After I gave myself a Trix’stache for Crunchy Betty’s Food On Your Face contest, I was 99% sure I didn’t do it right. So I emailed Leslie, the writer of Crunchy Betty. And I was right! It was wrong. It was supposed to be a facial mask made from natural products, so I scoured her website looking for something that was easy enough for me to not screw up, even though Leslie said I didn’t have to. I was determined at this point to do it up proper-like.
First, I saw that I could just take some aging bananas and mash it all upon my face. Good thing Henry likes to leave fruits and vegetables laying around in open graves, attracting fruit flies by the droves.
“What exactly are you doing?” Henry asked when he saw me monopolizing prime counter space while he was trying to cook dinner.
I turned around with banana entrails coating my fingers.
“I’m doing something awesome. Go away.” I squirted honey into the bowl and ran off to the bathroom where my banana mush could make love to my face in privacy.
Not a minute after pushing him away, I was yelling down for Henry to help me. He walked in just in time to catch me dry heaving into the shower curtain.
“It’s just bananas!” he said all condescendingly. But the consistency! The color! It was like mucous. Think, chunky mucous collected from a team of hawkering truckers.
I have a real problem with putting stuff on my face. Even store-bought masks that are all honeylicious and gooey; not gonna happen on this girl’s face, which might make one wonder, “Then why are you bothering with this, dummy?” To which I might answer, “I don’t know.” Although, I do have a lot of time on my hands. Time and determination, my friends.
I can handle clay-type facial masks though, so I went back to Crunchy Betty and found one that sounded like it would fit within my parameters of acceptable epidermal food-smearing.
- 2 Tbsp freshly ground coffee (the finer the grind, the better)
- 2 Tbsp. cocoa powder
- 3 Tbsp. milk (whole), heavy cream, or yogurt
- 1 Tbsp. honey
Henry was angry because he had to stop cooking his dinner in order to supervise. I was trying to mix everything together with the tablespoon measuring thing and I didn’t think it was all that big of a deal. Mr. Pampered Chef started rummaging through drawers in search of the proper mixing device. Then he goes, “You should add an egg to that for protein.” Henry always has to urinate on things to make it his own.
It’s really annoying.
“You know I’m not eating this, right?” I asked.
But Henry knows everything! Even stuff about what is good for FACES. God, that Henry. Am I right? I don’t know how he finds the time to learn everything about everything in the entire history of the planet.
Next thing I knew, he had cracked an egg on the counter top and was separating it while it was still in the shell. I think he secretly hopes that I’ve been filming him on the sly doing all these things throughout the years, so that one day I’ll have enough footage of his sheer ingenuity and culinary aptitude to submit an audition tape to Food Network on his behalf.
Oh, I do. But that’s not where I’m sending it.
Anyway, my gag reflex thanked me for the new concoction. The texture was pleasant against my fingertips and it didn’t make my face feel harassed by viscousness. It made me feel like a cake, so I added candy stars which have absolutely no benefit to the skin as far as I know. But they sure are pretty.
In the instructions, Leslie says to “apply to a sleepy morning face.” Henry read that and said, “Does it work on miserable, bitchy night time faces, too?” Oh, our house is bursting with so much love it hurts. Ask Alisha. She was once accidentally impaled with an ice pick that I chucked at Henry out of love.
I like this picture because I look like Henry with a shit-beard.
Chooch wanted in on the action. But he’s just like me and HATES having stuff on his face (which is why I was surprised he was so willing to be made up into a zombie at his birthday party last May. Probably because he saw his BFF Bill do it first.)
That’s as much as he’d let me apply before shouting with authority, “OK! That’s enough now. Christ.”
It didn’t take very long for the concoction to harden against my face and I could feel my skin becoming taut beneath it. The best part about it is that it smelled SO GOOD. And it didn’t drip off my face like bungee-jumping pus.
And if you like the flavor of coffee grounds, then the mask tastes great. Just lick it off your face; I did. Who needs a shower and a washcloth?
The coffee grounds were less brutal than I imagined them to be. I don’t know what I was expecting, to rinse my face and find that I’m suddenly the new addition to the Bodies exhibit? It left my skin super soft and oil-free. Stupid me came running downstairs, yelling, “Touch my face! It’s so soft!” only to have two pairs of gross male-hands grope my cheeks. I probably could have stood to repeat the process after that.
So go on. Get yourself over to Crunchy Betty and find some stuff to put on your face.
"Chris said Valerie is a crazy asshole and she’s secretly hated me for twenty years and is going to be waiting for me in an alley with barbed wire, a chainsaw and a turkey baster and OHMYGOD!"
And even though Zenith has quite possibly the best collection of wall-mounted owl tsotchkes to ogle while taking a piss, my favorite part was our server, Keith. (I’m pretty sure he was Kara and Valerie’s favorite part, too, but I could be wrong. No, wait, I’m always right.) Even in his sleepy state, he was personable and helpful and super cute; he would make lazy laps around the empty restaurant, butting into our conversation now and then. When I asked to take his picture, he initially declined, maybe in fear that I would Photoshop it and he’d find himself on some raunchy, nude waitstaff website — I have that shady, no-good look to me, I guess. I eventually talked him into it and for someone who, minutes earlier, was so opposed to the prospect of being photographed, he began busting out an arsonal of GQ poses with no hesitation.
