So, remember that time I wrote this super whiny post about “blah blah my life is so hard because I’m doing way too much of all the things I love to do BUT ALSO I’D LIKE TO GET PAID FOR IT PLEASE”? And you guys were totally awesome and you were all “Dude. We hear you. You rock. If you whine build it, it will come” and that’s why I freaking love you so much?

Thanks for that. Seriously. Likealot.

(((Group hug)))

Moving on!

So, since I’ve been rocking this whole “OMG one foot in front of the goddamn other” ‘tude, I’ve noticed that every tiny little thing that happens has a very, uh, magnified effect in regards to how I feeeeeeeeeel about it. Basically, if I stub my toe, or I rip my tights, or that Thai for lunch gives me heartburn (which it does because I’m eighty apparently)…

DAY = RUINED.

Fortunately, this extreme seems to go both ways, in that something like buying tickets to see an awesomely bad movie or knowing that you’re getting on a plane to Boulder in the morning or a particularly awesome gif can mean

DAY = TOTALLY REDEEMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Case in point:

I noticed I was dangerously close to being out of face wash on Monday. Le sad.

So I stopped at CVS and, remembering what the kind lady from my recent splurge-facial (oh god there’s at least 15 jokes in there) told me about the necessity for microbeads in one’s life, I picked up this bad boy from Neutrogena:

Simple enough, right?

Fast forward to the next morning.

You know that super, SUPER annoying commercial, with the two girls who are allegedly supposed to be dorm mates and one of them totes has a hangover even though they’re clearly preteens, and the non-hungover crazy peppy whore is all “I know what you need, gurrrrl, you need some of this amazing unicorn-urine-punch-you-in-the-face-with-special-zit-removal-powers-and-happiness face wash!!!” And the other girl is all “FINE, Peyton, I’ll use your stupid unicorn shit but then you have to SHUT YOUR FACE UNTIL I GET SOME BOONE’S FARM HAIR OF THE DOG IN MY LIFE”, but then she does use it and she magically comes out of her angry hangover cocoon and is born a beautiful butterfly who farts Lisa Frank rainbows and leaves a trail of glitter wherever she goes, and they start dancing around the room to some pop-alicious song about “waking up to love” or some shit, which sort of makes no sense because isn’t today’s message to women supposed to be “Forget Prince Charming, you good enough all by your badass self, chica*!”

*The “chica” is used to represent the company’s sensitivity to cultural diversity. Why am I not in marketing, again?

Right, so. Know the one I mean? No?

Seriously?

Fine. Here it is.

So ANYWAY, that commercial is so unbelievably annoying that I have to mute it every time it comes on, even though this action requires things like “movement” and “doing something other than drinking wine”, which are both things I AM OPPOSED TO DOING when I’m pantsless on the couch. That’s how much I hate it.

But.

This stupid Neutrogena face wash? For reals guys. It was just. like. that.

It makes me feel like belting out Miley in the shower while eating clementines. Because there’s just a hint of citrus in it… a GENTLE amount of citrus. The citrus hint is so tender, it’s not even mentioned on the bottle. It just wraps you up snugly in a faint and pleasant, not-overambitious citrus hug, probably with Norah Jones playing softly in the background.

And it makes me happy.

Baby steps, and the little things.

Sadly enough, I was in no way compensated for this post and the Neutrogena people don’t even know I’m alive, as far as I know. Though I am absolutely not opposed to them stumbling across this and offering me money for it. Just saying. What?

Mama said share.

No TMI from me today (though I will link yours!), as I’m jetting home to Massachusetts for the holidays. But I leave you with this…

My dear (equally sick-and-twisted) friend Mr. Condescending sent me a little Christmas present yesterday… and after I stopped squealing with glee, I knew it needed to be shared.

You see, Mr. C is a master of all things photograph-y. So, he took a picture of B and I…

and he guido-fied us.

The Jersey Shore's got NOTHIN on us.

(This is, in case you are somehow unaware of America’s latest abomination, a reference to MTV’s new show “Jersey Shore”.)

It’s absolutely perfect, Mr. C. Though next time, might I request that I also be wearing a Bump-It?

PERFECTION.

Happy Holidays, kiddos. Travel safe and all that. Now go get lost in some eggnog (or wine in a can!)

Awesomely bad TMI Thursdays this week…

Tania’s TMI Tuesday

Floreta’s Part II: Wherever the Wind Blows Me

Griffin’s TMI Thursday: The V-card Vlog

Sebastian’s With apologies to all the women I have loved this year

Joshua’s TMI Thursday: Vignettes

amber murphy’s TMI: Christmas Edition (subtitled, the 100th post had to be good.)

JewliaGoulia’s TMI Thursday – 2nd Edition

Mama said share.

On our roadtrip to the Big Apple, my hoes and I played a little game called “What Super Power Would You Want?”

After much deliberation, I decided that I would like the power to be able to make anyone shit their pants, simply by willing it. Or maybe blinking all Samantha-from-Bewitched style at them, and poof! Guess whose pants are filled with doody?? (Wouldn’t that have been awesome during one of Sarah Palin’s interviews? Actually… it probably would have made them better. So sad.)

But seriously, how fab would that be? Boss is about to fire you… BOOM he shits his pants. Now what, bossman? You gonna fire the person who could tell the entire company what just happened, or shall we just shove this under the rug… literally? And even if it doesn’t work, well hell, at least you got the last shart.

Anyhoo, it was not until yesterday at the dentist’s when I realized that I am actually in possession of a magical super power.

Wait for it…

I am completely immune to novacaine.

Now, I have noticed this power before- many a dentist has tried to do battle with me over a cavity or three, but none of them have ever succeeded in getting me completely numb. As a child, my family dentist told me it took me four times the normal amount of novacaine to be able to fill one without me hanging from the ceiling.

But yesterday was the true test of my power…

The Root Canal.

I tried to warn my adversary, Dr. Olga, and she said she would heed my advice. She said she had pumped me so full of numbing agent, there was not a chance in hell I’d feel that drill. Seeing as she had stuck me with a large needle about five times, I almost believed her.

The second it touched my tooth, I screamed.

Impressed but not yet daunted, she stuck me a few more times, and we were able to begin.

About an hour into the remarkably uncomfortable procedure (ever had your mouth held spread eagle with a rubber dam spider-web thingy for two and a half hours? YEAH… funsies!), I screamed again.

Now in awe of what was clearly a supernatural power, she loaded up another needle and went to town. She stuck the roof of my mouth, my throat… when she was done, I couldn’t feel my right NOSTRIL.

We finally finished up, and I left Dupont Circle unable to feel the right side of my face.

By the time I got home to the Convention Center (about 15 minutes, for my non-DC peoples), I was already back to normal. Nothing a couple Negra Modelos couldn’t fix.

THIS is my super power? I’m like the girl [edit: My darling Ben informs me that this character is transgendered, and upon closer review, I have to wholeheartedly agree] who had “Heart” in Captain Planet. My ability is not cool, or even POWERFUL… it’s just awkward.

So who do I talk to about trading it in for the Shit Yo Pants thing? Jon Voight?

It just seems like he’d be in charge of something like that.

Mama said share.