Screams of hysteria could be heard all throughout the venue as the last notes of the set drowned into the sea of hundreds of screaming girls. William had stumbled off the stage a third of the way through the last song of the night, too drunk and short of breath to finish out the gig. Fortunately, his absence improved the bands’ sound tenfold. It was becoming way too difficult to keep up with and understand the slurred gurgling of their heavily inebriated lead singer. Yet the girls still lost their shit each and every time William opened his mouth to rasp out his melancholic love songs.
That’s why they loved him so much. Will was a damaged goods drunkard that smoked like a chimney, but he wrote and sung about love like he was a modern day Shakespeare. His verbal imagery put most song writers to shame and made the most mainstream artist sound like the mindless prattle of a three-year-old.
Of course, his looks didn’t hurt his case; piercing green eyes, pouty sensual lips that curled the sexiest snarl on just the right notes, high cheek bones, long brown hair, and a sickly skinny form marred with many tattoos. He was the ultimate fangirl fantasy. .If self-inflicted health habits weren’t included in the package.
Will slammed open the door of the green room so hard the door knob left a small dent in the wall. He walked across the room and fell into a black leather couch in the corner. Every night, for about ten minutes, Will had this time to himself while his band mates finished the outro. Each night he would blindly find his way to the green room at every venue and drink until someone picked him up and schlepped him back to the tour bus or the hotel.
From the couch, he surveyed the brightly lit room with glassy blood-shot eyes. To the right of him was a long table with bottles upon bottles of beer, red wine, and hard liquor. There were also small bottles of mixers and a few rows of empty glasses, but refills only got in the way of Will’s determination to continuously drink himself into a delusional stupor.
Now all he had to do was get to the table, or crawl as he did on occasion. It was easier said than done. The room was not only spinning but vibrating as well. The vibration was most likely attributed to the weed/hash combo he had smoked on the bus two hours before hand. Today would have to be a crawl day.
Will gingerly reached his left hand outward towards the ground, trying to find the carpet with his eyes closed. He ended up with his head between his knees for about three minutes while he took a mid-crawl snooze. His body twitched in discomfort and jerked him awake. Remembering the mission, he slowly somersaulted his gangly scarecrow body off the couch and maneuvered himself into downward dog position.
“It’s a good thing nobody’s here to see this,” He gurgled.
Carefully, he crawled with the speed of a snail towards the table that held anything and everything amazing he could possibly think of. The many bottles and glasses shimmered and glowed enticingly under the glorious fluorescent lighting. William had stopped to stare off to the side of the room where the door was, hoping and praying he still had enough time to get to the table and back to the couch before his bandmates finished out the set and walked back to the green room.
The thought of anyone catching him in such a pathetic position lit a fire under his ass. He made it to the table, sat back on his hunches, picked out a dark whiskey, and began to embark one his voyage back to couch island. It’s a sad day when a six-foot-two man has to climb onto a couch, but the motor skills it required to stand and sit had escaped him for the time being.
Finally seated, mostly slouched, he broke the plastic seal on the brand new bottle of whiskey with nibble fingers. No matter how lost in the sauce he was, his body always seemed to go into auto pilot when opening an alcoholic beverage. Though he was panting from very minor exertion, he still felt the need to light up a cigarette so that he may fully enjoy his inebriated state. Once lit, he let it dangle precariously from his lips for a moment before removing it from his mouth, tilting his head back, and chugging about a fourth of the fiery liquid.
“And life is good once again”
Suddenly, a buzzing, tingling sensation ran through his body. It pulsated . . . And also rang?
“Oh, tith’s the phhhone.” He fumbled with the bottle to reach into his front pocket and pull out his cell, adding a dash of whiskey and a sprinkling of ash to his shirt. He held the vibrating phone close to his face in order to read the caller I.D.
“Elise. Clearly, this isn’t the best time to talk!” He growled through a moment of absolute clarity. He then whipped the phone at the wall across from him so hard; half of it lodged itself into the wall. The other half burst into a dozen tiny shards of black metal and glass.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” He murmured softly.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. William sat completely still staring slack-jawed at the little remains of his cell phone. The amber brown liquid in his bottle was stagnant, and even the fluorescents had seemed to cease their incessant hum. For the first time in months Will felt calm almost centered. A heavy burden seemed to have been lifted for that moment, and he was calm for the first time in a very long while.
Just then, the green room door swung open and a parade of after party goers flooded into the room. Will remained on his couch unfazed by the sudden and unwanted change in vibe and took another long swing from the bottle. Some group of girls with V.I.P lanterns strung around their necks had B-lined it to the couch and plopped themselves very closely to him. One girl’s hand had miraculously found its way into his lap. He followed the view of her hand up to her arm, and then to her face.
She had lots of dark charcoal colored makeup heavily drawn around her eyes. Her lips were the color of dried blood and she seemed to have the entire rainbow spectrum splattered in her hair. She was yammering loudly over the crowd at him about some mindless dribble.
“Oh my God! You guy seriously rocked it tonight! Your lyrics are so powerful, nobody writes like you.” She went on and on impressively never taking a breath.
Will carefully picked up her hand at the wrist from his lap with his thumb and pointer finger, and placed it on her knee.
“I believe tthis belongs to you missh.”
She had finally shut her trap long enough to look disgustedly from her hand on her knee and back towards him.
“Yeah, so anyway, whatever.” She said in a huff, stood abruptly and wondered over to her next victim.
When Will turned his head back towards the spot on the couch that rainbow bright had vacated, his manager Melissa had taken her place. Apparently, even with the cover of all these people mucking about, she had still found some of the tiny pieces of his now deceased phone. She was holding them up to his face, staring back at him with an obnoxiously questioning look.
“I’m gonna need a new phhhone.”
She looked at him with comical disappointment.
“This time . . . Silveeer. Not black.”
Clutching her hands around the metal shards, she dropped her arm out of his line of blurry vision.
“How many of these do you plan on going through on this tour? Ball park figure?”
Will hated when she used her American terms with him.
“If you’d stop giving her my number . . .”
“Numbers,” She interrupted.
“My numburths,” He countered, spittle flying from his mouth every which way.
“Well if you would actually answer the phone the damn thing to see what exactly she wants,”
“I don’t care what that evil bitch wants, she can fucking jump off a cliffff for all I care!”
Luckily, the room was too loud and crowded for anyone to really hear their conversation. Most of it drifted into the crowd and was lost, but a couple of people around their area had heard what Will had said. They turned their backs on them with disturbed looks on their faces.
“Could you possibly keep your voice down?” She whispered furiously into his ear.
“I’m sorry; I don’t even want to be here. I want to go back to the bus.” He whispered back.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his bass player Torgny making his way over to him.
“Well you can’t go back just yet; people from the label are here. And besides, we’re not even leaving Bristol tonight; we’re staying at the Du Vin.”
“Well take me there then.”
“I can’t, the label!”
“I don’t care about the bloody label!”
Thankfully, Torgny interrupted their whisper tangent by shoeing away a girl seated to the right of Will and throwing his ass down on the semi-soft couch cushion.
“How ya doing’?” Torg asked in Wills direction.
Will held up his bottle and replied, “Fabulous,” Completely deadpanned.
“I can see that.” He said without hiding his disappointment.
Will noticed the sad decent of his friend’s face and it actually sobered him up a bit. He quickly tried to change the subject.
“How do you think the gig went tonight?”
“Good, really good, well after you stumbled your drunk ass off the stage that is.
A stab of pain shot through Will’s temples at his friend’s mention of his failure. His conversation diversion had led him directly to an oncoming crash.
“I’m sorry.” He apologized pathetically. “I’ll drink less during the set next time.”
Torg’s nostrils flared and the copper colored skin under his light brown beard flushed red.
“That’s what you said last night, and the week before that!”
Nervously, Melissa reached over and patted Torg on the knee, “Calm down dude.”
People around the threesome had started to shuffle away with extremely uncomfortable looks on their faces.
“We can talk about this later at the hotel,” She whispered harshly.
From across the room, Melissa had spotted two men in expensive suits talking to each other while surveying the room. One was completely bald and stout. He wore a black suit, a crisp white shirt, and a striped gray tie. The other was tall and slender with salt and pepper hair. His suit was a deep blue color, he wore a black shirt underneath with no tie. They were most definitely from the label, and she was pretty positive they had both heard Torg’s outburst.
Torgny was calm now, but Will was just getting his second wind.
“We can talk about this right fucking now!”
He bellowed this as his long legs shot him up into a half standing, half slowly falling position. Blood rushed every which way inside of his body, except for his head. He deftly planted his hand directly on top of his manager’s head to stabilize himself.
By now the whole room was looking uncomfortable and nervous. Some people were checking for the exit and some were just blatantly fleeing the scene. William was teetering from one foot to the other, which was practically breaking Melissa’s neck as she was still acting as the main support system. Now that Torg had seen the men from the label he wasn’t interested in continuing their screaming match. He stood and carefully removed Will’s hand from Melissa’s head. Gingerly, he picked out the strands of hair that had tangled between his fingers and slung Will’s arm around his shoulder to keep him steady. All Will could do was stare off to the side blankly.
“I’m going to bring him up to the room and then I’ll be back down.”
Melissa shook her head in compliance and pulled out a key card from her back pocket.
“Here, make sure there isn’t anything in the room that will cause more trouble.” She said as she placed the fob in his outreach hand.
“Bitch!” Will huffed under his breath.
Torg spun on his heel, quickly schlepping William through the parted party goers that had now gone completely silent. He left the room as speedily as possible while connected to another human being that was a hundred and forty pounds of dead weight.
The sniffles of the audience resounded throughout the theater, signaling she had them in the palm of her hand. She cried right along with them until finishing the scene and walked off stage right. A new scene began as Alex was pulled into a darkened corner behind a sheet by a female stagehand. Lisa, or Lauren, began to undress her and reached for a new costume. “You’re doing so great Miss Martucci.”
“Thanks.” Alex was wiping at her still dripping eyes and trying to calm herself down.
The stagehand placed a small bottle of eye drops in her hand and began to button her blouse.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Alex turned to her, almost void of any semblance of emotion. “Sure, of course.”
The stagehand looked up at her straight on, as if she was trying to muster up the courage and nerve. Her bottom lip quivered a bit. Alex shifted the weight on her feet back and forth uncomfortably.
“You’re a pretty established actress now…Why did you decide to go back to stage acting?”
Alex stared back at her numbly, trying to come up with a quick answer that would please the girl and get her to shut up at the same time. She most definitely couldn’t tell her the truth. “Well, I love being on stage. I feel more connected to the audience. It’s much more fulfilling than acting for cameras and grips.”
Alex mentally patted herself on the back. It did sound much better than the truth, my career is taking a dive and all my agent could get me was this shitty off-Broadway play just didn’t have the same deep, introspective actress tone to it. In fact, it just made her sound bitter.
The young girl seemed to accept that as an answer and moved on to reapplying her makeup. “That totally makes sense, I mean it’s great when you really get something out of your work right?”
Alex was horrified by her overly bubbly response. How a person could be in such a good mood in New York of all places boggled her mind. This cream puff of a girl clearly belonged on a beach somewhere wearing shorty shorts and turning an unnatural shade of processed food orange number 8, not asking personal questions about her career.
Alex went into defense mood. “I’m sorry I didn’t get your name…”
The puff ball looked up at her obliviously to apply some lip gloss to her lips.
Her memory of meeting the girl came back quickly with the name.
“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, my mind is elsewhere.”
Lisa seemed unfazed. “No problem.”
Alex remembered when her director Mark had pointed out Lisa during rehearsals and had told her she was his niece. She was almost nineteen. Alex was suddenly surprised at how much younger she had thought the girl was than herself when Alex was only twenty-four. It had become hard to keep simple things straight from time to time. So much had happened since she had moved from LA to New York. She was a pretty well-established actress now, with a lot on her plate.
Her parents were a big part of the weight. Most of the money she was making these days ended up being sent back home; no matter how badly she was hurting. Alex knew her parents needed the money. They just weren’t able to make it on their own. Alex looked up when she noticed the puff ball was yapping at her again.
“Look up towards the light so I can reapply your eyes.”
Without saying anything, Alex tilted her face towards a small black desk lamp that had been mounted on to a beam above a small mirror that was barely large enough to see your own eyes in. Lisa pushed back her carefully groomed brown bangs and re-lined her eyes in heavy charcoal. It was important for everyone in the house to see her expressions without having to strain, so she was heavily made up and caked on.
Alex listened carefully for her cue to rejoin the cast on stage. It was coming soon but puff and fluff hadn’t yet wiped off her base makeup and redone her blush. She was getting antsy now. She couldn’t be late on. It would throw off the whole play and confuse the audience to no end. Not to mention it would be the epitome of unprofessionalism.
Out of the corner of her eye, Alex spotted a makeup cloth. Her hands began to itch to grab it and clean off her face. The feeling of dried tear streaks down her cheeks and neck was a blunt reminder of how messy she looked. As her arm twitched to swipe the cloth, the sparkle queen finally reached for it and began to clean her off. This would have been fine if her entrance wasn’t now only three beats away! And the girl was rushing as fast as a sloth on heroin.
This is ridiculous, Alex thought. “Here, I’ll help you.” She grabbed a blush brush, dipped it in some blush with the thickness of face paint, and began to blindly rub it into her cheeks.
“Oh, are you sure? I could…” but before Lisa could finish her thought Alex threw down the brush, turned on her heel, and scuttled towards the stage leaving the speck of glitter in a high state of confusion.
Alex didn’t feel that bad, she figured Lisa was in that state quite often. Her leading man was about to cue her on stage. She sucked in her breath sharply and released it, trying to get rid of the butterflies in her belly. She found herself feeling so nervous almost every time she entered a scene. She wasn’t as comfortable with the stage as she was on the sound stage. Her belly butterflies were beginning to feel more like pterodactyls flapping about, trying to break free of her constricting digestive system. She would just have to use her fear in the scene. And try not to pass out under the flaming hot lights.
Alex sucked in another deep breath and jerked herself into the scene and onto the stage. She stepped into the spotlight once again. Soft Rose and Bastard Amber warmed her body instantly. The heat was a welcome change from the chilly wings backstage. She settled into the scene nicely and found a rhythm with her acting partner Devon. He was a polite man/boy with the appearance of an overgrown Kewpie doll. His shock of blond hair even came to a point at the top of his perfectly oval head. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes were blue, and sometimes Alex couldn’t get the image of him in a diaper out of her noggin.
Paraphilic infantilism aside, Devon really wasn’t Alex’s type. But he was the bee’s knees for her scatterbrained character. Luckily this was the breakup scene where Devon’s character Alec left Alex’s character Joan for a cute red headed paleontologist named Amy. Unfortunately for Alex, this scene brought out the absolute worst parts of Joan.
“I don’t understand what I did…Just tell me and I’ll fix it!” Alex sobbed out her lines up stage right, carefully watching her back the whole time. Needless to say, stupid Joan was so unstable. Alex hated reliving the golden age of seventeen every night via Joan; the mousy bookworm with low self-esteem and a poor body image. Not that she thought uber highly of herself, but she certainly was not a Joan.
Devon was yelling down stage left towards her now. He hadn’t forgotten his lines but he was jumbling them up a bit to the point where Alex wasn’t sure when or where to come in at. She was frustrated and worried it would show on her overly expressive face. Luckily the audience didn’t notice and must have chalked up her confusion as part of Joan’s inner turmoil.
“Don’t try to understand, just let me go and get on with your life! Can’t you see how you’re dragging me down?” On the end side of the word, ‘down’ Devon’s voice cracked. He was going with the quite sensitive approach tonight. Which was completely absurd since the entire point of this particular scene was that Alec was a self-absorbed bag of sleaze that oozed a level of confidence that was impossible to achieve. Over time these subtle changes during a live scene had become an annoyance to Alex. She didn’t know how to plan out her reactions correctly ahead of time if Devon tried to keep things “exciting” every night.
Alex countered Devon’s left field acting by throwing herself down on her knees and crying boisterously and intentionally comedic. Bringing a comical element into Devon’s dramatic ‘abandonment scene’ threw him off his game and flustered him more than ever. The audience’s tone had switched and many were laughing. Devon haughtily made his exit with his last line, obviously annoyed with Alex, not Joan.
“I’m leaving now,” he blurted and left her on stage.
Her sobs began to ebb away. This was the part where unstable Joan began to pack her things, ripping clothes off hangers and throwing them haphazardly into a large red suitcase strategically placed under the set bed. Now she would have to crush the audience’s good mood and depress them all over again. It was the consequence to embarrassing Devon and going for a laugh in a dramatic play.
She packed her fake clothes into her fake suitcase while furiously wiping at her eyes and giving a monolog about how she had been so stupid to fall in love with such a loser like Alec. Sometime during this process, Alex’s brain had left the building and she was no longer acting. She was merely going through the motions and saying the right lines to be finished with her scene. It baffled her that she had been so nervous not fifteen minutes ago to step out on stage, and now she was completely subdued. It was as if someone had switched off the faucet marked ‘passion.’ What little she had left spiraling down the drain quickly.
The house was silent. Alex picked up a fake framed photograph beside her fake bed. The picture was of her and Devon posing as their couples’ counterparts. She paused, frame in hand, and took in the room, now in shambles. As tears continuously streamed down her face, Alex hurled the photo through a dummy window. It shattered the fake glass made of confection sugar. The audience gasped and out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw a few people backstage jump, including puff ‘n’ fluff.
Finally, she picked up her suitcase and walked up stage left towards the set bedroom door. As she grabbed the door handle, Alex took in the room one last time. It was important to pause at this point to show the audience all the damage Joan would be letting go of. In a film, a bad film, but a film non-the-less this might be the part where a slow motion montage flash-back ran of Joan and Alec’s failed relationship.
They would be seen strolling through the park hand in hand, cut to them having some deep conversation on their couch late at night. Them eating out at a fancy restaurant, Alec feeding Joan a spoonful of some chocolate fudge dessert. But on the stage, the boring same old stage, that only saw the same sad tacky story played out over and over every night; all that happened was a long drawn out pause…And maybe a deep sigh for good measure. Tonight felt like a deep sigh kind of crowd.
She pulled the door open slowly looking straight ahead. The house had seen enough raw emotion for one night. Alex stepped through the doorframe and closed it behind her as the set went dark.
Later that night Alex returned to her spacious studio apartment in the West 70s. A spacious studio apartment in New York City usually only meant you had to walk three steps from the bed to the bathroom. And you couldn’t fry an egg in your kitchen while soaking in the bathtub. Upon entering her real apartment she flipped on the living room lights and plopped down heavily on the couch. She threw her hand to the side, groped for the answering machine atop the in-table, and pressed play. BEEP BEEP, “first message…Hi, Alex how was the show tonight?” For some reason, her agent, Channing liked to pepper her voicemail with social niceties that couldn’t possibly be answered. “Hey listen I really need you to come to the office tomorrow, it’s important. Call me ASAP!”
Superficial dread swept over her immediately. Though she liked Channing as a friend she hated having client/agent meetings. It always felt so technical and cold and confused the lines of their already rocky friendship. “Next message…Hey girl! It’s me, I miss you, we haven’t seen each other in forever! Text me.”
“I just saw you last week!” Alex yipped back at the machine; she was beginning to believe Nick’s complaints of Kim’s clingy disposition within their relationship. It didn’t help that Alex was becoming such a hermitized loner. Lately, any time she was out with Kim and Nick she couldn’t wait to run home and shut herself in and away from the rest of the world.
“Next message…Hi, sweetheart.” Crap. This was the beginning of a bank-breaking message that came along with generous portions of aggravation and debt. “I hate to ask but I was wondering if you could send just a bit more money so I can buy some groceries? Again I hate to ask but your sister needed some new shoes and I had to use the money you sent before to cover that and I…Message erased.” Alex didn’t need to know the amount, and she probably wouldn’t until her bank statement came at the end of the month. Opening an account with her mother’s name on it was possibly the worst financial decision she had ever made.
If her father ever found out that her mom had access to that account he’d probably flip his lid, and hers for that matter. Fortunately for her mom, Tom Martucci liked to keep his head buried deep in the sand.
Now fully depressed, Alex slouched off the couch and walked to her bedroom area and turned on her laptop that was still sitting on her night stand from the day before. Whenever she started up her computer it, for some reason, reminded her of her parent’s first computer. Her new one was faster than any she’d ever seen and it had never given her any grief. Her parent’s, on the other hand, had to be coaxed to slowly wheeze back to life, and it was barely strong enough to handle the internet. The printer on that dinosaur was also a huge embarrassment, seeing as the thing believed it was some kind of printer/type writer hybrid.
Alex began to lose herself in an old black and white film she had saved on her computer while relaxing on her bed. The dark hues of noir? began to lull her to sleep. Inside she was still just barely awake, dancing on the razor’s edge of consciousness. Her outside was a different story; her jaw had gone slack and a bit of moisture was trying to escape her mouth. Just as her lips twitched in response there was a loud quick banging at her front door.
She shot up frightened and disoriented; wiping the back of her hand across her mouth she cursed her bad sleeping habits. “Stupid drool!” The banging continued.
“Alex!” a voice on the other side called. It was Kim.
She turned to her bedside digital clock that told her it was almost three o’clock in the morning, and her eyes almost fell out of her face. “Alex!”
Alex hopped off her bed and padded quickly to the front door, throwing it open without pause and already yelling at her best friend “SOMEONE BETTER BE DEA…” But at first glance, the look on Kim’s face said that someone might very well be dead.
Her friend was standing in the hall with her short brown hair matted to the sides of her face with tears in her brown almond eyes. Her lips were quivering and she was leaning on the door frame for some support. Alex was wondering when the other shoe would drop with Nick. “Get in here!” She rushed Kim into her apartment and sat her down on the couch. She spent the next ten minutes making tea, getting Kim tissues, pouring tea, and swaddling her friend in a large black sweater.
“Now that you’re calm can you please tell me why the hell you’re screaming bloody murder outside my door at this ungodly hour?”
Kim took a deep breath and held it in until she almost turned blue,
She let it out in a hapless sigh. “Thanks…Promise not to judge me?”
Alex patted Kim’s folded hands. “Aw honey, I already know you’re crazy.”
A small smile broke on Kim’s face, Alex let out a tiny giggle. “I think I might have accidently got myself knocked up,” she told Alex while staring blindly at her own folded hands.
Now it was Alex’s turn to take a deep breath. “Please tell me it’s Nick’s.” She was grappling for a shred of hope.
Kim’s face scrunched up and she looked completely away. “Well…”
“Oh what the shit Kim! I can’t even handle this right now! We agreed no personal disasters before eleven a.m.…You are in serious breach of a verbal contract.”
Alex sprang to her feet and began to pace back and forth in front of Kim, who sat sullen on the couch very red in the face. This was not how her quiet night alone was supposed to be. For one, you needed to be alone and that had all gone to pot thirty minutes ago. She stopped mid pace and turned to Kim. “So who else could it be?” Alex realized her stance was very motherly and scolding, she dropped her arms out of the firm fold they had been in and sat back down beside her best friend.
Kim spoke very carefully, as if to keep from incriminating herself as a hoe bag. Even if she was a big bag of hoes, Alex would still love her the same. She had always been there for her. “Do you remember my ex boyfriend Jackson?”
The name rang a bell somewhere in her brain. “Kind of I guess.” Alex urged her to continue. “Have you seen him lately?”
“Well I met with him for coffee about three months ago, just before I moved in with Nick. I don’t know why I had this urge to see him after all this time had gone by but I did and then we…”
Alex filled in the blanks. “Accidently ran back to his place and had sex?”
Kim let out another big puff of air “Basically.”
“And let me guess. You didn’t use protection because accidental sex doesn’t really count right?”
Though she said this in a joking nonjudgmental way, Kim was still tortuously embarrassed. She bobbed her head up and down and blurted out, “It was off the books sex,” before she crumbled all over again. Alex could tell this was going to be a long night that would carry into the early morning.
When I heard that the goddess of skin care, Caroline Hirons, was teaming up with Pixi to create a product, I was in immediately. You had me at Caroline. Like many other skin care junkies that sift through endless blogs and Youtube videos trying to find the next big thing that will completely alter my skins’ life, one day I stumbled upon Carolines videos. And thank God I did. If I hadn’t, I’d probably still be baffled by the way makeup flaked off my dry, dead face.
On To The Product
Let my preface this review with my timeline of use: I’ve currently been using the Double Cleanse for two months. I use the cleansing cream in the morning sometimes, but I use both at night always. . . Or for however long I’ve had the product.
The first night that I used the Double cleanse, I noticed two things; Firstly, I realized that after using both cleansers, a lot of my makeup had been left behind and I had to actually triple cleanse with a micellar water. The second thing I noticed, was that both cleansers in the product seemed very similar to two of Lush’s products I had purchased before.
The Solid Cleansing Oil half reminds me of the consistency and performance of Lush’s Ultrabland Cleanser. However, where Ultrabland relies on beeswax for replenishing moisture and picking up the days’ makeup, The Double Cleanse uses a combination of fruit, seed, and avocado oil to achieve the same results.
The Cleansing Cream, or the “Second Cleanse,” really reminds me of Lush’s 9 To 5. From the minute I used this product, I was in love. It’s so simple and easy, and after you use it, your skin feels clean. Unfortunately, the 9 To 5 cream falls short, only because Lush adds a fragrance to it. As someone with sensitive skin, I knew it would only be a matter of time before my skin decided it didn’t like it and revolted with copious amounts of white heads.
The Cream Always Rises
The Double Cleanse definitely has a lot going for it. Both cleanses, oil and cream, are fragrance-free, paraben free, and vegan. They feel great on the skin and nothing has ever taken off my water proof mascara like the solid cleansing oil does. The only real gripe I have with the product is that after I do both cleanses, I still get quite a bit of foundation off when I go in with my Garnier Micellar Water. But that’s just me. Maybe I cake on more foundation than your average Jane. Who knows? I just feel like after two cleanses my face should be clear of foundation at the very least. If the solid oil cleanse can remove my water proof eye cosmetics, then it should totally obliterate my foundation, right?
My overall opinion of the product is that it’s a really great quality cleanser, not necessarily a makeup remover. It’s very hydrating in that after I use the product, my skin doesn’t feel tight and dry as a foaming cleanser might make your skin feel. I love Caroline Hirons and hope that this is just the beginning of her partnership with Pixi. I can’t wait to see what they come out with next.
In my whole life, I don’t think I have ever reached a goal that I’ve set for myself. It’s very discouraging to come to this realization of ones’ self, and you would think that most people would take this new-found information about themselves and try to overcome it. Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people. All this realization has done is heap on another load of self-doubt and an overwhelming sense of, well, being overwhelmed. I think the sense of feeling overwhelmed when I take on new tasks is the root of my not being able to finish what I’ve started.
As I look around my office now, I realize even the most menial projects I’ve either struggled to get through or have just given up on all together. My closet is like a holding cell of arts and crafts, stranded, but not forgotten. There is a large box filled with toilet paper rolls that I planned on turning into paper flower wall decorations that I saw on Pinterest once. The project will probably never even get the chance to be a “Pinterest Fail” because; it most likely will never be finished. Collecting the rolls was the easiest part, which is still an ongoing thing in my bathroom and in my boyfriends’ office bathroom as well.
When we first moved into our new home I hid about thirty empty toilet paper rolls under the sink cabinet in his bathroom, figuring he’d probably never look under there. It took a few weeks, but eventually, he found them. I think he’s pretty convinced that my DIY wall decoration is never going to happen because I’ve just taken to toilet paper roll hoarding so seamlessly. Who needs a cost effective art instillation when you can just have step 1 shoved into every available space of your home?
I don’t draw the line at paper rolls, though; there are dozens of hook rugs, half knitted scarves, and unfinished stories lying around as well. The unfinished writing thing hurts a lot. I just wish there was some sort of pill I could take, or maybe a tea; they’re doing some pretty crazy shit with tea these days that would help me get my crap together!
Last year, my grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer. He had been sent to the dermatologist to have a suspect mole checked out, and like we all thought, it was cancerous. During the removal of the mole that was located on his upper chest, they also removed three lymph nodes. Apparently, they all had cancer in them. I say this with a skeptic tone because, before all of this diagnosis of cancer, my grandfather was the strongest man I knew.
A little backstory on my grandfathers’ toughness and Bad-Ass-erie; my grandpa was shot in the back when he was in his twenties, and the bullet is still there. The Docs, at the time, thought they would be doing more damage taking out the bullet, so they just left it there. At the age of 70, he hopped on his motorcycle and traveled clear across the country. When he arrived in North Dakota, he started to feel strange. He went to the ER there, where they told his that he was suffering from bleeding ulcers. The doctors there pleaded with him to stay at the hospital, but there’s really no telling my grandpa what to do once he’s set his mind on something. Against the hospitals’ orders, he discharged himself and road all the way back to Vegas on his bike.
The man is obviously certifiably insane, which was ever-so crystal clear, the time he went into cardiac arrest while in a movie theater while watching Expendables 2. He waited until the movie was over, and then calmly went out into the lobby and called an ambulance for himself. When we asked him why he didn’t go to the hospital sooner, he just replied with, “I wanted to see the rest of the movie I paid for.”
There are a lot of other things that prove my grandpa’s toughness . . . Or stubbornness. Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to recount like 80% of them thanks to the witness protection program . . . kidding, maybe.
My point is the man that I’ve known my whole life has never let life or his ailments get him down. The only thing that has knocked him the fuck out is stupid fucking chemo therapy. My grandfather is 72 now and in the past few months that he’s been on chemo have been a disaster. It seems like when he had no idea that he had cancer, he was fine. Since he’s been on the chemo, his health has seriously declined. He’s depressed because he can’t go anywhere, or do anything without shaking like a leaf. And then when he brings this up to the Docs, they just refer him to a neurologist.
Nothing makes sense anymore. I feel like this whole “Cancer” thing is just something that was made up by the medical industry to suck more money out of our pockets while systematically fixing our over populated planet at the same time. I know I’m going off the rales with this conspiracy theory, but I can’t help it. I’m angry.
I’m angry that, once a month, my grandfather has to go somewhere and have poison injected into his body to kill off a disease of abnormal cell growth. Maybe all these people with “Abnormal Cells” are actually X-Men or something. And all we’re doing by killing it off is denying ourselves a world with actual superheroes!
On a more serious note, this has been very upsetting to my family, as I’m sure it has been to countless other families. It really sucks to sit with your loved one and feel like there’s nothing you can do to stop their pain. I hate it.