Mask, check.

Tweezers,  check.

Gloves, check.

This cream, that cream…and oh, that blue stinky one…

Check, check. And check.

Great. I am ready for action. Let’s get this party started, shall we?

Its Saturday night, and it’s storming. Not just raining, but fucking hailing and pouring down chunks of the sky, and I’m freaking the fuck out. Wait, should I tell you how I really feel? I’m scared. I’m alone. And I am not happy. I don’t “do” lightning, or thunder. And I hate being alone when the shit comes down. I’m a pussy, and I’m proud of it. I usually have my kids here to hold onto. And Zac, my little guy is horrified of thunder. He was in therapy for three years, and it did absolutely nada. Like nothing. Zilch. The poor kid pissed his pants when he was three. Damn generator exploded after being hit by lightning in our backyard. And now, at eleven…he has yet to recover. Poor guy. What’s my point? I have no idea. But I am here, alone on a Saturday night, without my Thunder Buddies to calm my nerves. They are with their dad, dammit. So, I have to occupy myself with other things.

See list above. ^ (that’s a little arrow that points up, cute right?)

Now, when I get a free night to myself…which ALL ladies should have, not just divorced ones. I use it to my advantage. I pull out every fucking sample I’ve ever gotten from every place I have ever been in the free world. Every salon. Every spa. Every make-up counter. Whatever. And I line them all up…getting them ready for the Night About Me. Yes. This night, is all about me, y’all. I’m going to slather me up with every last thing I can find, and cook me in it. Starting with my hair, and working my way down. I’m going to primp, and pluck…exfoliate, and cleanse…every nook, cranny and pore of this body until I am so perfectly polished I sparkle. Wow. Doesn’t it just sound fab?

Ya, well. It does to me. The thunder is freaking me out. So, let’s blare the music. Look! My most fave exfoliator! I am not going to give the names of the products I’m using because I don’t want to make anyone jelly, but I’m obsessed with Rodan and Fields! Should I post pics of this? Ha, that would scare the shit out of everyone! Omg. I would never get a man. Some things are to be left, well…private! Coming from me, that is funny. But really, do you think a guy wants to see you pop your zits, or pluck your nipple hair? I think not. And no, I do not have nipple hair, do you? Forget the thunder. I’ve got all sorts of crap here to keep me busy. A moisture mask (I hate that word) to keep my skin hydrated. A funky smelling gel for my eyelids. Some cream for my ass. I wish I was kidding. Butt I’m not. haha!! I had to do it. Butt I’m not. Get it? Now, my exfoliating gloves for my Brown Sugar Body Soufflé. Holy shit I smell like a bakery. Who wants to taste me?

Oh, and I’m drinking. Girls do not try this sans alcohol. Why would you ever put yourself through all of this on a Saturday night without wine? This is so much better than a date. I mean, right? Who needs a man on a Saturday night, anywhoo? I have a stiff mask of shit on my face. Some goopy-slimy stuff in my hair, and I am so slippery I can barely stay above water in the tub. So much better than playing 20-questions with some fucker you met in the check out line at the grocery store. And do you really need to eat dinner anyway? Come on, I had pretzels and peanut butter. We could all stand to miss a meal. Just sayin’. Music, wine…a tub full of product. It’s all about me. A Night About Me. 

And who really cares, I have a date tomorrow night. ;)

xo j


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