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04.02.2003 - 8:18 p.m.


I was late for work this morning because I had a major clothing crisis. I don't mean the kind where you try on one outfit after another until you are red faced and hiccuping in a giant pile of clothes because nothing fits goddammit, although I have most certainly Been There. No, today was more of a weather-related challenge. When I got out of the shower, the sun was shining, with white fluffy clouds and a blue blue sky. So I put on capri pants, a short sleeved shirt, and sandals. Then, after I dried and flattened my hair - an annoying but necessary step in my day - I noticed there were ominous dark clouds rolling in, and the wind had picked up. I added a sweatshirt to my ensemble. Then I went to let the Dog out, and I realized it was fucking freezing outside, and starting to rain. Back to the closet to pull on jeans, and dig for a warmer shirt, except I had put on this sort of gold-y eyeshadow which matched the short sleeved shirt and literally NOTHING ELSE, so I had to wipe that off, and I couldn't find any socks, and then it was, you know, almost 10 AM.

Also, I spent a good 20 minutes trying to de-flake my face. The stupid tanning bed burn has faded away but a serious case of dry skin has been left in its wake. Despite soup-ladle-sized applications of moisturizer, my face is a taut and arid landscape.

During breakfast JB bemoaned a small blemish that had appeared on his nose during the night. "I hate when there's something that makes me feel weird about my face," he sighed gustily. I gazed serenely at him as an inch-wide strip of skin slowly unfurled from my forehead and floated to the floor. "Yeah", I said. "I know what you mean."

I'm just hoping this is sort of like one of those expensive chemical peels where the result will be a rich, youthful expanse of buttery new skin. Shut up. I can dream, can't I? Sure I can.

Oh look, here comes Nicolas Cage, looking just like he did in "Wild At Heart". What's that, Sailor? You want me to wear your snakeskin jacket? While naked? Oooh, I couldn't. Well, if you insist....

Fine, the truth is I probably have vats of new wrinkles and a freshly pissed-off case of rosacea. All in the name of vanity. It's like when you wear that one pair of Please Fuck Me shoes because you're trying to look all sex-on-wheels, and you mince around for like 5 minutes before you've sprouted fifty oozing blisters and your ankles are a bloody mess and people are yelling "Bring out the gimp" - you know?

Well, it's kind of like that.

Speaking of "vanity" and "skin" and "naked" - all three words can be found in the above paragraphs therefore making this a "seamless segue", right? - I'm all excited to try making Chiara's homeade sugar scrub. Sugar + oil + some kinda stankum = a silky smooth hide!

Although on the other hand, it's sugar and oil. Like…Krispy Kremes. I might find myself lapping merrily at my own forearm, as JB bursts in the door. He'd be like, "What are you doing to yourself?" and "Why is Nicolas Cage here?". He's all nosy like that.


I got to the gym early tonight, so I decided to try out the 5:00-5:30 "Amazing Abs" class. Pfft, I thought, how hard can some crunches really be? Despite the fact that a half hour is, oh, about 29 minutes longer than I typically spend doing crunches (and by "typically", I mean "once a week or so").

I knew I was in trouble right off the bat because the person teaching the class turned out to be the kickboxing instructor - tiny, ripped, and tougher than any drill seargent on earth. (When she walked into the room I swear I heard a riff of George Thoroughgood's "Bad to the Bone".) All I can really say about that class is that clearly part of the name was left off, and it was meant to say "Amazing(ly) Horrible Terrible You Will Cry Like a Baby Abs". There was this 'plank' position held until sweat droplets pattered on mats like Seattle rain, trembling gasping beetle-like pedaling motions on our backs, weird sideways heaving flailing things…oh, it was the longest half hour of my life.

Yeah, and THEN I had to go to kickboxing, which is what I was there for in the first fucking place. Not so great with the stamina after the "Amazing Abs", is what I learned about myself.

At the very end of that class, we have to run around the room in a circle, lap after lap. "GO!" she screams at us. "Go go go go go go! Go until you think you're gonna barf!" That's the one time I know I'm doing the Right Thing. I could barf like any second, I think with pride, gallumping around unsteadily.

So tonight I'll be hobbling around the house, groaning from various aches and pains, occupied with peeling sheets of dead skin from my face. The sheer sexiness around here - it just never stops, you know? Bow chicka wow WOW….

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