Don't Hate Me Because I Can Pass For A Mexican

So I went to a spa party the other night, hosted by my hair stylist Lez. I'd known about the party ever since I almost killed her dog, and was really excited to get my feet massaged and try nice smelly lotions and stuff. But I also knew that I was stepping into the Danger Zone of Cute Trendy Marrieds with Unbelievably Cute and Trendy Hair.

The last time I entered The Danger Zone was a few months ago when Lez asked me to be a substitute in her monthly Bunko group. My response was, "What's Bunko, and will there be food?"

I brought my friend Nicole along (the very same Nicole from the food smuggling incident at the movie theater) and was really excited for a night of pampering. But I knew that maybe I was a little out of place when we had to go around and say what group we fell into when it came to our beauty / facial care regimen. I don't remember the clever names of each group, but it basically broke us down into four kinds of people: those who have a whole line of products and religiously use them, those who have a whole ton of products and use them every once in a while, those who have a few products and try to use them routinely, and those who have no products and don't care.

I was one of two people in the last group. The other lady is bursting with pregnancy, so she has an excuse. Apparently, I have no excuse for having "a face you can fry bacon on". Apparently, I'm disgusting because I usually don't wash off my eye makeup for "three to five days". Apparently, some of the girls were grossed out by my "bacteria-infested facial hygene".

When I read it now, I realize how gross it really sounds. But I don't think I'm alone out there when I say that I'd rather watch "Hogan Knows Best" reruns than take half an hour to wash my face. And according to these gals, "washing your face" is not just washing your face. Apparently there's a whole routine and regimen to it. And it's no longer OK to use a wash cloth for washing your face. Who knew. This all seems a bit over kill to the girl who uses TP and spit to wipe off her eye liner.

Well, thats just me. It really just boils down to the fact that I'm lazy and don't feel like washing my face every night. But in my own defense, I do use the Equate facial wipes to get off the really gunky mascara. It's a good thing I went to the spa party, otherwise I wouldn't have had the chance to learn the extreme error of my ways.

I had no choice but to subscribe to the theory that they all hated my appalling regimen because despite my lack of care, I have kinda OK skin. Its by no means flawless, but in general its pretty clear. I'd probably hate me too if I was the girl who spent $400 on products and took an hour each night "washing" my face and still had breakouts, and then meet someone else who hardly washes their makeup off and see that they have OK skin.

Or maybe I'm just tan enough that you can't tell how bad my skin is, hence my addicition to natural sunlight. My tanorexic plan was going perfectly until I went to Costa Vida (the poor man's Cafe Rio) for lunch with Jen, my Guatemalan co-worker who also speaks fluent Spanish. Jen ordered before me, and the hispanic guys behind the counter spoke perfect, flawless English to her. But when I stepped forward, I thought I was going both deaf and crazy because I couldn't understand a word they were saying to me.

It only took a second before I realized that they were speaking in Spanish to me. I pulled my traditional deer-in-the-headlights move as the guy kept asking me something crazy about cheese. I looked desperately at Jen for help, who couldn't do anything because she was laughing too hard. For some reason, I spoke unnecessarily loud and slow as I said, "I don't speak Spanish - she does!!!", then pointed to Jen. The guy behind the counter then exchanged some kind of witty banter in Spanish with Jen (I can only assume it was witty banter because clearly I am not hispanic and clearly I do not understand Spanish, but they were having a hearty laugh about it.)

As Jen wiped the tears from her eyes, she kindly explained that the guy said he spoke Spanish to me because he thought I was Latina. He didn't think that she, the Guatemalan girl was Hispanic. Apparently I can pass for a mexican better than the real thing. Not that there's anything wrong with that - I just stayed out of the sun for the next few days.

The point of that story is to defend my natural tan-ness, and thus defend my lack of a facial cleansing routine. Of course when I told the spa party gals that I never wear sunscreen either, I was nearly chased out by the angry mob with pitch forks. Don't be jelly because I'm doing irreversible damage to my skin and you're not.

I'd also like to give a shout-out to my Lebanese cul'churd heritage - the only real reason for my OK skin.

As a side note, I learned today that you should never talk to your boss, Curtis, when you have a mouth full of Almond Joy. Otherwise, you might accidentally call him "coitus".