Tomorrow I’m headed to Sonoma for a friend’s wedding and I’m excited to leave L.A. for three days and drink lots of bourbon and maybe dance. I also have a tight dress I need to fit into and Ice Cream Week didn’t help at all. Also, Chipotle. I dunno what it is but since I practically cook all day, with most of it being sweet, all I want at the end of the day is SALT. Like, “Hi, I’ll take the kale salad with a side of salt,” or “I’ll take that piece of healthy fish and please season it a.k.a put hella salt on it.” It’s a part of my need for balance which in this instance backfires.
There are currantly (someone told me to do that on Instagram and I couldn’t resist – so cheesy yet still funny!) like ten different flavors of ice cream in my fridge and this is the one I keep going back for. The white chocolate unexpectedly works. I usually don’t even like white chocolate but it’s really lovely.
The currant part is so pretty and pink. Dat color! It’s like cotton candy pink which is maybe my favorite shade of pink. And it’s tart! So dang tart in the best way possible.
I’m standing here eating a slice of this tart, in front of the mirror, studying this stupid wrinkle that has appeared—literally out of no where!—on my forehead. The wrinkle line is a vertical situation and is just sitting happily right in between my two eyebrows. I think it’s showed up—and is probably here to stay—because when I watch TV or read a book, I scrunch my face up. It’s my “concentration face.” I’ve made it for as long as I can remember. I suppose it’s just the way my face settles. Bad move, my friends. Bad move!
It’s made me think about how I don’t have a skincare routine. I don’t really have a regimen. And maybe I should. Ugh. Why can’t I be nineteen forever. Actually, nineteen was stressful. I just want nineteen-year-old skin forever. That’d be better. Since that’s impossible, I guess I need to figure out a skin treatment situation. Do you do this? Please share. Right now I wash my face with Cetaphil and then rub a bit of Josie Maran’s Argan Oil all over my face and that’s it. And that feels like a lot to me. I know it’s not enough…I just know it.
Where do you live? I’m not trying to stalk you, promise. It’s just that sometimes I have no idea how far of a reach this little blog has. And since I write this blog in my apartment in Los Angeles, California, and we talk in the comments, via email, on Instagram, etc., etc., my brain just assumes you are all down the street from me. I bet you’re not. You might be really far away, in a place that isn’t currently experiencing a ridiculous heat wave. Lucky you.
A few days ago, when LA decided to be a beautiful 97 degrees F, I stuck my head in the freezer. It was one part melodrama and one part necessity. Mostly melodrama, I think.
As I was in there, with the cold air hitting my face aka heaven, I took a peek around. Lots of frozen corn. Why?! Dunno. Lots of ice cream. Normal. And then there was a single sheet of long forgotten puff pastry. WHOA! YES! Tart time!