I’ve recovered from my lapse of housewife living last week. Toronto, I think I love you. You were good for my soul. A short but sweet vacation from cooking and cleaning – just riding the subway and hanging out with people who once knew me by my maiden name and allowed me to talk incessantly. Refreshing. It allowed me to come back with a more positive attitude and perseverance #igotthis.
Because living in Florida does have its perks. People here are very casual. Shorts and t-shirts. Sometimes just swimwear. Sometimes not even footwear. (I don’t mean just at the beach, I mean at grocery stores, Wal-Mart, crossing major road ways…) This makes 98% of my wardrobe 100% obsolete. Good thing I just shipped 200 lbs of clothing here…
But in the spirit of being a joiner, I’m going casual too. Which means:
- No watch
- No socks
- No hair straightener
- No makeup on any part of my face that can sweat (so far that just seems like my eyelashes)
Most days this also means no hair dryer, and no bra. It’s hella relaxing.
I now have a personal checklist to make sure I still maintain some standards. Each day I have to consciously remember to brush my teeth and I aim to put on real clothes, even if it only means my GAP rompers instead of staying in my pjs. The poor UPS man has already seen too much.
One Saturday, I rolled out of bed, sunbathed for two hours in the morning, DID NOT WASH MY HAIR, and then went out shopping. It. Was. Crazy. I’ve never gone out in public without having shampooed hair. It’s incredibly freeing. And I can decide to leave the house in 2 mins versus 45. In Florida, you can also get away with wearing a straw fedora whenever you want, and it masks my greasy, sweaty hair really well. Usually I go around looking a lot like this:
I also smell like coconuts all the time, because I am the only one around here who still wears sunscreen obsessively every day.
I’m afraid of burning. I use a Retin-A cream on my face religiously to keep this thing that looks-like-Rosacea-but-isn’t away. It peels away my outer layer of skin, so I’m always dewy and baby faced. But it means I’ve lost my favourite mole on my cheek, and I burn like whoa. In March, I scorched my skin. It was like Ross Gellar’s spray tan incident except I was fuchsia and not brown. I panicked. I was mad at myself for only using SPF 15 in vanity, clearly not understanding the potency of Florida sun through cloud cover. I didn’t leave the apartment for several days/the rest of my trip because I was obsessed with trying every home remedy Google had to offer. If you Google home remedies, you might come across:
- Apple cider vinegar bath
- Baking soda scrub
- Oatmeal bath
- Potato slices laying on your skin
- Tea bags laying on your skin
- Yogurt slathered on your skin
I tried them all. A bunch of times. Sometimes in conjunction with one another. And no one I’m sure is surprised to learn that none of them worked. I just smelled like a moldy pantry (mmm, right?). Turns out the best solution is to just wear sunscreen right off. So I do, before leaving the house at all.
We go out on the weekends with my husband’s friends from school. I think I look adorable, my new casual vibe, like I could have been cast in Almost Famous. But then I caught a glimpse of my reflection the first night and realized I looked more like my Yorkie after I skimp on the blow drying. Hoping after Florida’s “wet” season, I can go back to a few more grooming habits.
The only people I know here study aerospace engineering at the master’s or PhD level. One of them reads my blog (hi, friend!). He suggested at dinner this past weekend that I post more pictures of my life here. We meant to take a group shot, but they politely decided against it because I was elbows deep into a shitake and Swiss burger. So for now, use this to accurately imagine what me and my new friends look like:
Yes, I’ve already told them I am their Penny. We’ve even discussed who is who, because there is an Indian, a guy who feels lesser educated than the others, and a lean looking German who could double as Jim Parsons. On my first night out with them, they threw around words like “centrigual fans,” “turbine engines,” and “reverse flow.” …. Yup. Ditto! I concur! Since I could not woo them with witty banter, I later bought their love with funnel cakes on the boardwalk. Well, if someone bought me funnel cake, I’d like them a lot. LOOK HOW HAPPY:
One of them guessed I was 27 (I wish) so he was my favorite for a while, but then this weekend one of them brought me a homemade egg-fried potato (kind of like a samosa) for driving him to the movies and so now he’s my favourite. Potato gifts are my favorite gifts. Life is, once again, coming up Laurida.