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5 Things That Make Me Feel Like an Adult

As we descend ever closer to my birthday, I've been thinking a lot about how 32 feels a lot like 22, and also maybe like 72 (or maybe that's just me?) So I thought, in honor of that auspicious celebration of aging a year older, I'd make a list of a few simple things that make me proud to be an adult, or at least adult like. Adultish? I digress. Here's that list:

1. Knowing how to dress for my body
Gawd, if there was some hard won lesson on this list it would be this one. I cringe when I look at my younger self who had it so easy in so many ways and yet chose to wear. I can't even. You know what I mean. There's all kinds of things I know now: loyalty to designers who get my body, how to get something tailored (or do it myself), the art and magic of second hand shopping... My figure is not as good as it was 10 years ago, but it has never looked better. 

2. Knowing how to follow a recipe
I feel like I can cook almost anything. I don't. But that's a choice. I also know which recipes I will enjoy following, and my loyalty to these chef slash authors is surpassed only by my loyalty to the aforementioned authors.  

3. Knowing how to dress for occasions
I am definitely that person that has never been able to have fun at something if I am not wearing the right thing. This includes a complex and overlaying set of factors that include - temperature comfort and adjustability for shifting weather, footwear, style, level of dressiness, color-coordinating with environment and other guests, not standing out in pictures because of previous factors, and overall comfort/danceability. Woof, right? Best of all, I have learned that if I don't know it's ok to ask. 

4. Having an apartment I am proud of, that feels like home 
It's currently hitting a moving target but I now own a collection of things that make me feel proud to photograph and share my living space. I love my bed so much. 

5. Knowing how to take care of myself
Inside and out


Grey and Silver Linen Bed with Too Many Pillows

Well, my husband thinks too many, I think "NO SUCH THING." But fortunately for both of us, Fenway and I manage to use all the pillows in some kind of magic cloud formation that allows us to be supported in a cloud of feather soft linen and imitation down, while also jigsaw puzzling in two large humans and a not so small dog. Remind me again, what is this mythological "personal space" I have heard mention of on the wind, in the legends of old?

But seriously, ever since they cut me open and sewed me back together again I have learned to appreciate having a wide variety of sizes, textures and firmness to shape around my body for support as needed. This is is the dream/fantasy of that, with extensive research done to find the best that Overstock.com has to offer. And it is good. So good.

And yes, we do let this creature sleep in the bed, you try saying no to that face. Yet another reason we love the grey ;)



RUSTIC LOW PROFILE BED FRAME (similar - this one has storage)
BANANA LEAVES (jar is old cleaned out spaghetti sauce jar!)


Too Hot to Blog


I mean inside my body and out. Between hot flashes, heat waves, and fevers I feel like a human torch. It's too hot for clothes. Too hot for makeup. Too hot for the act of standing erect for more than 10 minutes. I am a fire sign gone out of control. I am my own bikram yoga studio. When people touch me for too long I whimper from their body heat. My current form of healing meditation is looking at pictures of glaciers on Pinterest. I haven't even attempted to wear mascara, lest it melt into my eyes causing some kind of secondary infection. I am a ball of aches, dizziness and never ending torturous heat.

If, as Joshua Graham said, I survive because the fire inside of me burns brighter than the fire around me, well I am doing gang busters. Now excuse me while I take an ice bath.

I've been subsisting on a steady diet of smart water, la croix, watermelon jerky, glutino crackers and Trader Joe's Japanese fried rice. It's the closest I can get to the "cooling" diet my acupuncturist recommended because all of my problems are heat based. Not the first time I've been called too hot, hopefully not the last.

Sorry for venting, I think my optimism melted in a puddle next to my bed.

Consider these pictures proof of life. I haven't washed my hair since Wednesday, but I do have an exceptional amount of happiness bling which as my longtime readers know I find incredibly palliative. What is it about the feel of cool, shiny things on my body that I find so healing? Is there some kind of clinical trial for this? Does it involve presents?

Regardless I will be swanning about in bed like Zsa Zsa Gabor for a few more days, dripping in bling to go with my inappropriate swimsuit pajamas and my ice packs.

Signet Ring | Bracelets | Sunglasses | Bathing Suit (on sale!)

Stop Telling Me Something is Wrong With Me to Sell Me Shit

I’ll admit to getting botox since I was 27. That’s when the deep wrinkles in my forehead from squinting at a computer screen all day stopped going away when I relaxed my face. I noticed right away after the botox that my eyes were less fatigued at the end of the day  and I got less headaches - but also that more forehead was as smooth as baby’s butt. I was hooked.

You would never know, except that I tell everyone. It seems only fair since I blog about skincare. I don’t want to falsely sell my readers on my smooth forehead likes it’s just a product of diligent sunscreen and proper exfoliation. Although these things didn’t hurt, per se, it wouldn’t be possible without those injections.

I considered it prophylactic, something to prevent the wrinkles, frowning, tension headaches and other bodily casualties of the computer generation. If there was a cure for texting neck that cost about $200 every 6 months I would do that to.

Now, the $200 might make you pause. Well, I love me a groupon. I will happily go to whomever is selling me units the cheapest. In the beginning I was all paranoid and like “only a doctor can do it” blah blah blah. But my innate cheapness won out and it has never done me wrong. Sometimes I think the nurses even do it better.

But I digress. Too much build up.

So there I am, sitting in the office of this guy I found on the internet. A doctor, and a fairly handsome one at that. I am patiently listening to his schpiel about his instagram and nodding and smiling. Then he looks at me and he says this, “I have to tell you, your skincare is terrible. Whatever you are using is very bad. Your skin is horrible.” He then proceeded to tell me I was in dire need of a chemical peel (to which I responded, um, I had microdermabrasion last week) and then reiterated that he would be happy to give me a “free consultation” wherein his aesthetician would devise a “yearlong” (and most definitely not free) series of peels/lasers and skin care products I could use to fix my horrible skin.

I wilted, then sunk into myself. Too scared to mention that I did in fact diligently use incredible skincare products, had had a consultation (and recently) with a very talented aesthetician and also that I did in fact have a blog where I give thousands of readers a day advice on their own skin care.

OMG, was I a fraud?? Had someone secretly been facetuning my pictures when I wasn’t looking? What is wrong with me?

I slunk out of this office, smartly declining to make an appointment for my next “consultation” and walked to my car where I proceeded to weep and text my husband.

Then I went home and stared at my face (and all my blog photos) trying to figure out what he was seeing that I wasn’t. People compliment me on my skin all the time. Even looking at it then, in that moment of shame spiraling and self doubt, I couldn’t figure out what he could possibly mean. Sure, you can see a few pores around my nose but they are as small as they have ever been. I have these bags under my eyes but those can’t be fixed with skincare, peels or lasers (trust me I have asked approx 16 derms) … what was he talking about?

And then I realized, he was talking about my freckles.

I have had freckles forever. My face hasn’t felt the sun without a hat and thick layers of sunscreen in years. I’ve been peeled, dermabraided and bleached with only the slimmest results. They aren’t “damage” - they are genetic. Most of the time I even like them.

When I was a kid and bashed my freckles, my dad told me that they were kisses from angels, and also that I would lose one every time I kissed a boy. (Nice try dad.)

This asshole monster of a “doctor” was trying to sell me thousands of dollars of painful and intrusive skincare products to eliminate something that I actually kind of like about myself. Jerk.

Sure, freckling and hyper pigmentation can be a sign of sun and environmental damage, and if you want to heal your skin I strongly support that decision. If you want to love and pamper yourself with indulgent routines to reward your mind, body and spirit for all the work it does carrying you around in the universe consider my blessings and energy and good vibes coming your way. You do you. But people need to stop trying to make me feel like crap about myself to sell me shit.

So what did I do? I went home and lovingly applied my beloved face care routine. I kissed my husband a lot and let him tell me I was so pretty. Then I made an online donation to a local charity that sponsors artwork for at-risk youth as a means of self expression, because that seemed like a better use of my money.

PS: Some shops that I love because they value self-care, fun and pampering over punishment: Glossier and Peach & Lily. Please enjoy these closeup pictures of my "horribly damaged" skin (insert crying laughing emoji)

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