I'm wearing one of those mask things, Queen Helene Mint Julep mask, ieee. It hurts, it hurts!
Oh, how I suffer for my beauty. I plucked my eyebrows, too.
I'm bored. I don't have to go into work until 4:30 so I have all this time on my hands. I'm not so bored that I'm motivated to clean or anything, but bored enough to be girly. I painted my nails, too.
My parents are coming up to visit in about two weeks. If I start now, I might be able to get my apartment clean enough for my mom not to kill me the minute she walks in. 24 years old and I'm still worried she'll make me clean my room. *Sigh*
Is it wrong that I kind of want to see 'Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle'?
Ooh. I can't move my face. How innnnnteresting. Wait. I just smiled and a bit of my cheek cracked and fell off. Cool.
Once, when I was younger, 19, my dermatologist (who I later determined was evil, mostly because he wanted me to take this acne medication that was so dangerous that I would have to get monthly blood tests) recommended that I get a face peel to minimize my acne scars. The scars weren't bad, but hey, why not?
It was the wierdest thing EVER! The nurse put this stuff on my face that smelled and felt like nail polish remover and then handed me a bottle of lotion and sent me home. Over the next couple of days, my face fell off.
First, it dried and turned the color of George Hamilton's, then it stsrted cracking and peeling. I was supposed to take the lotion, apply it to the edge of my face and slowly peel my face off. 'Cause when they say peel, they aren't kidding.
It was strange and surreal and very, very cool. I felt like I was in Mission Impossible. I would peel my face off and suddenly be...hm, not Tom Cruise, but someone female and sexy. Sadly, when I peeled my face off, it was just me. Tragic.
Stupid dermatologist. He got my hopes up.
P.S. Sorry for the corny title. Couldn't help it. Well, I could have, but I chose not to.
