thankful for (before november is over and everyone moves on to the feast of alvis)

- Mexi-Pilgrim fusion picnic dinners cooked for me by someone whose ancestral land was pillaged by my forefathers
- Wine and chocolate sauce

- Pajamas masquerading as work clothes

- Red lipstick, for tricking people into thinking that I have fucks to give

- Cloudy, cool days
- Dry shampoo

- My naturally athletic body

- Hopeful graffiti 

- Coffee

- Lazy date nights (aka, our favorite gyro place followed by the bar across the street from where we do laundry) (aka, best)

Thankful that if either one of us loses our job, the rent will still get paid. We will possibly starve to death, but at least we'll do it under a roof. Thankful that my mom is around for me to love and irritate. Thankful that I can afford the Christmas shopping I'm able to do. Thankful that Diego's nephews are of fun ages to pick out toys for. Thankful for health, for mine and for my family's (Arwen's especially) (100% not being sarcastic.) Thankful for coworkers who make bleak bearable. Thankful for how many times a day I have a reason to laugh.

Okay that's enough, blech. But I am honestly so thankful to be where I am and to have what I have for another holiday season. And to have who I have. Blog friends included. Let's swap addresses and do cards, yeah? Yeah.

I confess that the most adult I ever feel is when I get my eyebrows done on the way home from the gym. My nails are disgusting and my apartment is a mess and I haven't gotten a haircut since March and I'm terrible at taxes but for an hour once a week I am CRUSHING IT.

I confess that I went Christmas shopping on Black Friday even though I am against it on principle. (Wishy washy and half-baked, these principles are, but I stand by them nonetheless. Except that this confession is about me not standing by my principles. Mmm. It's just, standing makes me so tired.) I didn't do it on purpose; we were in Brooklyn saying goodbye to Diego's dad for a while, and Target happens to be on our way home. I thought buying presents for family might be a nice distraction, and I was right. Nothing is more distracting from anything than Target in Brooklyn on Black Friday. Nothing. Plus we got a big fat chunk of our shopping out of the way and came in way under budget, which feels great, so. Thanks for forcing people to work mandatory overtime for basically no pay, corporate America!

I confess that I feel real betrayal every time I look at shapewear in any store. How much happier would we all be if we just agreed to let our soft parts be soft!? Come on, people. Come. On.

I've been very seriously considering getting a handheld voice recorder. As of two seconds ago, I mean, when I sat down to write this and could physically feel the words leaking out of me and into the parts of the room I can't reach. My brain spends all day long making observations and pinning words to the observations it makes instead of doing whatever it's supposed to be doing, and if I could whisper those strung-together words into a tiny box that would remember them for me then maybe this stupid blog would have more content. And maybe I'd have journals filled with thoughts instead of lots of blank books laying around as reminders of how poorly managed my financial expenditures are. I understand that even the most basic of cell phones has this capability now, but I think I need it to feel old-timey. I think it will help with the process. The other thing I think will help with the process is to remember that it is a process, and that I don't necessarily have control over when it happens. What I do have control over is capturing it when it does happen. I'm so sorry, I lost myself at "whisper words into a tiny box." 

"In fact, it seems to me that most of the mistakes I make in personal relationships, most of the times in which I fail to be of help to other individuals, can be accounted for in terms of the fact that I have, for some defensive reason, behaved in one way at a surface level, while in reality my feelings run in a contrary direction." 

Carl Rogers, On Becoming a Person 

The universe is smart. Also it has night vision and IT SEES YOU. IT SEES WHAT YOU ARE DOING. And no matter how much you nod and smile and go along with things that don't actually feel good to you, that actually are slowly eating away at all your favorite inside parts, the universe knows the truth. I confess that I'm tired of feeling guilty and/or worried about faceless, made-up things and so have turned to women on the internet with soothing voices and elaborate background music to talk me through vibrational matching while I wash dishes. 

I've also started actually using the worksheet my friend gave me while they were getting their millionth degree in Making People Feel Better, the one about deconstructing anxious thoughts and negative self-talk. You know, the one that an actual smart person in real life suggested might be beneficial that I promptly shoved into a book and forgot about for months and months and months until a strange lady streaming footage of her face to the tune of Enigma reminded me of it? That one. Of course by "actually started using" I mean I dug it out and smoothed out most of the wrinkles and thought vaguely about using my boss's toner to make copies of it. And then congratulated myself for utilizing a source of stress as an instrument in managing stress. And then had a fantasy about the book deal I'll probably be offered pretty soon re: my thoughts on how life works.  

My Christmas tree cost $9.99 and I feel like I overpaid. I also feel smart and thrifty, because I decorated it with ribbons we had from the Mexico-Jamaica game in Philly this summer and the flowers I wore in my hair on Halloween. 

Another thing I feel really smart about is sneaking Chapstick into places where unsealed Chapstick isn't allowed. In fact, I'm considering becoming a professional Chapstick mule since I'm so good at it. If only this skill could be applied to something more lucrative. OH WELL.

I wasn't kidding about the handheld recorder, folks. Starting tomorrow I am a tiny box whisperer, and then maybe Sunday Confessions will be less rambly and nonsensical/not be the only posts I write ever. MAYBE. 

Generally my clothes come from the bins at the Goodwill outlet on Van Dam, but for the past few weeks I've been dying to go to the mall. Now, I don't get why people take trips into the city just to shop. Like, they have special express shopper trains into Manhattan during the holidays. WHY are you paying for a train ticket to come spend more money here on stuff you don't need than you would anywhere else? Haven't you heard of Amazon, where you don't have to squeeze through walls of people to make it to a space big enough to crouch and hyperventilate into a shopping bag? I feel the same way about malls. But. I sort of love a mall at Christmas. And right now I think is prime Christmas mall time because the decorations are up and the music is playing but December is still far enough away that most people haven't started panic buying last minute landfill fodder yet. I'm wearing leggings and a plaid shirt to go with my topknot and as soon as Diego gets back from his aunt's house I'm going straight to the mall to spend money I don't have on Starbucks and sweaters and deeply inhale that Christmasy mall smell. 

I bought a gym membership last week. I picked Planet Fitness because there's one close to where I live and I can't afford NYSC. I can't really afford PF, TBH. LOL. It's clean and the people who work there are nice without being too chatty and there's always a treadmill open and that's about all I care about. However, there are a ton of people just walking around taking selfies of themselves in the different mirrors, which doesn't directly impact my "workout" but is still confusing. Another thing I find confusing is that there's a giant tub of free candy at the reception desk. Also I've heard they have pizza/bagel days. Also also they're having some sort of social media contest where the prize is New Year's Eve in Times Square, aka The Worst Thing Ever. Going to the gym is yet another life thing that I find incredibly disorienting. 

I need to buy a birthday present for a one-year-old and I have zero clue. Well, not zero exactly. I know they like breasts and their moms and looking at stuff. I'm just going to walk into a baby store, hand an employee some dollars and ask them to turn that into a present. But what I'd really like to do is pick out a present for an older child and give it to the baby with a card that says, "For when you're more interesting." Not in a mean way, but in an encouraging sort of way. You know? 

I opened my mouth and pulled out a scrap of paper. On it were words warning She Who Loves Roses not to cry about thorns, but Sappho didn't actually say that and it's not like you to be sloppy. You are precise, like a collarbone. Or a blade.

(Touching either one of them means a bloody finger. Maybe that's what you meant to tell me when you lowered this scroll down my throat.)

The room is bright and filled with pianos. They are very close together. Suggestions of walls recede in proportion to my distance from them, which adds to the difficulty of navigating the sea of wood and ivory.

but my heart knows the walls and thinks my eyes are foolish anyhow
and the Brain, it writes off as impractical

i've done it before and i'll do it again

Where are we at with the PSL? I feel like for a while pumpkin spice lattes were this thing everybody made fun of, because for a while before that there were all those pictures of girls standing in orange leaves wearing lacy knitted boot socks and holding #PSLs, no? Am I making that up? I can't tell if they've now become something that people are ironically ordering or not. And irony is not generally lost on me. Just can somebody please tell me if the barista is rolling her eyes at me when I order a pumpkin spice latte. I JUST WANT TO BE COOL. Honestly though the Christmas flavors are where it's really at, so I'm saving the rest of my fancy coffee dollars for all of the peppermint things that anyone on the chain coffee marketing teams can come up with. 

I never exercise on purpose, although I do usually move around just enough to keep my body from total open revolt. Usually. Last weekend I suddenly noticed that months of pork buns and empanadas and taking the bus to work more often than walking were beginning to appear in less than flattering ways on my various bits and pieces, so I naturally proceeded to house tupperware containers of kale and carrots for the entirety of this past week. Now, I have no idea how much I actually weigh because my checking account balance is the only number I'm interested in obsessing over ("0" is such an interesting number, don't you think?) but to be honest I know I'm about ten pounds over what my personal happy place is. I'd like to be able to say that if I'm going to give up foie gras it'll be because of cruelty to ducks and not just to starve myself back into those size 4 J.Crew shorts from two summers ago (I SWEAR I WORE THEM ONCE, I AM NOT MAKING IT UP) but that will just never be true for me. Anyway, I confess that these thoughts are inside my brain.

You want to know what I did on yesterday? Woke up at 7AM, spent an hour and forty-five minutes in the bathroom waxing my upper lip and bikini line and shaving the top parts of my legs for the first time in eight months. Then I got back in bed and turned on Audible and slept for three more hours before waking up to go spend my entire paycheck on butternut squash dumplings and drinks with maple grenadine. If I had a child right now, his or her memoir would be the kind where the family moves from one dusty trailer town to the next because the parents have to skip town whenever the law catches up to them.

"Write 31 Days" was changed to "Write 3 1/2 Days," in case you didn't know. I absolutely did not get bored and quit.

Beauty Dare: Sunless Tanner, PLUS 5 Tips and Tricks

This post was originally intended to be a part of a writing challenge. It remains as a testament to my inability to complete writing challenges. There was going to be a punch line here but I can't be bothered to think of one. 

So, Project: Pretend To Be Tan this summer was a partial success. It's not that my skin doesn't get brown by itself, but now wrinkles are a thing that are on my radar and also I don't like laying down in the hot sun for a long time. I get bored and sweaty, and it's hard to read in direct sunlight. I bought one bottle of the spray kind and only ended up using half of it, because I'm lazy and also only really care about things like that in spurts. So for the same reasons that my eyebrows/bangs will get progressively more out of control for months before I suddenly can't think about anything else until I get them done, I spent the last few months alternating between brown and glow in the dark. It got really interesting when I actually did spend a long time in the sun; then there was sort of an ombre skin thing going on, which I really think will catch on so keep your eyes out and remember I started that trend when you see it at Coachella next year. 

TIP 1: Make your own exfoliator. Store-bought ones cost money, and that's stupid. Instead, mix some stuff together in one of the tiny mason jars you still have from when your mom sent you that box of cupcakes-in-a-jar. Briefly google "exfoliator diy" to get a general idea of what ingredients you're supposed to use. Say out loud, "Okay okay I got it" and the proceed to use whatever is already in your house because going outside is for people who want real tans. Somebody on Pinterest mentioned something about using essential oils for scent, so, perfect opportunity to use that vanilla oil that Bath & Body Works sent you by accident. It's probably for an oil burner but it's from Bath & BODY Works so don't worry it's probably fine. You don't have sugar, so dump a few Splenda packets in there. SAME THING. Salt is scrubby, right? When your boyfriend asks you where all the salt went just pretend like he's crazy. Just say whatever you said when he asked you where all the chili mango went. And if extra virgin olive oil is good enough for that thing that tears while women give birth, it's good enough for you. Make sure you have dish detergent to wash your legs/the entire bathroom with because you'll want to do something about the sticky film that develops. Again, nothing to worry about. It's all part of the process.

TIP 2: Shave your legs immediately before applying fake tan. This will ensure that every drop of pigment is absorbed into the enormous pores on your legs. That's right, friends. It's not just your ankles that are oversized. Anyway, this look just screams skin disease. It's like heroin chic, only with melanoma. 

TIP 3: Eventually you'll get tired of orange leg freckles and want to switch it up a little. You go, girl! "Keep serving the same milkshake and you'll clear your yard of boys." Susan B. Anthony Take Tip 2 in the opposite direction by not shaving for three to six days prior to rubbing that liquid sunshine into your stems. The hair blocks up your pores so that instead of your shins being covered with orange dots, small children will rub them to self soothe.

TIP 4: When applying to your face, spray/squeeze the tiniest amount possible onto your hand/mitt. Then wave your hand/mitt frantically back and forth through the air for approximately eight minutes, or until the product is 99% dry. Pat it lightly onto your face, moving in nervous circular motions. Finally, freak out and scrub it all off. 

TIP 5: Stand in the shower while using fake tan. This has nothing to do with "easy cleanup" and everything to do with DIYing your white shower curtain with a fun brown pattern. This is also an important tip to keep in mind if you want to keep your look all-natural - standing in a puddle of self tanner is a really great way to ensure that the entire bottom of your feet look like they just walked away from Burning Man. And don't worry, this is a look that lasts! No amount of scrubbing will ever take it away. Not ever!

Next up on the beauty dare docket, I'll be giving myself ombre highlights and a teardrop tattoo.