I Got My Face Lasered. Here’s How It Went.

A few weeks ago, if you remember, I wrote about how I tried a microdermabrasion treatment - not because I wanted to, exactly, but rather because I had discussed using a BBL laser treatment on the rosacea on my cheeks (which you may not have noticed, since I wear makeup to cover it, but trust me, it's there - and it's RED). Except the aesthetician had informed me that I had to do microdermabrasion first (to treat the little case of hormone-related adult acne I've recently developed, WHEE). 3 weeks later, my skin was (relatively) chilled-out, and I went in for the BBL treatment in hopes of combating the underlying problem.

I've never done anything laser-related before and was a little nervous - so of course I took my camera with me into the treatment room. Of course. (And please don't watch this video if you typically get freaked out by stuff like this; the "after" picture isn't especially lovely.)


Secrets From The South

My friend Mollie is the only person I have ever met who is capable of getting kicked out of a haunted house. You know those live-action haunted houses where you're supposed to scream and freak out? Where that's pretty much the point? Well, Mollie's reaction to being charged at by a child-sized vampire was apparently so very extreme and so very loud that the management was forced to turn the lights on - and speaking as a frequent haunted-house-goer and liberal screamer, let me assure you that this literally does not happen at these places, ever. And then they told her to leave, and to never come back again. She got blacklisted from a haunted house.  

Anyone capable of getting blacklisted from a haunted house is a person who I want to hang out with. Like all the time. 

The Best Part Of The Parent-Visit

The word on the street is that the best part of visiting your parents’ house is the refrigerator. It tends to be stocked with fruits and vegetables and fancy cheeses that parents of adults can afford because they no longer have to afford children, plus all sorts of wonderful leftovers from meals that you did not have to make yourself.

Except if you have my parents, in which case the refrigerator contains a tub of margarine, two drawers full of different types of birdseed that will hopefully bring more joy into the life of an extremely anxious parrot, and a half-full jar of capers. It’s very appetizing. (It’s also my fault, because a few months ago I introduced my parents to Blue Apron, and now they don’t cook anything else. Whenever they aren’t making Blue Apron, they’re having dinner at the restaurant next door. Or, I don’t know, maybe they’re eating bird food. I can’t be certain.)

Rummaging in my parents’ refrigerator is no fun at all. Rummaging in my mom’s makeup drawer, however? Tons of fun. Because my mother is the kind of person who, when approached by a salesperson in the makeup department of Saks Fifth Avenue who tells her she’d look absolutely gorgeous in a Brand X’s new lipstick/face cream/eyeliner/magical anti-aging dragon dust – here, sit down and let me show you!, says “Ooh! Sure!”


The Spring Wardrobe Edit

I'm in New York City for the quickest trip ever, to celebrate my parents' birthdays with dinners and painting classes and such, but no matter how short the visit Mom and I always seem to manage to locate time for a little shopping.

This time, I asked if she'd come with me to Zara because I'm officially annoyed with 95% of my closet -most of it I just don't wear, and the stuff I do wear I've worn so often that I can practically hear my closet yawning when I pull it out. It's never a good sign when you put on something - anything - other than a sweatshirt and leggings and your husband looks at you like you've just landed from the planet Vogue.

Most of the time when I decide I want to go on a real shopping trip - meaning one that I approach with the goal of finding things I need and want and then actually buying them - I don't find anything. You know how it works: you get all excited to try on pretty things, and then you lock yourself in the dressing room and discover that your hair looks weird and your skin is a mess and everything you put on your body looks like it was intended for ownership by Gigi Hadid, and all this is totally just because of the mood you're in but still: you leave wardrobe update-less and grumpy about everything. Mostly your hair. And Gigi Hadid.