Girl Goop!

I think I've finally officially become a girl . . . and I have a bathroom full of girl-goop products. Coming from someone who never wore make-up (and, in fact, literally ran from her mother and the eyeliner pencil) it's amazing to me that I have voluntarily - of my own free will - spent a significant amount of money on girl-goop.

I suppose it helps that I received a bonus from work right before my girl-goop party. But I must admit, so far every cleanser, moisturizer, hand lotion, lip balm, etc. that I have tried seems to be doing its job. And my skin feels great! (Which, ultimately, is the POINT.)

I haven't splurged on myself much over the years - so discovering a sudden attraction to skin products that make me smell wonderful and feel even better . . . it's like . . . like . . . wearing a super-sexy bra to work and no one know. I FEEL beautiful underneath.

And any guy reader I have just went "Wuh?!"
And any girl reader I have just went "You know it, Sister!"

YAY, Girl-Goop!

The Rumors of My Expiration . . .

The rumors of my expiration, while untrue, were partially true. To recap - I caught a virus from my little petri dish (he brought it home from daycare) that knocked me out for a month. While everyone yelled at me to go home or get to a doctor, the teachers at the daycare and T. both confirmed that the darn thing was viral and there was nothing current medical science could do. Which meant I've had extremely low energy levels and a hideous cough . . . but felt fairly decent otherwise.

I was also frantically scrubbing my house from top to bottom because my cousin-in-law and aunt-in-law both became Mary Kay representatives, and I agreed to host the obligatory "please come to my house because I'm helping my relatives" debut party. Much to my surprise, pretty much everyone I invited came - which was awesome - but also left me quite thankful that I had folding chairs and TV trays to supplement my livingroom furniture space. I also have three bottles of wine leftover and no idea what to do with them . . . hrm.

I did make a few interesting discoveries during my cleaning spree . . . one of the cats thinks duffel bags = litterbox. GRRRRRRR. And while vacuuming the stairs, I noticed A. learned to write his name. In crayon. On the wall. And I left it there (because it's CUTE!).

In short . . . I'm tired. Happy . . . but tired. I think I've finally outgrown my warranty. Any damages to physical health or energy levels is no longer covered by the "exuberance of youth" clause. Instead, I have to flop in a chair (maybe with a glass of wine . . . hey!)