Adventures with Exfoliation

For the past few months, I have been experimenting with many different facial products. I have extremely sensitive skin, so much so that I can't even wear earrings. Apparently my skin doesn't like having a foreign metallic object pierced through it. After perusing hundreds of fashion magazines for beauty tips (one of my favorite things to do) and trying countless home remedies/beauty products, I decided to try Clinique.

Observation #1: The salespeople were very helpful and did not force their products onto me. They didn't strap me down in their chair and slather my face with make-up that has been on other people's faces, probably containing billions of germs and therefore infecting me. (A fear of mine.)

Observation #2: The woman who talked with me had beautiful skin -- a good sign for someone looking for advice on how to deal with her own skin problems. I did not want a woman with a face rash/severe case of acne/many blemishes telling me how to take care of my face. Since her skin was flawless, I figured she knew what she was talking about. Suggestions accepted.

I bought a whole mess of products to take home and now my bathroom counter looks like my own personal Clinique kiosk. I tried them for the first time last night. 2 words: exfoliating hurts. The cleansing foam and make-up remover went well, but the exfoliation cream felt like needles burning into my skin. I ran around the bathroom fanning my face in an attempt to calm the burning sensation, looking like a scene from Home Alone.

I did notice a huge difference once I was done. My skin felt smoother than it has in a long time. The redness on my forehead subsided greatly. My face didn't feel as tight. Clinique works. I knew that my scoffing would come back to bite me on the ass. Now all I have to do is be disciplined enough to keep up with the twice-a-day routine and I will have nicer looking skin in no time.

I will, however, continue to dread the exfoliation process.

I Bleed Blue

I am what some people might call an obsessive hockey fan. I have been a lover of the St. Louis Blues for as long as I can remember - through good times (ahhh, Brett Hull) and bad times (damn you, Mike Kitchen). Last night's game against the Detroit Red Wings was a bad time. A 5-0 shutout for the Wings was not a good way to end the 2007 holiday season. Even with how bad the game went, I still walked out of Scottrade with high spirits. This was surprising considering the circumstances. I decided to evaluate my reasoning behind the following statement: I firmly believe that it is impossible to be at a Blues game and not have a good time.

• The music - no soft ballads, no God-forsaken country songs that make you want to rip your heart out or shoot your husband. The music makes fans shake their groove thangs. I dare you to not dance along to the Ameren UE Power Play song.
• The Shaker and the guy who square-dances to "Cottoneye Joe."
• Towel Man - because one towel is never enough.
• Louie, the new mascot, is perhaps the most promiscuous and hyper mascot I have ever seen. How can anybody not love a big blue bear that shimmies?
• Charles Glenn, the man who sings the National Anthem and "When the Blues Come Marching In." I have never heard such a beautiful voice.
• Fights - hockey fans love to see violence on the ice. Let the players drop the gloves and go at it. The penalties are worth it. As a fan said last night, "Christmas is over! Hit somebody!" Bonus points for when players break the glass when slamming someone into the boards.
• Shootouts - the Holy Grail of hockey. There obviously was not a shootout last night, but they are always revered when they happen.

The high point of all Blues games is the comraderie of the fans. Let's face it, the Cardinals have thousands of fans. Everywhere you go you see a Cardinals fan. Busch Stadium holds over 40,000 people. When you compare the number of Cardinals fans to the number of Blues fans, there is no comparison. The Cardinals obviously have the upper hand. Therefore, when I come across a fellow Blues fan, I feel an instant connection. Call me crazy, but I know that I am not the only one who feels this way. So to be in the Scottrade Center surrounded by thousands of other fans is a magical thing for me. To walk inside and see the ocean of blue, yellow, and white -- there are no words.

Blues fans are also some of the nicest people I have ever met. Since there are fewer of us, we need to stick together. The workers in the Blue Note store are always cheerful and happy to help. If one Blues fan gets heckled by a fan of the opposing team, ten other Blues fans jump to his aid. We jeer the other team, but we never get spiteful. (Except in the case of Chris Chelios.) When the Blues win a game and cars are spilling out of the Kiel Center parking garage, the "beep beep beeeeeep" of the horns resounds throughout the city of St. Louis. Win or lose, fans continue to high-five each other in the stands.

Blues fans are not fair-weather fans. Blues fans do not follow the money. Blues fans do not become fans just to be part of the crowd. Blues fans are in it to win it. We do "whatever it takes." That's Blues hockey.

First Post - Christmas Madness

This is the first blog I have ever written. I used to have a Xanga, but I mainly used it to rehash my day and to stalk my classmates. MySpace was never used as a blog for me -- that was definitely to stalk people and to keep in contact with my friends. (Because cell phones, AIM, e-mail, school, Friday/Saturday nights, etc. were not enough.) Facebook is most certainly not a blog. Come to think of it, I don't really know what Facebook is other than a very addictive "social networking site" used to, yes, stalk people and catch up on the latest gossip concerning those I know. (It sounds creepy, but it really isn't.) (Well, maybe a little.) Anyway, bear with me as I try to get this thing up and running.


Considering that today is the day after Christmas (or as I like to call it, the Sad Day), I will dedicate my first post to the madness that was Christmas Day. After waking up from 5 hours of interrupted sleep, opening presents (score), Mass, lunch, the calm before the storm, traveling 8 minutes to my grandparents house, opening presents there, and sitting around while enduring Grandma's severe moodswings, it was time for dinner. Mom was in the kitchen attempting to prevent Grandma from burning everything (failed) and from having a total meltdown (failed). One thing about my grandma: when eating, she always gets food on herself. ALWAYS. She hadn't said anything about stains throughout the entire meal, so I figured that nothing happened. Wrong. She looked down at herself and noticed a hunk of cranberry sauce on her shirt, 2 fairly good-sized spaghetti stains, and one huge smackdown brought by her spaghetti. It was like she had taken a bath in her dinner. Her shirt seemed to be ruined. Being Grandma, she starts yelling/cursing/freaking out (as if this never happens) and complaining about how her shirt is gone forever and she has to throw it away and now she has to buy a new one and no shirt can ever replace that shirt and blah blah blah. Lo and behold, Grandma has a Tide To Go Instant Stain Remover stick. She all but bathed in that Tide stick. She literally rubbed the Tide stick all over her shirt (still swearing, of course) while the family and I looked on in fear. Amazingly, the Tide stick erased all markings from the cranberry sauce and all evidence of the bitch-slap from Grandma's spaghetti. After witnessing this awesome feat, Grandma stopped talking.

Thank you, Tide. Thank you.