It's OK

This is my first time linking up with the lovely Neely and Amber for "It's OK" Thursday.




It's OK that I haven't blogged consistently in nearly a year. I've been busy. Doing life. But I miss doing life with y'all. Take me back? Pretty please?

It's OK to finally admit that after many faithful seasons of watching, I am completely over Project Runway. I even deleted it off the DVR. Sorry, Heidi.

It's OK that I pluck out every single gray hair I find. I am OK with being 30. I am not OK with gray hair.

It's OK that I am already counting down to Christmas, even though it's not even technically fall yet. I can't help it.

It's OK that I'm cheating on my Starbucks caramel macchiatto. Darn you, salted caramel mocha!

Face Double

So apparently someone decided it was Celebrity Doppelganger Week over on Facebook. Last week was Look Up Your Name on Urban Dictionary Week. Before that it was Post Your Bra Color Week. And that got me thinking: Does anyone know who this Someone is and why they get to decide what week it is? Cause I'd sure like to have that job.

Anyway, since I'm much too lazy to actually change my profile picture on Facebook, I thought I'd post mine here. According to FaceDouble, here's my Celebrity Doppelganger:

{Image found here}

Okay, okay. So if you've actually done the little generator thingie, you know they give you like a dozen options to choose from. Among my choices? Evangeline Lilly (Kate from LOST!) and Sarah Lancaster (from Chuck). Clearly, brown hair and pale freckled skin aside, I don't look much like either of these lovely ladies.

But I actually have been told I look like Kate Beckinsale before. On more than one occasion. By total strangers. [Insert major ego boost here] It actually happened a lot when the movie Pearl Harbor came out a decade ago. Even my sweet Grandpa called to say it was weird to watch someone who looked like me on the movie screen. Of course, I saw the movie and don't really see the resemblance, but then I don't look at myself all day every day, either.

Oddly enough, it actually happened just a few weeks ago at the hair salon. As the stylist was washing my hair (best part of the appointment, by the way!), she says, 'You know, you look like somebody famous, but I just can't put my finger on who.'

'Oh?', I said, with mild interest. 'What's she been in?'

'I'm not sure about lately', she said. 'But she's been in a lot of vampire movies. And that one a long time ago about the ship sinking? Not Titanic, though; the other one.'

'Um, you mean Kate Beckinsale in Pearl Harbor?'

'Yeah, that's it! You look like that girl.'

Guess who got a ginormous tip that day? HA!


So do you have a celebrity doppelganger? Do share!

Hello, Puberty. Long time, no see.

I don't know what the deal is the last few weeks but my skin has gone crazy. It's like how I imagine puberty is for most people, except that it never actually happened to me back then.

My skin never gave me a bit of trouble. Ever. Not in middle school, not in high school, not in college, not in my mid-20's. I get the random blemish once a month or so, but even those are mild compared to most people. I'll take pale and freckled any day, so long as it comes with a smooth porcelain veneer.

So why, all of a sudden, has Puberty decided to pay me a visit - three months shy of my final year in my twenties?

It's like every pore has suddenly started hoarding dirt and oil and then waving it around in the form of a big red flag on my face. WTH?

I've racked my brain for changes in my daily routine. I haven't changed face wash, make-up, laundry soap or anything similar recently. No new vitamins or supplements. No, I'm not pregnant. I am less stressed than I've been in months and my diet has actually improved now that I'm not eating my misery all day at my desk. So what gives?

Could it be the weather? Am I over moisturizing? Under moisturizing? I seriously have no clue where to even start trying to fix this because it's never been an issue before. HELP! What do I do?

Mama's got a brand new tan

Nothing says summer quite like the glow of golden brown skin in a cute sundress. Sadly for me, I have skin so ridiculously pale that I bare more than a passing resemblance to Casper the Friendly Ghost.

Most days I'm totally okay with being the palest girl in the room. I flirted briefly with the tanning bed one summer, but quickly discovered that my golden glow came with a high price - more freckles. Every summer, I buy the latest and greatest in at home tanning products - lotions, sprays, foams, oh my! But I have neither the time nor the patience to apply carefully and then stand around waiting a month and a day for my skin to dry.

Finally yesterday, after a day at the amusement park during which I was slathered in SPF 50 from head to toe, I finally gave in to my vain yearning for a tan. Baby sister, Emily, works at a tanning salon that just so happens to offer spray tanning. So with a second wedding coming up this weekend and a rather slinky dress to wiggle into, I begged for a quickie appointment.

This was my first experience with technician applied spray tanning. I was admittedly a little nervous about the 'human error' factor (versus a Mystic Tan booth) and the whole 'naked in front of a total stranger' thing, but it was actually a total breeze. And I couldn't be more pleased! I'm tanner than I've been in years. True, I smell like a chemical sewer plant and I'm stickier than a hot cross bun, but I'll sleep it off, shower in the morning and be a bronzed goddess by lunch time tomorrow!

A decent tan may not be worth the possible melanoma, but it sure as heck is worth mild nudity and $25!

Vanity, you are a cruel mistress ......or the things we do for sisters

{image via the brow stop}

If you ever hear me talk about getting threaded again, please remind me that it feels like death by a thousand facial paper cuts.

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I will freely admit that I have let some things go a bit since I began working from home two years ago. I don't wear make up every day, I am the queen of the messy ponytail, and I have a ridiculously large collection of yoga pants for someone who has only done yoga maybe twice in her entire life.

Since moving into the new house, I have neglected to hang my magnifying beauty mirror in the bathroom, in part because I loathe putting holes in my lovely virgin walls, but mostly I avoid it out of self-preservation. Magnifying mirrors were clearly invented by a man, because no woman in her right mind would have created an instrument whose sole purpose is to point out every new crow's foot, random mole hairs and pores the size of the Grand Canyon.

As a result of my efforts to deny the aging process going on all over my face, my usually well maintained eyebrows have suffered tremendously. I simply do not have the patience to lean over the sink each morning while squinting (hello, crow's feet!) owlishly with tweezers in hand.

I made the mistake of mentioning this to my sister on her first night here, casually dropping that I was considering 'threading' to get my caterpillars brows back under control. Mind you, I have been 'considering' this for several months, passing the brow place every time I visit the mall (read: often). But I know from past experience just how painful it is, so 'considering' was as far as I'd made it.

Bad move - she thought it was a great idea! A new experience! Fun sister bonding! Note to self: In the future, keep your big fat mouth shut.

And so we went on Thursday for a little self-induced torture landscaping. Eye brow threading is an ancient Indian beauty ritual where the technician uses thread to pluck, shape and thin your brows. It is really amazing to watch, faster than plucking and more accurate than waxing. Unfortunately it hurts so bad you want to slap your mama. Suddenly that magnifying mirror's not looking so bad....

I will admit, though, my brows do look better than they have in months and it was indeed fun sister bonding. Especially when her torture took twice as long. Serves her right!