Entries from May 2009 ↓

I have skin that’s akin to your mother-in-law: nothing is ever good enough for it.

It’s never quite clean, or even-toned and it’s so reactive to any change in routine or product. When I inevitably run out of the latest thing that’s keeping me clean, you can hear expletives throughout my neighbourhood – historically, every time I need to buy new “face stuff”, what I was using has been discontinued or suddenly my skin doesn’t like it.

So then, I have to try something new.

Honestly, my sensitive skin is a blessing to my friends since they have been given tons of products that I’ve tried out once or twice with the following results: bumpy, rash-covered cheeks; acne, which I am usually free of; dry, flaky patches; stinging; tightness; and just general unhappiness.

I’ve gone through a lot of bottles of face stuff, inevitably handing it over to someone else without my particular brand of shitty over-sensitivity. This cycle has gone on for nearly two decades, frustrating (and costing me) so much so that recently, I decided to quit looking for something that worked and to start using something I knew would be good enough – my daughter’s soap.

Of course, as soon as I committed to that, I literally tripped over a box in the cosmetics section of my local Shoppers Drug Mart.

Dermaglow’s Sensitive Skin Survival Kit has a wealth of sort-of-kinda promises on the side of the box. Since I have a great track record of believing lies and jumping right into bed with liars a new skincare regimen, I figured, why not?

Yes, my resolutions don’t last long. I’m willpower-less, okay?

This little kit (that the box proclaims an $86 value) contains four products: sample-sizes of Gentle Foaming Cleanser, Intensive Moisture Treatment, Anti-Age Eye Treatment and a full-sized Gentle Face Polisher. Kind-of promises relating to diminishing wrinkles and crow’s feet, a reduction in dark circles, and improved elasticity and firmness romanced me for two whole weeks.

The honeymoon’s over.

I tried to like it. I tried to make it work – I would have considered counselling, even – but you know, when it’s just not there, you can’t salvage it.

The gentle foaming cleanser didn’t suck. It was gentle. Too gentle to take care of the makeup around my nose – I’m a natural redhead, which means I tend to have redness around my nostrils – those get concealer, which has to actually wash off. It didn’t leave any residue, unless you count the mascara that ran down my face in a manner akin to a bad ad-mock up for a Hole album, circa ‘90-something. It didn’t sting and my skin wasn’t left tight or dry-feeling afterwards. But because I could see it not cleaning, I didn’t feel clean.

The intensive moisture treatment was totally intensive. They definitely picked the right word. It absorbed remarkably well, wasn’t greasy and a little went a long way. Sounds like win (and it was), until around day eight, when my chin decided that it was no longer belonging to the dry-skin side of the fence and joined the oily-t-zone camp. And I got zits. That basically causes this product to go into the fail category, since I’m not effortful enough to use it only on my cheeks and use something else in other areas.

The anti-age eye treatment was the one I really wanted to work, cuz damn, do I have dark circles that contrast nicely against the white-as-death skin tone I rock. It did nothing for me. Absolutely zilch. Except, for the past couple of weeks, my eyes have been puffier – but I’ll be fair and mention the extreme lack of sleep I’ve been indulging in, which is a more likely culprit than an eye treatment.

The gentle face polisher. First reaction when I opened it up: Holy ass, this smells terrible. When I massaged it in gentle circles (look, I can follow directions!), I found that my skin wasn’t averse to the texture – it wasn’t too coarse, like most other polishers I’ve tried. Then came time for rinsing. And rinsing. And some more. The residue it left on my face was yuck-worthy, causing water to bead up on my face. So much so, that I ended up using a face cloth to scrape it off, therefore giving my skin an unhealthy pink, just-got-sanded look. But new skin was revealed!

Overall, this high-valued product ended up having no value for me, and one of my best friends will inherit it as I return to the routine that works best: a bar of goat’s milk soap, a soft wash cloth and L’oreal’s Wrinkle De-Crease.

A few days ago, I squeed out loud.

This was purely instinctual reaction, brought about while I was decluttering my girl friend’s bedroom, sorting through her two daughters’ clothes with her. She held up her baby’s bathing suit, which is the same as one of Isobel’s for this summer. They’re going to be twins.

*clears throat*

Hi, my name is Terra, and I am a girl.

Summer has seemed to hit in Vancouver in the way it typically does, suddenly the sun is shining and it’s warm enough for my neighbourhood to become a walking billboard of tits, ass, and what not to wear. With astonishment every year, us Vancouverites accept this gift, get a little used to it, and then it leaves for a few weeks.

Talk about anticlimactic. We should know better, yet every time, we get teased a little, over-excited and then, “is that it?” *Insert that’s what she said joke, here*

Today, I bit the bullet and unpacked our summer clothes.

Isobel has grown just enough that the two pairs of shorts she wore last summer now officially fit, as do her sandals, tshirts and so on. Everyday, she lives in any one of her (I swear, it’s now up to) 25 dresses, so I’m thinking she’s pretty covered for summer wear.

My body magically redistributed itself in the past 10 months, begating bikinis with tops too small and bottoms – even more so than last year – too large. I’m going to need to remedy that, but I’m not exactly sure what type of bikini bottoms go with hips that are prepubescent at their apex and European at base camp. Funny thing is, I’m the exact same weight as last year. Same measurements, even. Just, well, different.

My shorts from a few summers ago are still too loose, and I still have (as I have for three years, now) an inkling to buy some denim, rolled-cuff short shorts, since I guess my thighs aren’t too bad to behold and they’re fucking adorable.

I’ve jumped into summer, both metaphorically and literally, since I was actually caught walking around in clothing that showed all of my tattoos today. Without a coat or hoody.

I figure, might as well jump into this seasonal development with both feet.

So, since my hair grows at a ridiculous rate, tomorrow’s been elected as the time to get down to some root-erasing. But you cannot merely go from gothy dark with strawberry blonde and fiery red roots to rootless without preparation – and a hair dresser and aesthetician.

Enter my amazing ability to multitask, once every decade.

The eyebrows, in preparation for tinting, needed some…clean up.

Since I was there, it made sense to give myself a facial, since I was seeing my pores really closely.

After the kid was in bed, a bubble bath made even more sense, since tomorrow might mean shorts – especially if we’re BBQing at the beach as planned, where I’ll be wearing one of those ill-fitting bikinis from the collection You’re a mom, you shouldn’t be wearing this shit anymore. (I love that design house.) Why? Because I never shave my legs, but shorts require smooth and shiny stems.

Once I was all blissed out, what happened? I washed my face. Again. For the second time in one day.

Piling my drippy hair in a messy bun at the top of my bobbley-looking head, I toe-walked through the apartment, considering painting my toenails.

It’s obvious what’s happened: I had a rather severe girl attack. It’s like I don’t even know me. Should I be seeking medical or psychological attention?