My trip to Erie last week for the fourth of July was alarmingly similar to my Whirlwind Christmas Trip to Erie last year.
Drive 6 hours from Nashville to Columbus
Drive 4 hours from Columbus to Erie
Drive to grandparents for dinner
Drive to karaoke bar to meet friends for drinks
Drive to uncle's for 4th of July party
Drive to stepmother's for 4th of July party
Drive to mother's for 4th of July party
Drive to friend's for 4th of July party
Drive to beach
Relax on beach, wriggle toes in sand
Drive to amusement park
Ride on rollercoaster with friend
Drive to cousin's graduation party
Drive to bar to meet friends
Drive to restaurant for breakfast with grandparents
Drive 10 hours from Erie to Nashville
Collapse
Except this time, Daniel came with me. I have to say, it's rather satisfying to have someone share in the utter exhaustion of my hometown visits, even if I felt pangs of guilt at dragging him all over town with a sprained ankle. (He fell off of our driveway. Don't ask.)
Okay, so even though it's a seriously draining endeavor to "vacation" in Erie where almost all of my family, my two best friends, and their families reside, it IS nice to see people. But, not unlike my Christmas visits, there are so many people to see and so many places to be, that "quality time" ceases to exist. Instead it becomes a mad dash to see how many engagements I can cram onto my plate so as not to disappoint anyone. Yeah, it's ridiculous.
I think a good solution to this situation is to encourage various friends and family members to move to other places. That way, when I go somewhere to visit, there won't be SO many people to see all in one place. AND, I'll have lots of different places to visit. See how that works? Heh.
So, listen up friends and family members of Erie: I need some of you to move. May I suggest Honolulu? Or perhaps Boston? Maybe a few of you could move up to Maine - I hear it's pretty and you would still have plenty of snow to enjoy. What about Denver or Colorado Springs? Or hey, how about Chicago - you'd still have lake and cold weather. Eh? Eh?
I'm just sayin'.
7.08.2008
Alias
This is just a silly, slumber-party-esque name generating game that I found on Jackie's Blog and couldn't resist. Post your particularly amusing names in the comments. C'mon! Fun for all!
1.YOUR ROCK STAR NAME (first pet, current car):
Tiger Aurora not bad, not bad...better than Tiger Oldsmobile
2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME (fave ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe):
Rocky Road Heels okay, that's retarded...
3. YOUR NATIVE AMERICAN NAME (favorite color, favorite animal):
Red Lion sounds more medieval european...but whatev
4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name, city where you were born):
Mary Erie weak
5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (the first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name):
Joh-Ca Jedi knight, Joh-Ca...has a nice ring to it
6. SUPERHERO NAME (2nd favorite color, favorite drink):
Orange Water sad. really, what could possibly be an appropriate superpower to go along with a name like Orange Water?
7. NASCAR NAME (the first names of your grandfathers):
Kenneth Clark oh yeah
8. STRIPPER NAME (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy):
Kenzo Chocolate hmm
9. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME (your fifth grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter):
Miller Minneapolis try saying that with a mouthful of marbles
10. SPY NAME (your favorite season/holiday, flower):
Christmas Peony oh, that is SO what I'm naming my firstborn!
11. CARTOON NAME (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now):
Raspberry Underpants
12. HIPPIE NAME (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree):
Eggs Magnolia magnolia?
1.YOUR ROCK STAR NAME (first pet, current car):
Tiger Aurora not bad, not bad...better than Tiger Oldsmobile
2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME (fave ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe):
Rocky Road Heels okay, that's retarded...
3. YOUR NATIVE AMERICAN NAME (favorite color, favorite animal):
Red Lion sounds more medieval european...but whatev
4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name, city where you were born):
Mary Erie weak
5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (the first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name):
Joh-Ca Jedi knight, Joh-Ca...has a nice ring to it
6. SUPERHERO NAME (2nd favorite color, favorite drink):
Orange Water sad. really, what could possibly be an appropriate superpower to go along with a name like Orange Water?
7. NASCAR NAME (the first names of your grandfathers):
Kenneth Clark oh yeah
8. STRIPPER NAME (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy):
Kenzo Chocolate hmm
9. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME (your fifth grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter):
Miller Minneapolis try saying that with a mouthful of marbles
10. SPY NAME (your favorite season/holiday, flower):
Christmas Peony oh, that is SO what I'm naming my firstborn!
11. CARTOON NAME (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now):
Raspberry Underpants
12. HIPPIE NAME (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree):
Eggs Magnolia magnolia?
6.26.2008
Bring Da Funk
Ah, the dreaded “funk”. You’ve been in one, haven’t you? For a couple of days…or a couple of weeks, maybe? Well, I am in a funk and have been for a few days now.
funk [fuhngk] (noun)
1. a dejected mood
2. a strong smell, stench
3. a state of cowardly fright; a panic
4. a state of severe depression
5. an earthy quality appreciated in music such as jazz or soul
Although none of the definitions I found on Dictionary.com accurately represent my personal funk (I DO NOT smell!), I still think I’m in a temporary funk. I know it’s temporary because I’ve been here before and know from experience that my funks are fleeting. WARNING: I’m about to mention my period, so if that’s TMI, then move along. Funks typically settle around me when I’m pre-menstrual. Ya know…fluctuating hormones and whatnot – powerful stuff that. Tuesday, after an excruciatingly traumatic trip to the dentist (more on that later), I was on my couch flipping through tv channels and stopped on the movie An American Tail. Remember that movie? Like, when we were 10? Yeah well, I caught the last 20 minutes or so and bawled – I’m talking tears streaming down my face along with hiccupping and sniffling – when Fieval was finally reunited with his family. This is a highly reliable indicator of funkage.
Suspected contributing factors to my current funk include (but may not be limited to):
* REALLY not enjoying my job at the moment. I’ve been helping out on the last stages of a project our office is doing in a joint venture. Which means, the project is not set up to our typical drawing standards, AND I know nothing about the project, AND because it’s in the last stages, all I’m helping out with is cleaning up the drawings by picking up redlines.
This has proven to be both boring and frustrating, which is bizarre. Usually if something I’m working on is frustrating, then at least there’s the benefit of it being interesting or challenging. And if I’m doing something that’s boring, then at least it’s just mindless work and I can sort of zone out and be crazy productive. For the past week and a half, this godforsaken project has me dreading getting up in the morning. This is not good. And I am positive this is contributing to my funk.
* In addition to the godforsaken project, other work-related contributing factors include Kelly’s imminent departure. Yep. She’s leaving our office. But, it’s not like she’s just changing firms here in Nashville. No. She’s moving to fucking Virginia because her fucking husband is in the fucking Navy and he has to do what they tell him to do. And by extension, so does she. I hate the Navy.
* I am seriously out of shape and my tennis game and self-esteem are both suffering terribly. I let it happen. And because it’s my own damn fault, it’s a huge contributing funk factor.
* My single gal identity feels like it’s gradually dissolving right before my eyes and there are moments when it really freaks me out. I can’t help it. As much as I like being one half of a couple, there’s still a part of me that stubbornly rebels against couplehood. I shudder to think of becoming typical and for some reason, being in a committed relationship makes me utterly convinced that I will somehow become the typical kind of person that seriously scares me. The kind of person who is dependent. The kind of person who can’t or won’t do anything without their significant other. The kind of person who begins every sentence with “we”. The kind of person who feels hopelessly stuck. Or isolated. Or desolate. Oh yeah…I have healthy attitudes towards relationships.
I know these sound like the ravings of a lunatic, especially if you’ve ever met Daniel and know that he is pretty much the most kind, considerate and understanding human being on the planet. Still, when a funk descends, these are the kinds of irrational thoughts that roll around in my brain.
When in the midst of a funk, I am not known to be a rational thinker.
* We had our annual insurance renewal at work this week. Joy. That fact in and of itself makes me incredibly fussy whether I’m in a funk or not. Insurance is so fucking complicated and so…so…slimy. I feel dirty after having to deal with it. Again – my own issues. But THEN, as I was getting ready to sign on the dotted line and be done with it, one of my female co-workers told me she had opted for voluntary short term disability. Huh. And why, I asked, would she do such a thing.
I vaguely recalled the insurance guy telling us that if we opted for this benefit now, then we wouldn’t have to answer any medical questions…but I barely paid attention to him. After all, why on earth would I need short term disability? Apparently the reason my female co-worker decided to get it is because our firm does not offer paid maternity leave. But this short term disability thing does. Huh. Um…maternity…yeah. No, I’m not pregnant. No, I do not have any intention of becoming pregnant. But, as my co-worker went on and on about this benefit, I started to panic in my funk-induced state.
And my thought process went something like this as I stood in front of her nodding and smiling while she explained this short term disability thing:
oh well i’m not pregnant i’m not getting pregnant the last thing i want right now is a kid i don’t need this stupid insurance but what if I want one later what if once i decide i want one i can’t get this insurance what if i have to take off work without pay for weeks what if my kid and i become homeless because i don’t have any money although i may not even be able to have a kid is a kid something i think i’m going to want at some point what if it’s already too late if it’s not too late will i really be able to work full time and take care of a kid if not, will i die of depression i’ll end up homeless and depressed with a kid to look after…
And then I started breathing again. And realized what a complete nutcase I am. And checked the Decline box.
Then there’s the dentist.
* I hate the dentist, which is why I hadn’t been to one in over six years. I take excruciatingly good care of my teeth for this very reason. However, despite being told that my teeth and gums are remarkably healthy, the dentist told me I had two small cavities. One on the right. One on the left. Super. I hadn’t had a cavity in like 20 years.
I inherited my curly hair and my innate fear of dentists from my mom’s older sister. Remind me to thank her. First of all, medical environments, and medical instruments in particular, make me weak. Needles make me faint. I tell this to medical and dental people all the time and they don’t believe me…until I faint. Pain I can take, as long as I know it’s temporary, except the pain of a metal drill grinding against sensitive tooth nerve that hasn’t been numbed yet. In cases like that, I jump up out of the dentist’s chair, which sends the dental tools flying into the air and across the room, and leaves the dentist and hygienist in mild states of shock.
So, while the dentist loaded up ANOTHER needle with Novocain, I convulsed and hyperventilated. Once the entire right side of my head was numb enough that I could’ve been hit with a baseball bat and not felt a thing, the dentist went to work again with her tool of death.
Okay, another reason I hate the dentist is because I hate people hovering over my face. It makes me feel incredibly claustrophobic. Add to that my sensitive gag reflex and I feel like I can’t breathe…and my jaw starts to ache…and my eyes start watering…and my nails dig into the armrests of the chair…and I will myself to remain calm…remain calm…breathe through your nose. And the petite little dentist cheerily inquires, “how’re we doin’? you okay?” To which I nod miserably. And then, finally, the trauma is over…until I have to go back on Monday for Round Two. Joy.
Fortunately, I feel my funk is dissipating. I start a new project at work on Monday. I broke down and joined the Y and have put Daniel in charge of making me go there. My dental trauma will be over Monday afternoon. My PMS will be gone soon. I'm going on a little road trip to Erie next week.
Yes, things are definitely looking up.
funk [fuhngk] (noun)
1. a dejected mood
2. a strong smell, stench
3. a state of cowardly fright; a panic
4. a state of severe depression
5. an earthy quality appreciated in music such as jazz or soul
Although none of the definitions I found on Dictionary.com accurately represent my personal funk (I DO NOT smell!), I still think I’m in a temporary funk. I know it’s temporary because I’ve been here before and know from experience that my funks are fleeting. WARNING: I’m about to mention my period, so if that’s TMI, then move along. Funks typically settle around me when I’m pre-menstrual. Ya know…fluctuating hormones and whatnot – powerful stuff that. Tuesday, after an excruciatingly traumatic trip to the dentist (more on that later), I was on my couch flipping through tv channels and stopped on the movie An American Tail. Remember that movie? Like, when we were 10? Yeah well, I caught the last 20 minutes or so and bawled – I’m talking tears streaming down my face along with hiccupping and sniffling – when Fieval was finally reunited with his family. This is a highly reliable indicator of funkage.
Suspected contributing factors to my current funk include (but may not be limited to):
* REALLY not enjoying my job at the moment. I’ve been helping out on the last stages of a project our office is doing in a joint venture. Which means, the project is not set up to our typical drawing standards, AND I know nothing about the project, AND because it’s in the last stages, all I’m helping out with is cleaning up the drawings by picking up redlines.
This has proven to be both boring and frustrating, which is bizarre. Usually if something I’m working on is frustrating, then at least there’s the benefit of it being interesting or challenging. And if I’m doing something that’s boring, then at least it’s just mindless work and I can sort of zone out and be crazy productive. For the past week and a half, this godforsaken project has me dreading getting up in the morning. This is not good. And I am positive this is contributing to my funk.
* In addition to the godforsaken project, other work-related contributing factors include Kelly’s imminent departure. Yep. She’s leaving our office. But, it’s not like she’s just changing firms here in Nashville. No. She’s moving to fucking Virginia because her fucking husband is in the fucking Navy and he has to do what they tell him to do. And by extension, so does she. I hate the Navy.
* I am seriously out of shape and my tennis game and self-esteem are both suffering terribly. I let it happen. And because it’s my own damn fault, it’s a huge contributing funk factor.
* My single gal identity feels like it’s gradually dissolving right before my eyes and there are moments when it really freaks me out. I can’t help it. As much as I like being one half of a couple, there’s still a part of me that stubbornly rebels against couplehood. I shudder to think of becoming typical and for some reason, being in a committed relationship makes me utterly convinced that I will somehow become the typical kind of person that seriously scares me. The kind of person who is dependent. The kind of person who can’t or won’t do anything without their significant other. The kind of person who begins every sentence with “we”. The kind of person who feels hopelessly stuck. Or isolated. Or desolate. Oh yeah…I have healthy attitudes towards relationships.
I know these sound like the ravings of a lunatic, especially if you’ve ever met Daniel and know that he is pretty much the most kind, considerate and understanding human being on the planet. Still, when a funk descends, these are the kinds of irrational thoughts that roll around in my brain.
When in the midst of a funk, I am not known to be a rational thinker.
* We had our annual insurance renewal at work this week. Joy. That fact in and of itself makes me incredibly fussy whether I’m in a funk or not. Insurance is so fucking complicated and so…so…slimy. I feel dirty after having to deal with it. Again – my own issues. But THEN, as I was getting ready to sign on the dotted line and be done with it, one of my female co-workers told me she had opted for voluntary short term disability. Huh. And why, I asked, would she do such a thing.
I vaguely recalled the insurance guy telling us that if we opted for this benefit now, then we wouldn’t have to answer any medical questions…but I barely paid attention to him. After all, why on earth would I need short term disability? Apparently the reason my female co-worker decided to get it is because our firm does not offer paid maternity leave. But this short term disability thing does. Huh. Um…maternity…yeah. No, I’m not pregnant. No, I do not have any intention of becoming pregnant. But, as my co-worker went on and on about this benefit, I started to panic in my funk-induced state.
And my thought process went something like this as I stood in front of her nodding and smiling while she explained this short term disability thing:
oh well i’m not pregnant i’m not getting pregnant the last thing i want right now is a kid i don’t need this stupid insurance but what if I want one later what if once i decide i want one i can’t get this insurance what if i have to take off work without pay for weeks what if my kid and i become homeless because i don’t have any money although i may not even be able to have a kid is a kid something i think i’m going to want at some point what if it’s already too late if it’s not too late will i really be able to work full time and take care of a kid if not, will i die of depression i’ll end up homeless and depressed with a kid to look after…
And then I started breathing again. And realized what a complete nutcase I am. And checked the Decline box.
Then there’s the dentist.
* I hate the dentist, which is why I hadn’t been to one in over six years. I take excruciatingly good care of my teeth for this very reason. However, despite being told that my teeth and gums are remarkably healthy, the dentist told me I had two small cavities. One on the right. One on the left. Super. I hadn’t had a cavity in like 20 years.
I inherited my curly hair and my innate fear of dentists from my mom’s older sister. Remind me to thank her. First of all, medical environments, and medical instruments in particular, make me weak. Needles make me faint. I tell this to medical and dental people all the time and they don’t believe me…until I faint. Pain I can take, as long as I know it’s temporary, except the pain of a metal drill grinding against sensitive tooth nerve that hasn’t been numbed yet. In cases like that, I jump up out of the dentist’s chair, which sends the dental tools flying into the air and across the room, and leaves the dentist and hygienist in mild states of shock.
So, while the dentist loaded up ANOTHER needle with Novocain, I convulsed and hyperventilated. Once the entire right side of my head was numb enough that I could’ve been hit with a baseball bat and not felt a thing, the dentist went to work again with her tool of death.
Okay, another reason I hate the dentist is because I hate people hovering over my face. It makes me feel incredibly claustrophobic. Add to that my sensitive gag reflex and I feel like I can’t breathe…and my jaw starts to ache…and my eyes start watering…and my nails dig into the armrests of the chair…and I will myself to remain calm…remain calm…breathe through your nose. And the petite little dentist cheerily inquires, “how’re we doin’? you okay?” To which I nod miserably. And then, finally, the trauma is over…until I have to go back on Monday for Round Two. Joy.
Fortunately, I feel my funk is dissipating. I start a new project at work on Monday. I broke down and joined the Y and have put Daniel in charge of making me go there. My dental trauma will be over Monday afternoon. My PMS will be gone soon. I'm going on a little road trip to Erie next week.
Yes, things are definitely looking up.
6.19.2008
Book Shelves
So, remember how I mentioned I'm pet-sitting this week? No? See this post, or just believe me when I say I am pet-sitting this week.
Know what I like most about pet-sitting? Besides being able to help out my favorite Jewish family in Nashville, and using their lovely in-ground pool, and making some easy moolah? I like seeing how other people live. Perhaps it's my innate nosy nature, but I take great delight in examining other people's houses - floor plans and finishes and furniture layout and kitchen appliances and other dorky stuff like that. I'm not so nosy - or so bold - as to peek into medicine cabinets or rifle through bedside drawers or kitchen cabinets, but besides the aforementioned HGTV-induced obssesions, I REALLY enjoy looking at what people have on their bookshelves. Love it, in fact.
If I'm visiting someone, it's more difficult to assess their bookshelf situation without looking like a nosy lunatic. But when I'm pet-sitting, the only one there to judge my idiosyncrasies is the adorable, but slobbery, black lab and I can peruse the book shelves at my leisure.
First of all, I. Love. Books. Period. Second of all, I think the books people own and display on their book shelves are incredibly indicative of the kind of people they are. A person's book collection speaks volumes about them. (Ha! Get it? Volumes?...sorry).
I've known my Nashville family for...oh...about two years I guess, maybe a little less. While I don't hang out with them socially, I think I know them moderately well. I pretty much expect to find stuff like Without Feathers by Woody Allen and Chutzpah by Alan Dershowitz. They have all the Harry Potter books in hardback and three Isaac Asimov novels. They have nearly a whole shelf of books on various hiking trails and nature travel books. Knowing them as I do, these are things I would expect to see on their shelves.
And then I'll be trolling along one of their many book shelves, and I'll come across something that sorta surprises me. Like, last night, I happened to notice that there was a copy of Reviving Ophelia by Mary Pipher. Huh. This is a relatively controversial, feminist book on adolescent females and how they become victims of our consumer culture. It's a great book, but one I didn't expect to encounter amongst their collection. Seeing this on their shelves, made me love them a little more.
And then, next to Catch 22 by Joseph Heller and Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, but tucked farther down from Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut and Cosmos by Carl Sagan, I found the familiar spine of A Stranger Here Myself by Bill Bryson. Which pretty much seals my undying loyalty for these people, because Bill Bryson is comedic brillance and anyone who has his books on their bookshelves is okay in MY book!
Know what I like most about pet-sitting? Besides being able to help out my favorite Jewish family in Nashville, and using their lovely in-ground pool, and making some easy moolah? I like seeing how other people live. Perhaps it's my innate nosy nature, but I take great delight in examining other people's houses - floor plans and finishes and furniture layout and kitchen appliances and other dorky stuff like that. I'm not so nosy - or so bold - as to peek into medicine cabinets or rifle through bedside drawers or kitchen cabinets, but besides the aforementioned HGTV-induced obssesions, I REALLY enjoy looking at what people have on their bookshelves. Love it, in fact.
If I'm visiting someone, it's more difficult to assess their bookshelf situation without looking like a nosy lunatic. But when I'm pet-sitting, the only one there to judge my idiosyncrasies is the adorable, but slobbery, black lab and I can peruse the book shelves at my leisure.
First of all, I. Love. Books. Period. Second of all, I think the books people own and display on their book shelves are incredibly indicative of the kind of people they are. A person's book collection speaks volumes about them. (Ha! Get it? Volumes?...sorry).
I've known my Nashville family for...oh...about two years I guess, maybe a little less. While I don't hang out with them socially, I think I know them moderately well. I pretty much expect to find stuff like Without Feathers by Woody Allen and Chutzpah by Alan Dershowitz. They have all the Harry Potter books in hardback and three Isaac Asimov novels. They have nearly a whole shelf of books on various hiking trails and nature travel books. Knowing them as I do, these are things I would expect to see on their shelves.
And then I'll be trolling along one of their many book shelves, and I'll come across something that sorta surprises me. Like, last night, I happened to notice that there was a copy of Reviving Ophelia by Mary Pipher. Huh. This is a relatively controversial, feminist book on adolescent females and how they become victims of our consumer culture. It's a great book, but one I didn't expect to encounter amongst their collection. Seeing this on their shelves, made me love them a little more.
And then, next to Catch 22 by Joseph Heller and Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, but tucked farther down from Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut and Cosmos by Carl Sagan, I found the familiar spine of A Stranger Here Myself by Bill Bryson. Which pretty much seals my undying loyalty for these people, because Bill Bryson is comedic brillance and anyone who has his books on their bookshelves is okay in MY book!
Product Review
Marketers love me. No, really they do. I am so ridiculously susceptible to advertising it's almost unbelievable. But, if you don't believe me just ask Bethany, or Daniel. If I happen to catch an infomercial, I am transfixed and immediately decide that I need - no, cannot live without - whatever it is they are selling and frantically look for pen and paper to write down the phone number. If I see enticing products advertised in a magazine, I rip the page out for future reference. If I read a sales campaign online for some shiny new product, I'll expertly bookmark it.
Fortunately for my bank account, I am also somewhat of a flutter-head and more often than not I end up losing the scraps of paper with phone numbers scribbled on them, misplacing the torn magazine ads, and completely forgetting about my carefully bookmarked sites. Plus, the guilt associated with frivolous spending is usually more than I can bear.
BUT, when I went to Wal-Mart this weekend and stumbled across THIS:
I couldn't help myself. I had seen the commercials for it and had salivated, because I am particularly partial to facial products. So I justified my purchase internally and plopped the thing in my cart with a satisfied grin.
Okay, so here's the dilly-o with this facial gadget. For about $12 you get the vibrating "power cleanser" along with the necessary AA battery to power it and 14 cleanser pads. The pads are already pre-loaded with facial cleanser, so you just place one on the vibrating gadget and it sticks there utilizing a velcro-like method. The gadget is super simple. There is ONE button. You push it ON and the facial gadget vibrates. You push it OFF and it stops. Simple.
Though it IS simple to operate (which is a huge bonus in my world), it's not quite what I envisioned. I thought it would be more like a home micro-dermabrasion sort of thing. I thought there would be more scrubbing or exfoliating action. But, the cleanser pads are quite smooth with just a little bit of texture to them and the facial gadget DOES vibrate, but not excessively so. I'll admit it feels nice on my face and my skin does feel exceptionally soft and smooth after I use it. And maybe it does indeed clean pores "10x better than traditional cleansing products".
It's gentle enough for me to use everyday, so once I run out of cleanser pads and have to buy refills, I'll reassess the "power cleanser" situation.
In the meantime, I'll continue to feed my infomercial addiction and ogle the shiny new products advertisers place in front of me.
Fortunately for my bank account, I am also somewhat of a flutter-head and more often than not I end up losing the scraps of paper with phone numbers scribbled on them, misplacing the torn magazine ads, and completely forgetting about my carefully bookmarked sites. Plus, the guilt associated with frivolous spending is usually more than I can bear.
BUT, when I went to Wal-Mart this weekend and stumbled across THIS:
I couldn't help myself. I had seen the commercials for it and had salivated, because I am particularly partial to facial products. So I justified my purchase internally and plopped the thing in my cart with a satisfied grin.
Okay, so here's the dilly-o with this facial gadget. For about $12 you get the vibrating "power cleanser" along with the necessary AA battery to power it and 14 cleanser pads. The pads are already pre-loaded with facial cleanser, so you just place one on the vibrating gadget and it sticks there utilizing a velcro-like method. The gadget is super simple. There is ONE button. You push it ON and the facial gadget vibrates. You push it OFF and it stops. Simple.
Though it IS simple to operate (which is a huge bonus in my world), it's not quite what I envisioned. I thought it would be more like a home micro-dermabrasion sort of thing. I thought there would be more scrubbing or exfoliating action. But, the cleanser pads are quite smooth with just a little bit of texture to them and the facial gadget DOES vibrate, but not excessively so. I'll admit it feels nice on my face and my skin does feel exceptionally soft and smooth after I use it. And maybe it does indeed clean pores "10x better than traditional cleansing products".
It's gentle enough for me to use everyday, so once I run out of cleanser pads and have to buy refills, I'll reassess the "power cleanser" situation.
In the meantime, I'll continue to feed my infomercial addiction and ogle the shiny new products advertisers place in front of me.
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