Despite my knowledge of my ridiculousness I participate in it anyway.
It's not cool but it's the truth.

I've returned to the school of Perricone because ultimately I know he is right. Cleaner eating helps your insides and your outsides. That and while I was at the Planet Beauty looking for zit medicine I got sucked back into his vortex of expensive products that promise beautiful skin. But not in a miracle, magical way. More in a "you really have to eat right, take care of yourself AND spend a shitload of money" kind of way.

I'm currently waiting for my sample of Cold Plasma that I found online for only $10. It is regularly a really expensive product so finding a sample was a big deal. I realize that if I fall in love with it I will be looking at a really tough decision. But apparently "if you only use one product, this is it." That's what the girl at Planet Beauty told me anyway (genius name btw, who wouldn't want to live on a planet of beauty. I would love to commute between there and Planet Unicorn).

Of course while I was on the site I had to buy "Skin Clear" Supplements because that is my problem right now and it seemed like it was made just for me and what I am going through at this moment. It's like google whispers in my ear and says "hey girl, don't fret. We have just what you need." The siren song continued: "Hey, we know you are feeling a little tired and are always looking for an energy boost. Why not try a little of this?" So yes, I also bought something called PEP too. So my super cheap $10 "find" turned something a little more expensive.

But hey, it's all in the name of health...and good skin.
And vanity.

Ripped from the headlines of my life

John: You were missed on Easter. We did nothing.

Me: Went to the farmers market on Easter. Bought some crazy super juice with alfalfa hoping it would be life changing. It's sitting in the fridge.

John: Juice is never good. I once threw a jamba juice from the car… I just knew it wouldn’t change anything.

I'm a Lady

I was at a stoplight and crossing in front of me was a cross dresser. Now, I can COMPLETELY understand why a man might want to dress in women's clothing. Women have fantastic options. "Sky's the limit" variety and so much more latitude than men have. Bearing that in mind, I ask you, obvious man in women's clothing, WHY???? Why, did you choose THAT? (I am using caps because I am, in fact, screaming).

I mean really, forget that you have the worst, scraggly, almost to the shoulder, please get some highlights, filthy dishwater hair. Let's just forget the "comfy" old sandals. Forget that you have a 5 o'clock shadow. Forget that you are a man. Forget all of that.

Why are you wearing an oversized, women's, polka dot, sailorish style blouse with a HUGE bib type collar on top of a shapeless, elastic waist, to the ankle skirt (I am surmising about the waist given what I can see coming out of the horrifying top that hits at the worst part of the hip).

WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?

There is so much to pick from. Our clothes are awesome and I bet you feel more like your true self in them. Whatever.

YOU ARE ROYALLY FUCKING THIS UP.

So either do this better or wear your own sex's clothes. I am not kidding.
I feel you can do less harm in them given the inherent limitations of men's clothing.

Why why why don't I carry my phone with the camera mode on at all times? I am so mad at myself. So I guess, man in the worst choice of girl clothes ever, we are both a little wrong today. I think I have learned. I fear that you, however, are a lost cause.
(that is, unless I see you again).

ps: I love you Little Britain. I love you.

that really chaps my lips

My lips have been chapped now for a solid 9 months. I thought they were getting better for a second there but they are having a freak out again. Everyone keeps telling me to go to the doctor but I really don't want to. It isn't because I hate doctors. Au contraire, I just recently skipped into my physician's office to see if I could get her to give me some speed so I wouldn't have to sleep so much. It failed. When I told her I was tired and I slept a lot she told me to "sleep while I can." Implying what? That some day I won't be able to sleep? That was just fucking stupid but she holds the prescription pad so I held my tongue.

For anyone who's worried about me. Don't be. While my goal in life is to have more energy and get more done, I'm not crazy. I didn't actually think she was going to give me speed.

Not really.

My point is, I'm not afraid to go to the doctor, it's just that it is a total pain in the ass and usually disappointing. Besides, I really want to figure this out on my own. I want to figure out with detective like precision which product may be the culprit and I want to find some home brew, nutty crunchy concoction that will cure me. I don't want to have to depend on a third party to get what I need.

Especially when they won't give it to me.

The Mommie dearest in me.

Today I just feel like throwing out all my shoes. It's not that I hate them, it's just that lately I've been feeling like I don't have the perfect shoes for the outfits I'm putting together. So I settle. Which I kinda hate and that makes me want to throw them all out and start over, even though I know that is stupid on so many levels. I imagine this is how people sometimes feel about their kids. What?

I have threatened to take them to the "bad shoe home" if they don't shape up. I vividly remember the "bad girl home" threat being particularly effective. Especially the time we did a drive by. Perhaps I should take a swing by the goodwill with all my shoes, or better yet, one of those drop boxes where things fall out and are scattered all over the parking lot in desolate disarray. That should put the fear of DSW in them.

On the other hand, maybe I will go and buy one pair of shoes that I will favor in order to create some healthy competition for my attention. I feel obliged to say that my parents did not do this. However, it is something I would do as a parent hence, my knowing better than to have children.

I do have my tax appointment next week and for anyone keeping track that means I will have accomplished one of my resolutions. However, the more important resolution of actually learning about finances has not happened so I fear a repeat of last year's tax/shoe debacle. Why would I buy a pair of shoes that I love above all my other shoes only to have the heartbreak and humiliation of returning them when I find out I owe thousands of dollars to the IRS? It flies too close to masochism in my book. I can't stand the thought of having to crawl back to my old shoes and beg their forgiveness in a dramatic Shakespearianesque downfall through hubris situation.

I guess I better find a way to suck it up and fall in love with my old shoes again.
This sucks.

Warning: I'm breaking the dream rule again...

For anyone who hates to hear about other people's dreams, now is your chance to bail.

Last night I had one of those waitress dreams/nightmares. John Baptiste was sitting at the counter waiting for coffee but I couldn't find any cream that was good so I had to go down to the basement to find some. It took me forever to find it, all the while I was painfully aware that his coffee was getting cold. As I was heading upstairs I discovered that we made donuts at the restaurant and I could pick one to eat. IT WAS SUCH A DIFFICULT CHOICE. I had an apron full of creamers and I had just picked the wrong donut. What a waste. I was definitely going to have to have another one.

Who is John Baptiste, you ask? Someone from the far far left field of my brain where, apparently, people from my high school live. I think he's someone who went to my high school but it is quite possible I made him up. When I googled him, "John the Baptist" came up so it might have been him.
This is all I need, baked goods and my past oozing out of my psyche and converging in my dreams. Throw in a spider and we have ourselves a total party.

Fuck, I want a donut right now.

Hangover...

Quite the party.