Don't Be A Cyrano (even though he's amazing)

Struggles are an interesting thing.  When it's something minor, I'm usually willing to whine about it to the entire world.  When I'm struggling with something that occupies the majority of my thoughts and causes me to break down in crying fits from time to time, I keep that struggle hidden and I'm not willing to ask for help when I really need it the most.

For example, when I have a headache or my muscles are sore or my insides are threatening to burst in righteous anger I'll mention it to The Man every two seconds (give or take).  Usually the struggle is due to a stupid decision I made, like staring at the computer screen for too long, taking too many rest days between workouts, or eating an entire pan of brownies when I know that my insides can barely handle the sugar in a single cup of juice before they start protesting.  I know that I was stupid, and I whine both about my stupidity and about the consequences that I have to deal with.  I'm also not shy about asking to be held or coddled or reassured that it's perfectly okay for me to spend the entire day lying on the couch moaning.

It's only when the situation is out of my hands that I clam up.  I can admit to being stupid; that's easy.  I can whine about a tummy ache because it's not personal and it doesn't make me feel like something is wrong with me.  I can ask for help when I step on a Lego because I can say something simple like, "hey, I stepped on a Lego, I'm in pain.  Please comfort me."  It's a little more complicated to say something like, "hey, I would love to be growing my family right now but we tried for a year and nothing happened and I feel like I'm broken and it's quite painful sometimes to see the people I love having babies and getting excited about their new lives as parents because it's something that just doesn't seem to be in the cards for us right now so I try to act like I really don't want kids and I make jokes about wanting to stay skinny or loving my sleep but really truly honestly deep down inside I'm breaking a little bit."

Why is that?  Why is it that at our greatest moments of need, so many of us turn inward instead of turning outward and admitting that, yes, we actually are hurting?  Is it because we're afraid of that look of pity we'll get from others?  Is it because we're afraid to admit that we have insecurities and struggles just like everybody else?  Or is it simply because we have no idea how anybody else could help us out of our current struggle?

I think I've kind of romanticized holding in my pain a bit.  I think of it as an act of courage or strength.  I'm strong because the world can't see that I'm actually weak at times.  What I'm starting to realize is, maybe I've got it backwards.  I recently had a friend admit a very personal and painful struggle to me, and it didn't make me think less of him at all; it deepened my respect.  Maybe it's time that we stop holding it in, and we ask others for their acceptance, their love, and their prayers.  The people who love us want us to be happy, and they have no way to help us get there if they have no idea that we're struggling.

Today's challenge: if you're struggling with something, let someone know.  Perhaps they can be your "sponsor," giving you a shoulder to cry on the super hard days.  Perhaps they'll be able to give you a message of hope, or point you down a path you didn't even know was available to you.  Know that you do not have to go through your struggles alone.  You are loved.  People want to be there for you.  Let them.

First Day of Teaching

I haven’t posted in a while, and I apologize.  I know you’re all waiting on the edges of your seats for my posts, but I’ve been a little busy lately.  Here’s why:

I started my very first teaching job today (if you discount the week of training I did last week).  It was crazy how quickly my brain switched right back into the teacher mode that student teaching put me into.  One minute I was freaking out, the next I was calling out students, making terrible teacher jokes, and going off on tangents so my lesson plan would last the full 50 minutes.  It was kind of cool. 

A few things I learned/remembered today:

-I pace when I teach.  Like, a lot.  My classroom has the desks along the sides and a nice little path down the middle (“A path!  A path!”), and I took FULL advantage of that path.  I was speedwalking back and forth while telling student exciting stories about Tesla versus Edison, the NASA scientist who claims to have invented a warp drive (yeah, no), and the chickens that we made grow teeth.  And while I like to think that I’m in pretty good shape, I am SORE!  I guess pacing for 8 hours is a little more strenuous than running for one.

-I already have students exactly like the ones I student taught, and I think that’s going to happen every year.  It’s kind of strange how similar some of my students are to past students.  They sit in similar places in the class, make similar comments, and some of them even look similar.  Do any teachers read this blog that could back me up on this?  Like, are all students clones?

-I may have already made a few kids hate me, but I honestly think it’s going to be better for the class in the long run.  In student teaching I started off as a huge pushover, and I paid for it.  This time around I decided that I am an adult, I know what I’m talking about, and gosh darnit, I deserve to be respected!  So I called students out, made them change seats, and said in no uncertain terms that if they messed around at all during labs I would kick them out of my class (maybe permanently).  It was kind of exciting to see the fear in their eyes when I got serious.

-There is a TON of administration that goes into teaching.  Like, you don’t just get to teach a class and ignore the rest of the school.  ESPECIALLY not in a charter like mine.  I forgot about that.

-I am super ADD.  I was bouncing all over the place, from tangent to tangent.  I wore some rubber bracelets (I call them my fidget bands) so I wouldn’t be popping marker caps like I tend to do, but I ended up popping caps anyways.  I even climbed up on a chair and did the crane pose at one point.  If I were my student I really wouldn’t know how to react to me.  The worst parts were when my mind was jumping all over the place and I’d forget what I was talking about…I’d just stare at the students for a little bit, trying to get my train of thought back.  And no, it wasn’t just nerves.  If you’ve been around me for longer than an hour, you’ve probably realized that I’m all over the place.  It’s ridiculous.

-I really do love teaching.  Maybe it’s just my need for attention, but I loved seeing excitement in the kids’ eyes as I told them science stories and some of the awesome things that are happening in the science world right now.  I had teenagers entranced and asking questions and gasping and getting fully involved in discussions.  Teenagers, people!  It’s quite the rush.  Teaching honestly is rewarding, and even invigorating at times (and also the most draining thing in the world at other times).

So, yeah.  I’m a bona fide teacher.  I’m a grown-up with a salary.  I have hundreds of kids whose educations depend on me.  It’s terrifying and exciting and challenging and I’m remembering how much I love it.  Check back with me in a few months though :P

The Taming of the Shrew

Today is my mother's birthday; she's turning...29.  Ish.

My mum is incredible.  She has raised 9 children, raced several 100-mile bike races in recent years, is pursuing a college degree, is actively fighting the school board back home for student privacy, makes friends wherever she goes, and does it all with an auto-immune disease, hypothyroidism, and osteoporosis.  I can't think of many people that I respect and love like I do my mother.

On top of all that, my mum is gorgeous.  I don't think she's
aged since she was 22.

Like all teenage girls (except for my cousin; shout-out to you, Cuz!) I didn't always love my mother like I do now.  In fact, from about 9 to 15 years old I made her life a living Hell.

I'm the first girl in my family, and my older brothers are the perfect children, so my mum was in for quite a shock when I came around.  I may seem calm and cool and collected in public, but I am a mood-swinging mess, and adolescence just amplified it.  I honestly wouldn't be surprised if the movie of my life shows a screaming fight every single day with my mother for those six years.

When I was around 16 years old I decided that I really hated the person I had become.  I yelled at my parents, my siblings, and my friends, my language was filthy, I dressed in clothes that were way too small for someone my size, and I just hated being at home.  Wow, maybe this should have been the post that I titled "I Was a Teenage Dirtbag."  Anyways, the point is that I was a tool, and I finally realized it.  I decided at that point that I wasn't going to be that person anymore.

See, even when I was acting like a beast sprung from the fiery pit itself, my mother still tried to impress good values upon me and my siblings.  She worked hard, she was unselfish in her service, she loved my father and treated him well, and she tried to treat everyone she met with kindness and respect.  She didn't give up her values just because I had, and that made all the difference.  Deep down inside of my little black heart I knew that I was a terrible person.  I knew I made life miserable for my entire family, and I knew that I was capable of being so much better.  Due to my mother's love and teaching, I knew I could change.

I started off with something very little.  I started telling my mother that I loved her every time I left the house.  Sometimes I didn't mean it and sometimes it was just out of habit, but I did it.  Every single time.  When I talked to her on the phone, I would always end with, "I love you."  I am totally and 100% serious when I say those three words changed my entire life.

I had been pushing my mother away for years and years, when all she wanted to do was love me.  Once I started expressing love for her, she instantly forgave me for all the tears and pain I had caused her for so long.  She would tell me she loved me back, she would hug me, and she would tell me she was proud of me.  Our relationship took a complete 180.  More than that, it changed me.  I stopped fighting with my mother, so my home became a much nicer place.  My siblings were less afraid of me, my parents were overjoyed to have me acting different, and I started to love being home.  When I felt that I was loved at home, it gave me the courage to change my behavior outside of the home.  Instead of being sarcastic, mean, and bitter I just became a little weird and crazy.  The change happened just in time for me to leave for college too, so for the first time in a very very long time, I actually felt homesick when I left.  I missed my family.  It was a weird experience for me.  Before that I had only missed my dog when I left (and that's not a joke, sadly).

We've almost hit the point in time where I've loved my family longer than I despised them, and that's pretty cool to me.  I know I made the best decision of my life that day.

The point of my story is this: You are not a static being.  If you find yourself unhappy with where you are in life, change.  Maybe it will be easy, and maybe it will be the hardest thing you ever do, but I promise you it is possible.

Also, to the parents of teenagers, things will get better.  Everybody goes through a little turd phase.  Keep loving your child.  Keep teaching them good values.  Maybe they won't take the exact path you want them to take, but they will become amazing people.  Have faith in them.  Let them know you believe in them and in their dreams.  And most importantly, love them through everything.

Going Naked: A Follow-Up

Well, the day has finally come: I've reached the end of my journey.

For the past two weeks I've been "going naked" every day.  Tomorrow morning I will allow myself to free my make-up from the prison I've been holding it in (I just put it in a different cupboard than usual), and I just may paint my face up again.

Or maybe I won't; I don't really care.

There have been some awesome things that have come about due to my lack of make-up.  Here are the top 10:

1. Getting ready in the morning takes even less time.
2. I can actually rub my eyes when they itch.
3. I don't have to scrub the make-up off my face every night.
4. I don't wake up with raccoon eyes despite the previous night's scrubbing.
5. If I've been outside and it's really hot and I want to cool down, I can just find a bathroom and splash water all over my face.
6. My crying face is still hideous, but at least I don't have black streaks to add to the grossness now.
7. I honestly think my zits clear up quicker (but I have no evidence to back this up).
8. I focused a bit more on my hair, so I learned some new hairstyles that I can pull off.
9. Instead of packing on the powder when my face got shiny I just washed it and dried it off.  Guess what?  It has the same effect, lasts just as long, and you don't have to carry around powder!
10. I don't feel tired and ugly without make-up anymore.  In fact, some days I looked in the mirror and saw a downright sexy lady looking back at me.

The funniest part of all this was that The Man didn't even notice a difference at all.  About five days into the challenge I told him what I was doing and he said something along the lines of, "well you look exactly the same."  As ugly as I thought I was those first few days, my husband still thought I was pretty darn attractive.

Strangers didn't give me weird looks, babies didn't cry when they looked at my face, and not a single person suggested that I cover up the abomination I call a face with a paper bag.  Shocking, right?  On my super-sexy days, I could even turn a couple of heads.

So if you were scared to go without make-up because you assumed people would be shocked and appalled by your unpainted face, think again!  I'll renew my challenge: go without make-up!  It's pretty awesome, and I promise if you do it for long enough, you're going to start loving your natural face.



(Day one versus day fifteen)



It's funny; looking at these photos you can tell that I look EXACTLY the same; but I feel worlds better about looking like that now.  Sure, I'm not going to win any beauty pageants, but I think I look pretty great :)

Also, selfies with iPads look ridiculous.  Come on, Spotalotamus; use a normal camera.

Adult-ing (If the Definition of Literally Can Change, Adult-ing Can Be a Verb)

This afternoon I ran into a guy that I've known for about 12 years.  I went to school with him, ran cross country with him, he dated one of my friends, we went to the same church, he's good friends with my older brother...basically I know this guy pretty well.  I haven't seen him in at least a year though, so as I rode my bike past him my only thought was, "hey, that guy looks kind of familiar."  As soon as I realized who it was I stopped my bike and turned around to talk to him for a minute.  He's married now with a kid on the way, and it was weird because he didn't look like himself.  He looked like an adult man.

I honestly don't know how to explain that any better.  To me, my friends look just like they always have; we're kind of grown-up teenagers.  My friends have careers, children, houses, spouses, and degrees, but I never really realized that we are adults now.

It kind of opened my eyes a little bit.  See, I've always felt a little weird and apprehensive about my abilities as a teacher because I thought that my students just saw me as a few years older than them (which I am), but they see something totally different.  They see a woman who has studied and worked several jobs and lives on her own and pays taxes and worries about things like health insurance.  My students see me as an adult.

Not just that, but strangers who have no idea who I am or what I've done with my life see me as an adult.

Gone are the days of my actions being excusable due to my age.  Gone are the days of talking about what we want to do when we graduate college.  Gone are the 3am Walmart runs and the unabashed non-committal make-outs.  And the weirdest part?  I'm kind of starting to like it.

I like that other adults actually consider my ideas when I talk.  I like signing my own waiver forms and having my own name on my bank account and declining waiters' offers of alcohol with my meal.  I get excited when I think about mortgages, car loans, insurance forms, and all that other stuff because I AM DOING IT.  I am adult-ing.  I'm proving to myself that I CAN be responsible and capable and hard-working and I will NOT starve or go without clothes when I don't live with my mother.

I'm an adult, and I think I'm going to own that now.

Why I Am a Cat Person

When I was growing up we always had cats and a dog in the house (we also had pets that lasted for much shorter periods of time, like parakeets, lovebirds, mice, hamsters, fish, crawdads, frogs, crickets, lizards, a brief stint with a snake, and probably many more I'm forgetting).  Even now when I go home to visit my family is housing three cats (one of them my own), a dog, some fish, a bearded dragon, and a four-year-old boy (my youngest brother).  I am so accustomed to having animals in the house that leaving my cat back home so The Man and I could live in our current apartment made me cry for days.  It just doesn't feel right to not have something to care for, which might be why I've been more baby-hungry than usual lately.  What I mean to say is, I really miss my cat, y'all.

How do you NOT miss something this adorable?
And if you can read her collar, yes, her name is C.A.T.

That extremely vocal ball of fluff and bad breath is the reason I decided to write this post today - to fight for cat ladies everywhere.  By the end I hope to have you convinced that cats are pretty darn awesome.

1. Cats are soft

There's no arguing with this one, folks.  Cats are super soft.  I have yet to meet a coarse-haired cat, but I have met many coarse-haired dogs.  Lots of dogs have been bred for their coarse hair because of its ability to repel water, and since nobody's really expecting their cats to swim across a lake to retrieve the duck they just shot, cats are almost all soft and fluffy.

2. Cats can be dropped 

This is especially awesome for when you have a cat that doesn't like to be cuddled.  You pick it up, snuggle it for half a second, and before its claws come out you just pull your arms back and let it drop to the ground.

Little known fact: The "come at me, bro" stance is really just people showing
off how great they are at dropping enraged cats.  See these arms?  No scars!
It's pretty intimidating when you know someone can move that fast.

If you picked up your dog and then let it fall on the ground, you're going to be getting some seriously sad-looking puppy dog eyes for the rest of the day.

3. Cats couldn't care less about you

Dogs have needs.  Mainly, they need your attention ALL THE TIME.  They'll follow you around the house with that look in their eyes.  You know the one.  'What are you doing?  Can I do it too?  Can we go for a walk?  Can I eat that?  Hey, you should totally pet me right now; that'd be so rad!"

Cats sit on the highest perch in the house and look at you with a very different look in their eyes.  You know the one.  "Oh.  It's you.  You're still here.  I'm going to close my eyes and when they open again you better be gone."

Though when you do need a cuddle buddy, cats are there.  They're happy to steal your body heat while you're sitting at the computer, or reading a book in bed, or sitting on the toilet (ok, maybe that last one is just inconvenient).  Cats are cuddly without being needy.  Like a good significant other.

4. Cats NATURALLY want to poop and pee in the litterbox

Even the big cats bury their poop.  It's an instinctual reaction to keep predators or competition off their scent.  Since it's burned into their brains, it's as easy to litterbox-train a cat as it is for me to coerce The Man into eating the desserts I bake.  They WANT to use it.  Sure, they track a little litter through the house because of it, but isn't that nicer than being woken up at 5 every morning by your dog that really really really needs to go pee right this second?

Plus, you have a fail-safe way of knowing your cats feelings.  If your cat poops or pees OUTSIDE of the litterbox, you know something is terribly wrong.  Something is stressing them out, they're sick, or you've been ignoring them for weeks.

5. Cats usually don't eat vomit, poop, garbage, or rotting corpses

If your cat does one of those things, they're probably not feeling well.  Cats are notoriously picky eaters, so you pretty much know where their mouth has been.  If you have an outside cat, that mouth has been murdering something.  Now, my cat loves to lick people, because she's kind of weird, but she's an inside cat so I know that mouth has only been used for eating food, drinking water, and cleaning herself.  Which doesn't seem as bad to me as a dog's mouth, even though they're probably pretty comparable.

6. Cats are hilarious

Little kids get the "10 o'clock crazies;" cats get the "all-the-time crazies."  Cats will freak out for no good reason and start sprinting around the house, showing a better knowledge of parkour than any human can ever hope to achieve.  When you're bored and home alone, this can be more entertaining than you will ever know.

Awwww yis!  Something is about to go down.
(Those eyes do look digitally enhanced, but it's pretty darn close to reality.)

7. Cats can be left inside all day

This is an awesome cat trait.  Maybe you work full-time, or go to school full-time, or maybe you're really into all-day snowboarding trips.  Cats are cool with that.  You just tell it goodbye, pat its head as it glares at you, and walk out the door.  They won't bite your table legs, they won't destroy your furniture, they won't howl inconsolably for hours...They just sleep.  

So to sum it up, cats are dogs without all the trouble of potty-training, neediness, and barks.  Cats are amazing.  Plus, we have Grumpy Cat.  So, automatic win.

Pure awesome.

Meet My Pet, Peeve

As soon as I graduated college, I went right back for more school so I could earn an endorsement for teaching Chemistry.  Yesterday morning I was sitting in my Organic Chemistry class and I heard the worst sound in the world: crunching.

Now, usually I'm okay with crunching, whether it's dried leaves, bike tires on gravel, or an apple in my own mouth.  This crunching was different though; it was the crunch of someone eating granola in the middle of a lecture.  Maybe it's because I was secretly jealous that this student had the foresight to bring a snack to the two-hour lecture, or maybe it was because I could barely hear the professor over the impressive jaw smashes of the granola-masticating human, but it drove me crazy.

It was there in the lecture hall, slinging hateful insults at the unknowing student through thoughts that I realized that I have a problem with eating noises.  A couple of nights ago, in fact, I had been silently screaming at The Man for eating a burrito next to me.  Because I'm a jerk face.

Of course, my own eating noises are usually fine, but other people eating is just terrible for me.  It's one of my pet peeves.

I have many other pet peeves: I absolutely hate it when people write "LOL" or use "u" instead of adding two stinking letters and looking worlds more educated.  It frustrates me to no end when people neglect to use their turn signals while driving.  Girls that do the Disney version of a sneeze (you know what I'm talking about; that high-pitched squeaky noise that sounds exactly like "ah-choo!") make me want to slap them and tell them to sneeze like a human.  Basically I can be a very hateful person when it comes to my pet peeves, is what I'm saying.

So as I was mulling over my jerkish ways I started thinking about the phrase "pet peeve."  Why is it a pet?  Why isn't it just a "peeve?"

I decided that it's because we treat our peeves like pets*.  We don't ignore them and get on with our lives, because then our pets would die.  We think about them often, sometimes we feed them by picking out annoying people and focusing on how much we hate them, and we nurture our little peeves.  Where would we be without our peeves?  We wouldn't be as "unique."  There's no way in the world someone else is annoyed by the same things we are; our peeves make us special and different.  Just like a cat.  Ok, maybe the metaphor doesn't work perfectly.

So here's my challenge for the day: let one of your pet peeves die.  Maybe you're going to finally wear socks with sandals and realize how heavenly it is, maybe you're going to "LOL back and forth on the text line" (yeah...Black Eyed Peas), or maybe you're going to sit back and ignore it when your significant other blatantly picks their nose in front of you.  Whatever it is, I salute you for your courage and strength.  I think I'll tackle my food-noise problem first :)

*Other names for a pet besides Peeve: Damned Spot, Ruprecht, Wade Wilson (if you got all of those references, we can be friends)

How I Stopped Running from Jell-O

I'm one of those people that has super vivid dreams all the time.  The upside of this is some awesome flying dreams.  The downside is some terrifying nightmares.  Sometimes my nightmares are about legitimate fears, like someone breaking into our house and trying to harm us, and sometimes I have dreams about gelatinous blobs chasing me.  In dream world, those things are terrifying.

They're coming after me!

The worst part about my nightmares is my cowardice.  I never turn and fight in my dreams; I always run away.  Usually I'll grab the people around me and try and get them to safety, but dream me just doesn't think it's worth it to fight the threat.  On top of that, dream me is a terrible runner.  At the peak of my running career I could hold a seven minute mile for several miles, and in later years I've still kept in pretty good shape, but dream me can't run worth crap.  It's like the entire atmosphere is transparent molasses and I'm fighting to even get walking pace out of my worthless body.  It is so frustrating to be running for your life while moving at slo-mo speed (luckily everyone else in my dreams is a good runner, so the people I love usually get away).

It was kind of a frustrating thing because all growing up my oldest brother would talk about his dreams, in which people would come after our family and my brother would go all Rambo on them and save everyone.  By the way, my brother is strong, but he's 6'2" and maybe 150 pounds.  Not exactly intimidating.  I couldn't understand why my scrawny brother could beat up his dream villains and I was stuck running from Jell-o.

But.

For the past few months I've been working out in real life, and I've found an exercise that I LOVE: kickboxing.  Pilates is great and all, but I don't really feel like I've exercised unless every part of my body is dripping sweat (there's a lovely visual for you).  Kickboxing makes me work so hard that my eyes have literally stung from sweat, and Michael Bluth was wrong; it is not sweet.  It hurts so bad.

The sweetness of kickboxing comes from feeling my arms and for once there's no jiggle there when I flex.  It comes from taking on the boxer's stance and just feeling powerful and in charge.  Seriously, try it right now.  Stand up, wherever you are, and take this stance: knees bent, one foot in front of the other, head looking over the shoulder of your front foot side (is this making any sense?), hands up in fists protecting your chest and face.

Even better, take the stance and throw a couple punches, like this chick.

Now tell me that didn't feel awesome.  You want to take on the world.  For my workout I punch, kick, twist, leap, and feel like an all-around beast.  And the best part?  I probably look ridiculous.  I'm still a bit jiggly and a lot uncoordinated, but it doesn't matter because I FEEL AWESOME.

So why did I even bring up my dreams if I was just going to be one of those annoying people that only talks about their awesome workout?  Well, my dreams have changed since I started kickboxing.  I no longer run away; I turn and fight.  When I do run I hit full-speed and I'm usually heading towards the danger.  In my dreams I can even do parkour now, which is hilarious because I am dismal at it in real life.  My vertical leap is about two inches off the ground.  

What I'm trying to say is exercising empowers me.  It makes me feel more confident about my body and more confident in my abilities, and the confidence even transfers over into my subconscious.  If you're thinking about starting to work out again, or if you're bored of your current workout, I strongly suggest picking up kickboxing.  You will have the most amazing dreams.  

I Spent Today Naked

I have spent my whole day so far naked.  I went to class, talked to my professor, dropped by the office of the school I start working for in a few weeks, ran errands, and drove all over town.  Naked.

OK, not really naked (although I wish I could have been; it was SUPER hot today!), but today I chose to forgo doing my hair or putting on make-up, and it made me feel…different.

I got the idea from my little sister.  She’s a beautiful hipster who hasn’t worn make-up since her emo stage in high school.  Last night I was looking through some of her photos, and I was amazed at how great she can look without anything really accenting her features.  So I decided to try out that style for myself.

Now, I am secretly a very vain person (or maybe it’s not so secret…I don’t know), so I put on clothes that made me feel a bit more attractive – one of my favorite shirts and some tight pants.  This is the girl that the world saw today:

Hey look, it's a girl of average attractiveness.  Cool.

And this is the girl I saw in the mirror today:

I can't think of a witty comment to write here...

Instead of seeing a beautiful girl, I saw a recent acne breakout, the bags under my eyes, my lack of eyelashes, the flattest hair possible, and those darn keloids on my chest.  It was today that I realized: I don’t really love the way I look.

It was kind of a weird revelation for me, because I’ve never worn tons of make-up; I stick to mascara and cover-up (and eye liner when I’m feeling super confident in my hand-eye coordination).  I’ve always thought of myself as more of a “natural” girl, but today proved me wrong.  I struggle with being all-natural.  I feel ugly and worn-out, and that’s not how I want to feel about my face (I would say my body, but I honestly love my body.  Long legs, strong arms, huge boobs, a tight butt, a relatively flat stomach…What’s not to love?).

So here and now, in front of all three of my readers who AREN’T spam bots, I’m going to make a commitment.  For the next two weeks I’m not going to wear make-up.  No cover-up, no powder, no mascara, just plain ol’ me.  I will let myself do my hair though; I have to have something going right for me up there :P

Do any of my female readers feel like joining me?  Or will I be joining your already-formed ranks?

*Edit: To read about the end result of this challenge, go here