Sweet Faces

To me, the true test of friendship is being able to do the most mundane things together and somehow still have it be a blast. Whenever I go visit BFF Biology Girl, I admit that we do the glitzier types of things: we go out to dinner, we sightsee, we throw or attend parties, stuff like that. But what's even better is the random stuff that ends up happening in between all of those things. The Harold and Kumar moments. Case in point, the cupcake facial.

Last Sunday we had a few hours to kill before going to a party later in the evening, so we drove into Carmel for the afternoon. I know Carmel is mostly known for being the ritzy seaside town that Clint Eastwood used to be Mayor McCheese of, but I prefer to think of it as the town where Doris Day owns the doggie-and-kitty-friendly high-end hotel, the Cypress Inn. In my world, Doris Day beats out Clint Eastwood in a who's-more-awesome smackdown, no contest. Anyway, we strolled around a bit, and ended up in that fancy soap store, Lush. It's one of those places that has soapy products made out of organic, natural ingredients, displayed as big, pretty, colorful slabs off of which you cut yourself a piece and feel conflicted about whether you should wash with it or eat it.

An hour later we were back at her apartment with a tub of home-facial called Cupcakes, which, in the store, looked like a generous helping of muddy, fudgy goodness. Yes, we had decided to claim the girly-girls that we are and do a facial before getting fabulous for the party. And no, we didn't get in our underwear and have a pillow fight- there just wasn't enough time. As we started to spread the concoction onto our faces, it became decidedly less glam. Since it's basically made out of, well, food, it had been refrigerated to the point of being slightly uncomfortable. And smearing chocolate mud on one's face starts out feeling decadent and sumptuous, but quickly takes on the look of- how can I put this delicately- poo. Sweet smelling crap, but crap nonetheless. So we lube up in this chocolatey doo doo butter, and then sit for a chat to wait for it to set. We looked like Klingons, seriously. As the masks dried up, and we continued to talk, pieces of our poo-faces started to crumble off and drop all over the apartment, unnoticed. As we walked over these pieces, they smeared across her floor, creating the unmistakable appearance of skidmarks everywhere. Does Queen Latifah have this problem in her Beauty Shop?

We washed off the masks to faces that were even more glorious than we started out with, so it was all good. Why exactly was this fun? I have no idea. It's a mystery even to me. Why did we decide to do it? Why was it exciting? I don't know. Yet it was the best thing about the weekend. It was stupid, silly, kind of pointless, let's face it. It had all of the excitement of My Dinner with Andre. But it was awesome, memorable, and makes me love my friend even more.

The power of the poopy klingon cupcakes. That's love, people.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl