I’m Putting Disgusting Oils in My Mouth

3/52: Liquid
First it was “oil pulling.”

For those not in the know, oil pulling is the process of swishing oil in your mouth for 20 minutes (yes, about the length of episode of Parks and Recreation and not nearly as witty), for the purpose of cleaning your teeth, pulling toxins out of your body, and communing with a version of yourself that existed in a past life. I put that last one in there because ob-vi-ous-ly that could never work, and that’s exactly how you should view the first two things.

Gabrielle Blair at Design Mom did a post a while back about how she started oil pulling. I have an internet crush on her because she’s über cool and fancy, and she seems like a great parent who doesn’t binge watch The Only Way is Essex, but rather flips through the latest issue of Dwell while sautéing root vegetables for a sensible meal she has planned later in the week. So, I figured if she’s doing it, I should definitely do it. She made it sound fabulous.

Cut to: me swishing olive oil in my mouth because I was too lazy to go get coconut oil. This will make you hate having a mouth, people. Don’t do it. So then I thought, “Well, I can’t really blame her for the gross-o-meter in my mouth breaking because she uses coconut oil which, in retrospect, is a much more sensible choice.” So I bought the coconut oil and tried it and it’s still freaking gross. But then I kept doing it (this should give some reference for my idiot-level tenacity) just to see if my eyes would shine like a baby fawn in the first light of the day. (I believe fawn-eyes are listed as a benefit of oil pulling somewhere in the hippy sector of the internet.)

After many days of waking up early to chew on, then swish, coconut oil in my mouth I discovered I did not, in fact, have fawn eyes. To oil pulling’s credit, my teeth did feel clean-ish. Sort of. But, I did not feel any radical bodily changes that would indicate vacated toxins. I did not commune with Nelanie, the Melanie of years gone. But I DID repeat a super gross experience many times, beyond the point where Reason was like, “Nah, you go ahead. I’ll just go brush my teeth like a normal person.”

Bottom line is: Would I recommend oil pulling to a friend? No way, dudes. No way. Unless I was trying to play a mean trick on you. Then absolutely.

You’d think my participation in any oils-in-the-mouth experiments would be over. You would be wrong.

I started reading this website called Megsanity (ht to Abandoning Pretense) which is amazing because the main author is a therapist and so she’s super smart but she also likes to say weird stuff and swear a lot while she’s giving you priceless life advice. I want her to be my therapist pretty please. So, Meg suggested that oregano oil may be helpful in combating depression because of something called “serotonin reuptake.” If you’re curious, go read her stuff because she’s smarter than I am.

Well, we all know I suffer from the occasional brold, so I figured what the heck, right? Sweet lambs: let me tell you that oregano oil tastes like what angry might taste like if it was oil. The bottle says that “warmth is normal” which I assume code for “the fires of hell will awaken in your throat”.

I’ve been experimenting with flavor combinations of candy corns because, well, sometimes I make bad choices.

So this morning I thought, “What if I use a candy corn as a chaser? That might help…” Cut to: abso-freaking-lutely not. Candy corns and their sweet evil do not pair well with the fires of hell, especially if said fires taste like all the pizza sauce in the world. Learn from my mistakes, friends. I’m here to help.

So, what oils have you been putting in your mouth? If the answer is “no oils” please make something up. Just for me, okay? Somebody get in this oily boat with me.

image CC BY-NC 2.0 by Christopher Rose at Flickr

Re: Dear Jerrod (Or Horse Mouth Balls)

Say, "cheese!"
Remember yesterday when I put up that faux-post that was basically a letter to Jerrod? He and I had a little follow-up convo which produced these gems:

Jerrod: Thinking about you friend. Every day is a day to smile bigger.

Me: “Every day is a day to smile bigger.”? That’s about the cheesiest advice ever. And it totally worked.

Jerrod: I punched my dumb face in the balls after I sent it. My apologies.
And I’m glad it did.

Me: Hey, it worked. Don’t punch a gift horse in the mouth balls.

Jerrod: I’m a horse? With gifts?

Me: Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth
Me: I guess that would mean *I* punched the gift horse in the mouth balls.

Jerrod: See. Smiles all around.

I’ve got the best friends.

photo CC BY-SA 2.0 by SirPecanGum at flickr

Of Course I’m Afraid of Nuclear Fallout

[220/365] Nuclear Fear (Explored)

Photo by pasukaru76 @ Flickr

I’ve been having weird dreams lately. And sleeping kinda restlessly. Sleep is literally my favorite thing to do, so it makes me a little bit cranky when it doesn’t work out quite the way I want it to. A lot of things make me cranky, though. Like:

  • Bathrooms that don’t have toilet seat covers
  • When you think you have another mango in the fridge, but discover you don’t
  • (Related) Starting a recipe and discovering half way through that you’re missing a key ingredient
  • People that don’t signal
  • Anything sticky

I could go on for some time in this fashion, because I’m essentially an 84-year-old woman in a 33-year-old’s body. I’m fine with that.

Aaaanyway…so yes, I’ve been having cranky-making sleep as of late. And the weird dreams always linger in the morning, so I spend the first couple hours of the day trying to get over the yelling match I had with my non-existent boss while ice skating; or the panic of accidentally marrying some terrible other person, then remembering I’m married to someone great, and now I have some serious paperwork to do; or spilling ALL the milk in the grocery store and trying in vain to clean it up before anyone notices.

This is a piss poor way to start the day, friends. If I was dreaming about flying that crazy dog thing from the NeverEnding Story to a sushi restaurant where I ate some yummy nigiri, the morning would be spent with the lingering memory of tasty fish. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Anyway, what happened the other night is WORSE than all those other stupid things. You know those times where you roll over and you’re awake for a little nanosecond and then you fall back asleep again? Well, something happened in that nanosecond. A little noise. Like, a bang or something. I live in the city, so it was probably someone’s cat farting in a trash can. You know, something innocuous like that. It was definitely not, as my sleepy little mind imagined, a nuclear bomb being intercepted high above the city, whose toxic contents were now showering 1.2 million people, all of whom, including myself and my family, were soon to have melting insides.

Yeah, it definitely wasn’t that.

But to a sleepy little brain, whose imagination truly knows no bounds, that didn’t matter one little bit. Nope, because the idea had hatched, like a frightening sharp-toothed alien turtle, and now it was going to rip apart my conscience like a squeaky chew toy. Can I just say that I’m super fun? I mean, like a laugh riot o’ fun.

So the next half hour’s thoughts went like this:

That was probably a nuclear bomb.

Okay, it definitely wasn’t.

But probably most certainly was. *scratches skin* Is my skin coming off? No, not yet. That’s good. But when will it? Or is that even the right test? Do your insides just melt or something? I think I remember reading that once. And that all the DNA in all of my cells is fried now. What happens?

Everyone is going to die. We don’t have enough food in the house to survive nuclear fallout. I’m a terrible parent. Couldn’t I have just donated $50 to NPR? I’m pretty sure one of their contributor gifts would save my whole family, AND keep Wait, Wait…Don’t Tell Me on the air. What the hell is my problem?!

I should check Google.

You definitely should not check Google, you crazy SOB. Stay in bed. GO TO BED.  Now. Go to bed now. Now. Right now.

I should check Google. Although, would they even put it on Google? The government would probably hide it as long as possible as to not create a panic. But I know already. I’m ahead of the curve.

My poor family. We can’t drink the water now, probably. We have no water or food and our insides are melting.

And THEN…and then. Oh freaking lord, and then. I start thinking how if we’re going to starve, and dehydrate, and our insides were turning to goo, then we should probably figure out a way to commit suicide together.

WHAT?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY BRAIN?!

And that’s when I a) see, in stark relief, that this line of thinking has gone a touch too far and b) beg whatever demented gremlin that has taken over my brain to please, oh please, oh please let me fall asleep.

To my credit, I didn’t check Google. Somehow, I fell back asleep. And in the morning, everyone’s insides were intact, and the fear that had gripped me so tightly in the middle of the night was gone. Like magic. Poof.

I don’t know how this stuff happens, but I know this: I don’t want to live gripped in fear. I hate that fear gets the best of me sometimes. Clearly, it’s a pretty big freaking bummer. The last few months have given us all a thousand things to fear, and it seems like that won’t be letting up any time soon. But fear and worry have never solved anything. So I’m gonna try to do less of that.

Good luck to me. Good luck to all of us.

(p.s. I’ve decided I won’t be watching that new show, The Following. I’m pretty sure it will make me afraid of all humans—even the baby ones. An ounce of prevention…)

What kind of monsters are in your closet?

How to Be Beautiful

It’s hard to be beautiful. There are so many ointments to apply, so many devices to wield, so many techniques to employ…yeesh! It’s surprising that more women don’t have flasks in their brassieres—who wouldn’t need a morning drink after all of that?

And it’s not really optional. Sure, there are some rad young women out there daring to step in the daylight without makeup on their faces, but for most women, we get shooed back into our bathrooms by societal pressure or self-doubt if we walk down that road. Shooed, I say!

I mean, when Candy Crowley (the moderator for the second 2012 presidential debate) gets pre-emptively bashed for her weight and looks (not her qualifications or skill), I think that underscores the demand for women to—above all—be pretty. Even Martha Stewart had a recent article with instructions on how to—I shit you not—”avoid the pull of gravity” on your neck. (Love you, Martha, but damn…really?!) I mean, putting on a little lip gloss is one thing, but somehow skirting the laws of the universe seems like a little too lofty a goal.

But Hey, If You Can’t Beat ‘em, Shellac the Crap Right out of Your Face

The other day I was in a fake pageant for my friend Melissa‘s birthday. It was kind of fabulous and insane, and Stephen and I performed the oddest combination of talents and abilities in the history of talents and abilities. If you and your milieu find yourselves wanting for entertainment, please throw a pretend adult pageant. You won’t regret it! Anyway, as part of the pageant planning process, I looked up how to do super fancy pageant make-up ala Miss America, via the source of all knowledge: YouTube.

I forgot to take pictures of the process, so I decided to recreate it through Photoshop with my hard-earned, under-used Photoshop wizardry. It’s both instructive and entertaining, so sit down and enjoy yourself, okay? Alright. Here we go:

Here’s me starting out. Look at that face. It’s like Cinderella’s been using it to clean the windows. Yikes. Gotta fix that business, and fast!

Step 1: Cover that freaking skin up!

Okay, now this part isn’t actually in the video, but you can tell that she has foundation ALL OVER that business. So, you should do something kinda like this:

Except that’s mildly terrifying, so you need to blend it. Blend it. Like so:

Oops—lost the eyebrows in the process, but that’s no big deal. Just draw those bad boys back in there.

Sweet. Lookin’ good.

Now We Work on Dramatic Eyes! With Drama!

Okay, so you start smudging white stuff under your “brow bone” and on the inner corner of your eyes. Kinda like a zombie! And then blend, of course, then you do some other darker shades on your eye lids, and then draw some even darker triangles on the corner of your eyes. It’s kind of like coloring in preschool, except on your face.

And then you do more white stuff under your eyes. I’m not sure why we couldn’t do that earlier, but whatever. I’m the student, not the teacher.

And blend…

And now black where you just put white…

And now you look like a kitty! Which is the best time to start gluing things on your face. Your eyelids, specifically. Glue some fake eyelashes right about where your real ones are, since your real ones are now engulfed by dramatic, colored powders.

Okay, the eyes are done! Now we need to add “natural glow” back where we covered it with paste at the beginning. And add some highlights to give dimension. (I know we had dimension before we started this whole charade. I get it. But just go with it. I mean…I’m lookin’ pretty dang good, so…you know. Don’t rock the makeup bag.)

So natural! Add a little lipstick…

Tada!

Now, that’s about all I can do with makeup. BUT, since we’re already working with Photoshop, lets use a few of the tricks that people frequently employ to “enhance” a woman’s face in print and on the web.

Eyes Like a Baby Dolphin! Teeth Made of Ivory!

It’s proven that larger eyes are more attractive, so let’s get that done. And, hey, the whiter the teeth, the better, right? And might as well fix that little chip in my tooth…and make my eyes “pop” a little more…

*tinker tinker tinker* …

PERFECT!

What the Hell…Let’s Stick Something Else on Your Head

We all know that curly blonde hair is preferred over dark, witch hair, so we’ll just swap that out and we’ll be done!

…drum roll please…

…drum drum drum…

And…I’m done! Sure, I look like something the devil dreamt about after watching too many episodes of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo while listening to a Dolly Parton station on Pandora, but—whew!—isn’t that so much better than my, you know, skin? And real face and teeth? You go enjoy that, friends. I’m here to help.

What’s your relationship with makeup like? Love it? Hate it? Please do share.

(And don’t forget! You can get a weekly dose of my A-game—like this—by subscribing via WordPress, email or RSS)

If Hurricanes Were People, They’d Be A-holes

Every now and again I have a conversation in my head with…say…a traffic light. Or the table. Or those bark-y dogs a few houses up from me. My brain clearly has some pretty piss poor decision-making skills, because if I weren’t having pretend conversations with the laundry, I could probably be inventing agriculture systems that can survive on Mars and we’d all be eating Martian carrots right now. I feel like I should apologize for that.

Anyway, I am who I am, and as such I was having a conversation the other day with Hurricane Isaac. It was in that conversation that I realized that if hurricanes were people, they’d be a-holes. See for yourself.

Me: Is that a goatee?

Isaac: Yeah, it looks awesome, doesn’t it? Imma score some ladies with this business.

Me: Awesome plan. Totally gonna work. That, or you’ll destroy everything you touch and people will make little voodoo hurricane dolls and hope you get hurricane STDs.

Isaac: Whatever. I know I look good.

Me: …

Isaac: Wanna go party? I’m headed inland. I’m gonna be cool about it, though.

Me: Oh yeah? First time for everything, I guess.

Isaac: Yeah, I’m gonna be totally cool. Waltz in, water some plants, blow around a little just for show, then head on out.

Me: Sure you won’t get all drunk and pick up people’s cars and crush their neighbors’ cats with them?

Isaac: Hey, I’ve NEVER done that. Sure, some people in my family have, but I’m my own man, okay? Besides, people in my family are famous so, you know…crazy works.

Me: Yeah?

Isaac: Uuhhh…YEAH. Katrina? Ring any bells?

Me: Of course it rings bells. Everyone freaking hated her. HATED her. She was maybe the most terrible thing ever.

Isaac: She wasn’t that bad.

Me: Have you lost your mind?! She killed a TON of people. A TON of them. And destroyed like, ALL the houses in New Orleans.

Isaac: You know what? You’re so judge-y.

Me: Yeah, I guess I am.

Isaac: Hey, hey!  Baby, baby, baby…

Me: Ick. Stop calling me baby.

Isaac: Baby, come on baby.

Me: Fine. What?

Isaac: Shhhhh, shhh, shhh…shuuuush. Baby, don’t be so hard on yourself. We all have problems.

Me: Ugh…you’re so gross.

Isaac: So gross that you like it?

Me: No.

Isaac: Oh, I see…so gross that you LOVE it. You love it gross, huh baby?

Me: Ohmigod, no! You’re so pervy! How is it even possible to be that pervy?

Isaac: Hey! Don’t you go running your mouth off, woman, or I swear I’ll pick up a tree and rip your face off with it!

Me: Holy crap! Calm down!

Isaac: I’m sorry, baby. We’re getting closer to land. You know how I get…come rub my goatee.

Me: No. Thanks. I’m good.

Isaac: Fine! I’m gonna go get with that peninsula over there and we’re gonna have a ton of baby tornadoes together! Then how will you feel!? You’ll feel terrible!

Me: You’re an a-hole.

Isaac: Your face is an a-hole!

Me: Fine. My face is an a-hole. Are we done here?

Isaac: Yeah. Yeah we are.

Me: Great.

Hurricanes—they’re a bunch of a-holes. Stay safe out there, people.

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