Tag Archives: beauty

I flossed, I bled, I flossed some more

Hi Sarah and Vessie!

Thank you for showing deep concern about the fact that I have never flossed . . . in my life. Except for, like, twice.

My gums always bleed, and then I start looking either like a vampire or a zombie . . . or a vampire-zombie combo pack (depending on how messy my hair is at the time).

But on my trip to Texas last month, I was convicted by you to commit to a lifetime of flossing.

Plus you pointed out that removing plaque would minimize the bad breath. And let me tell you, the ambiance inside my mouth first thing in the morning is not unlike that of a male powder room . . . in a busy train station. It smells very bad, which my husband is too nice to point out . . . except for that one time that he pointed it out.

Here are the visual records of 1 week of flossing. You’ll just have to trust that I didn’t change my outfit 5 times and simply do a flossing photo shoot. Because I’m an honest girl, really! Plus, my husband (behind the camera) would never participate in some kind of deceitful blog post designed to make you think I had changed my life when I really hadn’t.

Monday

Do you think the bleeding gums issue could not only make me look like a vampire but actually attract vampires that are in the nearby area? I mean, I hope you considered my safety when recommending this new habit.

Though I think for a vampire to show up you have to be wearing a really pretty nightgown, and since I favor the more derelict look these days I may already have my ticket to safety.

Also, just to preemptively take care of this issue–I am not naked in the above picture. My hair and arms just happened to be covering the straps of my camis. I would have put up another shot, but that was the only one we took.

Let’s move on and not discuss it further.

Tuesday

For a few wild minutes I thought I couldn’t get the floss back out from between my teeth. I tugged and tugged, swiveled and twisted the string, briefly thought about crying like a little girl, but then I beefed up and told that piece of string to dislodge itself from my gums OR ELSE.

Oh, and I didn’t bother to set my white balance. Hence the blue and green tone overload.

Wednesday

I stole my husband’s fuzzy blue robe. Yes, I gave it to him as a Christmas present years ago, but the way I see it, we are One, so me wearing it is kind of like him wearing it.

White balance in camera has switched to the red/magenta spectrum.

Thursday

Flossing progress made: bleeding is now almost nonexistent. I’m kind of sad no vampires showed up after all.

Friday

“Wait, honey, I looked really goofy in that picture! Let me try for the fake smile! Snap another!” I cried. However, the results weren’t good enough for me to share.

I realized with a tear in my eye that this was the end of a fantastic, memorable week of flossing. Close friendships had been forged that would forever change the horizons of my dental hygiene. My life would never be the same.

Love,

Jenna

P.S. Um, I forgot to check . . . with this whole flossing things, do I get the weekends off?

P.P.S. ‘Cause I just kind of assumed.

Chapstick emergency averted

I’m a chapstick addict.

I love Burt’s Bees above all, and keep a tin on my bedside table and in my purse. I even keep an empty tin at work that I periodically sniff. It’s retained some of that peppermint scent, and when I smell it, it makes me happy to be alive.

If you’ve spent more than 5 minutes with me in person, you’ve seen me sniff a tin of Burt’s.

It’s what I do.

My husband has learned to carry a stick of Burt’s in his pocket in case I neglect to bring my purse while we’re out and about. “I need chapstick!” I will cry desperately. Calmly (the fruit of experience), he parries disaster with a quickly proferred yellow tube, which I gratefully slather all over my lips.

My second favorite kind of chapstick is Blistex.

I’ve tried (and own) Carmex, the regular chapstick brand, and other kinds of lip balm, but the Blistex “Medicated Mint Balm” is near the top of the charts. It’s more moist than Burt’s, so it’s great for smearing on over your lipstick without removing the color. I bought this product religiously at the Walgreens on Main Street when we lived in Delaware. However, when a little over a year ago we moved to Chicago, the “Medicated Mint” was nowhere to be found. Instead, a regular mint flavor with a darker blue colored tube abounded:

These Chicagoans–they just have no taste. The flavor and texture of this second kind might as well be called “Disappointment.”

I’ve been searching for the true kind of Blistex all year long, everywhere I go, but have been encountering the impostor at every turn. Finally, my very last tube of Medicated Mint was almost gone. I’d been drawing things out and going for the ‘slow death’ option because I couldn’t stand to think that my long and satisfying acquaintance with this product was about to be over. Forever. I had dug almost all the chapstick out of the lower recesses of the tube with my pen. Things were looking desperate.

I’m not sure if you can tell, but there are blue ink marks where I used the pen to dig out the balm.

No one can accuse me of being wasteful here, no sirree. My next step was going to be melting the stuff I couldn’t get out with a candle. Having soot-smeared chaptisky lips may not have been the most attractice option for my deathly pale complexion, but I was ready to do anything.

And then, on a warm fall afternoon, I went to a drugstore to buy both of my sisters birthday cards. And there are the checkout . . . was a bin of Blistex “Medicated Mint.” I swooned. I screamed. I slapped myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I swooned again. The checkout lady said “Ma’am, are you OK? Do you need medical attention?” My voice at a hysterical pitch, I shouted “Hahaha! Medical attention! No! More like medicated mint attention!” She looked so concerned I decided to take it down a notch. “Don’t worry, I’m fine, I’m doing great, this is great,” I reassured her, and made a grab for the entire bin before the guy behind me could interecept my move and take them all (which I was sure he was about to do). My face burning with gratitude and joy, I purchased 6 tubes of that stuff. It was all I could do not to break into song on the spot, convinced that all of nature would shortly join in with me. My only regret is that I didn’t purchase twice as many. Or thrice as many.

I’m not risking another potential loss of that magnitude.

Love,

Jenna

P.S. The story of the checkout is pure fabrication. In truth, I purchased my 6 tubes quite calmly, but that doesn’t make for a very interesting story, does it? Plus, it’s still a truthful account in the sense that it expresses what was going on inside. I mean, I never said this was journalism, right? What I just did probably has a fancy name in the literary criticism circles–like “interiorization.” Or “allegorical account of the inner eye.” Or “the liminality of individual experience.” Very smart stuff. Right. Signing out. Have a great weekend, people.