This Just Gets Me To Normal

WEIRDOS!! Jesus, you know what I’m really bad at?  Follow through.  Never again will I promise a two part post because I tried like 10 times to write the second part of the Chick Flick post and seriously it just wasn’t happening.  TBH it’s why I haven’t posted since early November.  So we’re moving the fuck on.  Keep it rolling.

The other day my long term boo-thang admitted he thought I was a whole year younger than I was…for like several months (If you’re under 25, trust me, it mean a lot when you’re over 25).  If he wasn’t the most forgetful human on the planet I would have chalked it up to perfecting my skin care/ personal care situation.  (PS Having acne doesn’t make you look like a blossoming youth, it makes you look like you need to add a spot treatment to your night routine.  ANYWAY.)

I’ve written before how I’m completely over the whole “OMG I’m a barely functioning adult.  I hate working out and grocery shopping and washing my face at night and…omg I’m such a mess isn’t that cute and relate-able?!”  PASS.  Also most of the people writing those posts go to refromer pilates 3x a week and can afford grocery delivery.  SO, us mere peasants have to figure out how to keep it tight and right even if we don’t think we have the time or monies.  So like, here’s what I do.  Most of this comes from my ever long winding path of figuring out how to take care of my self.

ROLL ‘EM!

Rollers are everywhere.  Ice rollers, micro needle rollers, even chakra crystal rollers.  Why do we roll?  Because everyone over the legal drinking age has woken up, looked in the mirror and thought “How even the fuck does that much water accumulate in my orbital socket (or so I assume your inner voice sounds)”, or if you’re me “I had some cutting edge cheek bones like 8 hours ago…I demand answers.”

I would leave the first time you micro needle to a professional dermatologist, BUT for puffiness the ice roller is a game changer.  You can feeeeel the demon retained water drain from your gorgeous face.  The coolness is a def plus, it wakes you up and is super fucking refreshing, even in the depths of winter.

How to:  Roll it up, roll it up! Watch it all fall out.  Roll it up, roll it up! That’s how we ball out! (spoken by the poet goddess Rhianna).  But seriously, roll that thing in a upward and outward motion.  Your first instinct might be to drag down, BUT you’re only helping gravity fuck up your shit.  Do that upward motion for 2-3 min like 2-3 times a day.  There are a bunch available on Amazon  buuut my favorite is…ice roller  Esarora Stainless Steel Ice Roller 

Broke Ass Hack: If you don’t feel like throwing down for a roller, or frankly there’s more important shit you have to spend money on, just throw a spoon in the freezer before bed. In the morning, hold it against your palm for a few seconds then do the roll up and out motion moving the spoon in circles. You just saved $10.99; you’re welcome.

Mask On, Mask Off

We all remember those creepy mask packets from the pharmacy with models with giant ass plants for eyes.  A sleep over staple.  But instead of experimenting with how much you can peel off in one try, now you actually have to figure out what they fuck they’re for, and if they even work…

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I strive for a Patrick Bateman level of self care.

I have combination skin, which means I get the joy of both super dry patches on my cheeks and oil slicks on my T zone.  This basically means a never dying colony of black heads on my nose.    Pore strips were my life for a while, until I discovered the charcoal mask.  Now, I’m not talking about the ones from those terrifying YouTube videos where they peel off the first 3 layers of skin to get it off.  I’m talking about the fun kind that drys and cracks when it’s ready to be washed off.  My favorite is this one by Origins.

Next Level Shit:  Use you favorite pore strip after the charcoal mask.  That’ll take care of any of those stubborn SOBs still hanging on.

I Mustache You A Question

…But I have to go fuck off for making that joke.

oooooooKAY!  Some of us have heritage from parts of world where APPARRRRENTLY it was necessary for survival or whatever-the-fuck for women to have upper lip and stray weird chin hair.  Like 100% of my heritage, lucky me.  I have the combined upper lip protection the Austrian/ Hungarians, Italians, and Russians have to offer.  Like 1000 years ago I’m sure it let a mate know our offspring would survive the winter and I could grow a mean turnip.  Great.

For 13 year old Emily, it meant getting the ever living shit burnt out of my lip by a salon girl that was “afraid of hurting” me.  WELLLL, bitch what didn’t hurt so much was the hair removal, not my first rodeo.  What SUCKED was 2 inch symmetrical burns from her over rubbing the wax/ paper, skiddish of making a 13 year old girl tear up.  Sweetie, I was already a new teen with a mustache…like…there’s not a whole more that can fuck me up.

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I just had to face I couldn’t pull off a Salvador Dali like Max.

So I swore off waxing to this day.  LITERALLY for the past 15 years I have only used one thing for my unfortunate situation.  I wash my face, brush Sally Hansen hair remover on my upper lip, kill 5 minutes, then wipe it off with a tissue.  I have pretty sensitive skin and it doesn’t bother me.  It also costs less then a lip wax and lasts like 6 months.  I get a warm pride feeling when I think about all the money I’ve saved.  Buuut….

If You Wanna Get Fancy:  As with all unwanted body hair, you can get rid of it permanently with laser hair removal.  I’ve given it a shot with my bikini line and the pain wasn’t worth it to me.  But I also know people who swear by it.  If you have the time and money (and pain tolerance)  I more than recommend it.

Nothing Days

I cannot stress enough the importance of nothing days.  When you have literally nothing planned.  No brunches, meetings, house keeping, grocery shopping, NADA! This used to be like every Friday through Sunday for most of us through college and a few years beyond, but life has a funny way of fucking you side ways.

Nobody relies on me to keep them alive, so if you have tiny humans or like a puppy or something I get that this is like…not fucking possible.  But if have a partner or a co-owner, or other semi-responsible person in sight range, hand over the obligation for 30 minutes to an hour and just do nothing.

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None, not one.

I have a horrible habit of spreading my self too thin and get so stressed out that I just take a nap instead of getting shit done.  Having 2 or 3 nothing days a month has done wonders for my sanity and gives me something to look forward to.

Get All Buddah Zen With It:  There are a few really good free apps with guided meditation.  Put on a sleep masks and your favorite head phones and let someone else help you clear your brain.  Some say if you fall asleep you’re not really meditating, but I say if what you need is for your brain to completely shut off for a few minutes, it fucking worked.

All of this isn’t even my version of pampering, it just gets me to normal.  When I don’t take the time to take care of myself it ends with desperately attempting to spray the last of a dry shampoo can onto my greasy/ fried hair 20 minutes before I’m supposed to clock in at my job; praying that the quad espresso kicks in before the sleep deprivation.  If you don’t take care of yourself, you can’t take of anything else.

So, go get rid of the hair you’re confused by, de-puff what’s not supossed to be, slather on your fave mask, and just do fucking nothing for once.

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Follow the fab weirdness @emilymsisco .

Stay Fab. Stay Weird.

ZEN AF

You what a super fun place to be in your life is?  Relating to the Narrator from Fight Club.  Watching Fight Club a few times.  Listening to podcasts about Fight Club.  Reading Fight Club.  Not because you relate to having an imaginary friend that is the personification of the hot to crazy ratio, but because your sleep deprivation is getting pretty out of hand, and you’re wondering how long until you start posing at coping groups.

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Literally no idea, thank you sooooo much.

I wasn’t sleep deprived because I was losing meaning in my consumerist, corporate life style.  Far from it.  The ball got rolling when my apartment was being shown nearly every day I had a shift; which meant waking up 2 hours earlier than normal.  AND I couldn’t fall asleep because I was worried I’d miss my alarm and my landlord would show a very nice couple into the main bedroom with my passed out self poking out from under the duvet.  Add on to the stress heap, trying to keep the apartment super clean and super cute, all-the-fucking-time.

So it was half a bottle of wine to fall asleep, 2 quadruple espressos to wake up.  Always 3 steps behind on my charting.  Not being able to string together two sentences during shift change.  I felt like I was losing my damn mind.  It all came to a head with what I think was a panic attack, but like, I’ve never had a panic attack before, so I’m not sure. My stress belly was as tight as a drum, I could pass for 5 months preggers from stuffing it with margarita mix and Lean Cuisines, and my sinuses were closed off because of seasons ch-ch-ch-ch-changin’.  I finally was just like…I need to go to a doctor.  I need to GET a doctor.

I chose my doc after researching years of practice, prescribing patterns, patient reviews, and area of expertise. Kidding, I found a guy under 50, who I could schedule online, and could see me within the week.  Long story short he wanted to check my thyroid and send me for a slept study.  Because learning how to sleep with my eyes open at work was not going to happen and nearly bouncing off a guard rail driving on 2 hours of REM…I was like:  yes, probably good.

Dream skill right here

I still felt like a garbage heap.  I hate the concepts of cleanses and “detoxing”, because they’re all bullshit, but I needed to re-calibrate.  So I have reluctantly decided to have a 2 week “reset”, I “started doing yoga”, and “abstained from alcohol”.  Going from the Narrator to Namaste.

First off, making my self go outside and see the fucking sun once a day is a start.  Instead of downing my quad espresso in my kitchen hunched over Instagram, I was relaxing on my porch downing my quad espresso leisurely scrolling Instagram.  The no alcohol concept came to me after sticking to lemon and water at a happy hour because it was the first time interacting with humans that weren’t co workers and parents in a hot minute.  I was like “Meh, this isn’t too bad.  And I’m still having a lot of fun”.  Then I just didn’t get around to having a beer on Memorial Day (how v unpatriotic of me, I know).  Having a Florida trip in 2 and half weeks and a fuck ton to do in the mean time, I was just like “k, no booze ’til Florida”.

I wasn’t making it to my beloved Zumba (the Jazzercise of our generation) thanks to the fucked up sleep schedule, but needed something I could do.  Taking time on my porch turned into walking in my neighborhood.  Then yoga happened.  Thank fuck for Pinterest and YouTube (not just for make up tutorials and animals videos to my shock and awe).  I have done yoga in the past but now I could barely touch my toes and downward facing dog was a challenge.  A week went by and I’m chaturanga dandansana-ing like a mutha fucka.  Switchin’ it up between Vinyasa, bed time flows, and “Detox” (still hate that word, but good for a de-puff and gettin’ the gut to do the damn thang) I’m feelin’ better.

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I’m not about to post any mat time on the ‘Gram.  Not that thirsty, and frankly not that skilled.  But I’m not locked into an hour class, I can chose the sweat level, and can deal with the people that think that hospital means “Hilton Double Tree” with all these fucking endorphines and zen shit.

The best thing about taking a stroll in my hood or rollin’ out in my living room is that it’s fucking free.  Doing some research, I’m not about to shell out the money that’s required to have someone twice my age and twice as fit “correcting” me while I’m holding Warrior 3 in 80 degree heat.  That being said, I’m trying out my first “suggested donation” (free) class this weekend.

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Can we keep it going for the air quotes, please?

I didn’t wake up from one of those hangover that have us like “I’m never drinking again.  I’ll eat baby carrots and hummus and start doing yoga and drink pressed green juice.” No.  I tried something, it worked.  Then I tried another thing, and I liked it.  Everything else in my life was whipping me around like Willow’s hair.  I needed a little me time that also may or may not help me feel a little better in a pair of shorts.  As much as I love Fight Club and could watch Edward Norton and Brad Pitt locked in a psycho homoerotic anarchist conflict on the weekly, it was all getting a little close for comfort.  This is working for me and I’m looking forward to a glass of champs and shramps with a beach front view.  You gotta shake it up when you start relating to “I am Jill’s left nipple” more than “YAS KWEEN”.

Give me a follow on Instagram @emilymsisco.

Stay Fabulous. Stay Weird.

 

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