Friday Night Lights

Well, guys, I got a facial tonight. If you know Bev well, you know that I appreciate hair and makeup as much as the next lady, but beauty procedures are not so much my jam. I’m too damn impatient to sit and let my nails dry, I don’t like to be touched, and I don’t like to spend that kind of money. However, I’ve had a “thing” on my face since mid-September that just won’t go away. It started out as what I thought was a zit and… just… kind of… never went away. I’ve asked my eyebrow lady a few times, and tried a few different at-home remedies (think Clearasil and hot cloths, not hippie stuff like chicken feet or essential oils or anything). After my own attempts failed, and after looking at this unicorn horn in the mirror for two months, I decided it was time for either an aesthetician or a dermatologist. My gym teacher and I were chatting the other day and we got onto the topic of weird skin shit (fun times), I pointed it out, and she recommended a beauty school where the technicians have completed all of their schooling, but are working toward finishing clinical hours. I got the info from her and booked a $28 facial for tonight. Worth a shot, right? Note: the Goldensteins are getting family pictures taken over Thanksgiving and I’d rather not have to ask/pay extra for the photographer to photo shop my unicorn horn. (And yes, I would)

I rolled in pretty hot, busting in like, “Hey, I’m Bev, I have a 6:00 appointment for a facial.” The receptionist was super friendly, but was talking in this really freaky whisper voice that I didn’t like. Then I realized that the reception area was pretty much the massage area, and to my right was a room full of women standing in low lighting, rubbing other women covered in towels on the tables. Typical Bev bull-in-a-china-shop move. No big deal. I noted the “calm” feeling of the room (#eerie), sat down, and filled out the paperwork the creepy whisper lady gave me and waited for my girl, Felicia. (it’s worth noting that the paperwork was four pages long and asked me some weird-ass questions like if I’ve had plastic surgery or how many ounces of alcohol I drink per day. Shoutout to them for asking per day though, not per week like the real doctor’s office. Because I can’t count that high, especially on a Friday night.)

Not long after I finished giving my DNA sample and signing away my first-born, the Face Whisperer came back with a black and white cloth item in each hand. I had no idea what it was (low-lit massage room, remember?) but for a second assumed that this is where they brainwashed me into their cult of whispering and darkness. But then Face Whisperer started talking about where I could find the bathroom to go change and to put my clothes in the black bag, wrap in the white “robe” (it was a tube top towel with velcro), then come back into my private room. Now let me tell y’all something- I knew I was in over my head here when I was asked to take my shirt off to get a facial. But whatever, I’m elbow deep in Whisperland now, so I did it, and walked into my room where I found another client and aesthetician on the right and my high-top table with loads of blankets on the left. Now, you all know I’m sweating somethin’ fierce (out of my element) at this point, and notice that the client next to me has put her blanket all the way up to her chin, but I basically pull it up to my pits and leave my arms hanging out like the total sweaty dipshit that I am.

Of course, the first thing Felicia does when she walks in the room is ask me if I’m “comfortable” (aka, wondering why the hell I have my arms out). Look, Felicia, I’m not going to be comfortable for the next hour, so just get in here and lance my unicorn horn, will ya? A short conversation followed, which basically consisted of me downplaying the whole “facial” part of the session and using the word “lance” at least three times. 

Now, before you read the rest of this post, I’m going to have to ask you to watch this video. I’m sure Felicia is used to people who actually enjoy lying on what is essentially a high-top bar table with a pillow top, covered in 864 blankets, but Cookie Monster at the :22 mark is me, waiting for Felicia to skip the exfoliating and excessive whispering, and just lance the goddamn thing on my face.

YouTube credit: David Creighton

OK, moving on. Felicia is actually very nice, and we make some fairly pleasant conversation, and while I was most definitely sort of whispering, it turns out that I feel like I’m not that good at whispering. (this surprises no one) Felicia is going on and on about the lemon zest cleanser (how ’bout now?) and the exfoliating scrub (how ’bout now) and then finally mentions how she’ll do the lancing after the steam. At one point, I do move to put one arm under the blanket and she asks if I’m cold. Felicia, I’m sweating like a whore in church. Or, I’m sweating like Bev in a building full of whispering hippies and instrumental yoga music with no shirt on, OK?

All of the facially things are happening, and it’s great and all, but I am just not that into some of these things. I am pretty sure I am the first person to ask Felicia, “Do I have to keep those things on my eyes?” because she stumbled quite a bit before answering that no, I didn’t have to wear them; they’re just there for when the light is on. Now, for the record, that light is brighter than the goddamn sun even with your eyes closed, but I swear I was gonna get up and walk out if I had to sit still, essentially blindfolded, for another 30 seconds. (how ’bout now?) I was also terrified to ask her about applying my beloved Banana Boat spray tan later this evening, as I thought maybe that would be like putting ketchup on a filet or something, but (thank God) Felicia seemed to fully support the spray tan and even added that it should go on more smoothly and maybe even look better than normal. Well, except for the horn between my eyes. Her words, not mine. (I kid.)

Felicia keeps putting all sorts of goop on my face and then she applies some sort of “mask” and I knew it was going to be at least five more minutes before there was any lance action. (how ’bout now?) I mean, it was fine because the mask felt kinda nice, but then Felicia started giving me a massage while we waited for the mask to “work” (?). Now, I don’t think there’s a distinct line between chest and boob, but I am pretty sure Felicia crossed it.

YouTube credit: drjohnleathers

Anyhoo, the time (finally) came for Felicia to wash off the mask, and I was pretty the steamer portion of the show is coming up soon (only because I opened my eyes to check the clock every two minutes and twelve seconds to see how long I still had to sit there). I’m getting pretty excited (how ’bout now) but then Felicia says her steamer isn’t working. “It’s been working all day, but nothing is happening now.” Which is cool because I’m not already about to lose my shit and walk out in my flimsy white velcro “robe” but now I’m gonna have to wait longer until she figures out the steamer (which I’ve convinced myself is malfunctioning and will probably end up spewing boiling water onto my face and then I’d be wishing I had a goddamn unicorn horn for family pictures, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I?) Felicia is fiddling with all kinds of shit on my right and I just happen to open my eyes juuuuust as she gets the steamer on and pumpin’… not great timing.

Anyhoo, Felicia finally steams my face and it’s time. It’s time! I think Felicia was a little freaked out by my lance elation and I definitely told her I wanted to get my phone out and video tape it (she politely ignored that comment). And, well, guys, I’m sorry for all the buildup here, but she lanced and I could immediately hear the disappointment in her voice. Nothing but blood was coming out tonight but she thinks that maybe the lancing will draw something out in the next day or two (hopefully during the wedding I’m attending solo tomorrow night- #PusOnMyFace). She did put some “zapper on it and two other “live zones” on my face (a.k.a. the two massive zits I’m currently rockin’) and then put on about six different moisturizers. You know, the antioxidant moisturizer, the balancing moisturizer, and the moisturizer made from the piss of unicorns who live underwater with the mermaids at Atlantis. If this horn doesn’t go away by family picture day, I’m going to go live with those bastards.

Oh, and speaking of moisturizer, don’t worry- Felicia didn’t let me out of my blanket death trap once my face was shining brighter than that goddamn light next to my table. Ohhhhh no. She then proceeded to grease up my entire upper body with some kind of turbo Vaseline and I legitimately thought I might slide off the table at one point. My hyperhidrosis went into overdrive and my hands were basically dripping sweat onto the goddamn floor and I had to ask Felicia for another “warm compress” to wipe them off so they didn’t fly off the steering wheel and send me careening into a tree on my way home. Me explaining my hyperhidrosis to strangers is always a classy, graceful, and chic experience.

And then it was basically over. My turbo Vaselined arms rolled my fat ass and my unicorn horn off that table where I went back to the bathroom to put on my clothing, which was about as fun as putting on a wet bathing suit. Then I went back up the Face Whisperer to pay and run the hell out of there.

Don’t worry, guys. I bought a vial of the zapper and it’s currently working its magic on the horn and my two “hot spots” and will be soon rinsed off to be covered in aforementioned spray tan.

Now, back to regularly scheduled peacocking.

-Bev

P.S.- Oh. I actually said, “Bye, Felicia,” and I’ve never been more proud. I’m literally not even sure where the phrase came from, but goddamn, I felt like such a cool millennial for a second. Except for the… well, except for everything else that happened in this post.

P.P.S.- My skin feels pretty great and I’m not against getting another facial. If only I could find one where I could sit upright (fully clothed), keep my eyes open, listen to Beyoncé, and drink champagne. I’ll probably just buy a Biore mask next time I’m at Target. Unless any of you have any face treatments you absolutely love. (Bonus if they’re specially formulated to treat unicorn horns)

P.P.S.- Goldenstein family words of the week: 1) plume. 2) lance.