Day 70

A. I’ve reached over 2000 page views. I feel popular. Thanks everyone who reads this blog or at least clicks on the link so that this number increases. Don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my little BLONDE head.

B. I think I deserve a round of applause for avoiding any 69 jokes yesterday. I was tempted to slip in a Bill and Ted’s-type “69!” but decided to take the high road (why I’ve decided to do so now, I don’t really know).

C. On to today’s totally, seriously, super-duper important post:


I have platinum blonde hair, fair skin, and brown tinted eyebrows so that I don’t look like an albino. I must admit I love the way my hot pink and red lipstick pops against my pale skin. Sometimes I amp my look up with some fierce shades of blush when I’m feeling less-than-alive. However, what has become increasingly apparent about this effect, is that all pink/red hues pop with my flaxen strands. If I get a pimple or some stubborn dry skin, it shows like a mofo.

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I sit in AC all day or I haven’t been exfoliating properly, but my skin is bone dry. I’ve scrubbed, and rubbed, and moisturized and left it alone… I have the dreaded red-ring-nose that you get when you have a cold because you blew your nose too much. So, I have done what any sane person would do in this situation: I rubbed olive oil on my face.

After an extensive freak-out and some web md’ing misdiagnosis (never research skin disorders or diseases while eating lunch – unless you’re trying to lose 5 pounds), I googled dry skin and someone on some website was raving about the power of olive oil. Now, I read a lot of stuff on the interwebs that is a load of crap, but as soon as I read it, it made sense. It also says its good for knees, elbows, heels, and hair. And then I flashed to that scene in The English Patient when Juliette Binoche gives Sayid from Lost olive oil for his hair (everything I’ve learned in life I’ve learned from movies). So after my shower last night, I slapped some olive oil on my face. I massaged it in pretty good and felt like I was totally prepped and ready to go in the oven. The cat sat on the toilet wondering what the fuck I was doing (beware, stuff sticks to your face when you cover it in oil – this may or may not be limited to cat hair).

I woke up this morning to nice soft skin and an oil spot on my pillow (let this be a lesson to you boys and girls, when trying this at home, be smart and put a towel down). I wasn’t quite cured, but it was an improvement – better than my Clinique “dramatically different moisturizing lotion.” “Dramatically different” my ass! When I needed you, you weren’t there. You’re a fair-weather friend and although I may still use you for my own gain, I feel somewhat betrayed, moisturizer.

I kid you not, I’m sitting in my PJs with olive oil smeared on my face while updating my blog (Brazil is on pause in the background). The previous sentence alone makes me the coolest person you know. Admit it.

Today gets 3 Barbie Warhols:

BTW, when the hell is Terry Gilliam going to get an Oscar? Not that awards mean anything (after all, I still have yet to receiver one), but he’s like, the weirdest, talented mother-effer on the planet who has unique visions. I can’t even imagine what his brain looks like.