Hair: Dead Protein or Alien Communication Devices
Every child has a little chemist inside. That brainy, inquisitive spark that tells them to mix certain unrelated liquids together and see what happens. Most of the time, it’s things like glue and orange juice. Or toilet water and lipstick.
If not kept in check, this little chemistry curiosity, we grow up to mix things like vokda and beer. Just a little tip, parents.
Anyway, when I was a kid, my inner chemist was mostly just curious about my hair. Changing it, especially. See, when I was a kid, my hair looked like this:
In Honor: The Trio of Homemade Fruity Beauty Recipes
In honor of the impending release of the book, I worked up THREE gorgeous recipes here using the fruit that’s on my face on the cover of the book.
Lemon, kiwi, and strawberries.
And because I want everyone to play along, they’re NOT just for oily skin and acne. Food on your face (and body and hair) for EVERYONE!
The strawberry mask is for all skin types to clarify, soften, and brighten. The kiwi body polish exfoliates (and, hey, guess what else? Can you say “cellulite eraser?”). And the clarifying lemon tea hair rinse removes build-up (and is great for no ‘pooers and sorta pooers).
Three recipes. Three fruits. Three ways to celebrate the release of the new book. And to celebrate food – everywhere.
Actually, I have to tell you – I’ve taken two (count them) showers today, just to make sure I honed all these recipes perfectly. I’m clean. Maybe a little too clean. If you catch my drift.
(Yeah. I have no idea what I meant, either.)
Not Ready For No ‘Poo? Try Sorta ‘Poo With Coconut Milk and Castille
It seems like no ‘poo comes and goes in waves. Suddenly, 20 women will show up out of nowhere saying they’re about to try it. With every wave comes a small, but vocal, backlash.
“Backlash” may be a strong word. A better word may be “fear.” There are always several people who say, “Never. I could never, ever try that.”
It’s scary to go no ‘poo. Even more, it doesn’t work for everyone. No matter how hard you try, how badly you wish to be a no ‘poo goddess, your hair has other plans. I’m not sure the reason why it’s so difficult for some people, but the fact remains … it is.
In one small, silly way, I was one of those people. I decided NOT to go back to no ‘poo, simply because my hair looked annoyingly icky whenever I’d try to dry it with the blow dryer. And the longer it gets, the longer it takes to air dry.
For about three months, I’ve been using castille soap to wash my hair. It’s not really no ‘poo, but it’s not really shampoo. It’s sort of sorta ‘poo.
The only downside was that it didn’t lather, and there were occasions where my hair didn’t feel completely clean.
Then … coconut milk happened.
Homemade coconut milk happened.
And the world of sorta ‘poo was blown wide open into a thriving, gorgeous utopia.
Amazing Crunchy Tips From … You!
Ideas. They are everywhere.
Helpful hints litter the internet. In a good way. Not in a bottle-full-of-urine-by-the-train-tracks way. (I just saw one a few weekends ago. The horrible image burned in my brain. It is now in yours, too. You’re welcome.)
But Crunchy Betty … well, I like to think we have the best hinters and tippers ever. You guys send me emails, leave comments, and participate in the Crunchy Community.
When you do that, I’m left with a plethora of new, incredible tips and hints. And I love that. I love you.
So, today, in honor of all you incredible Crunchy Betties, here’s a small sampling of some of my favorite tips, hints, and ideas that you guys have left over the last year or so.
I shouldn’t be the only one seeing these things. I really shouldn’t. The immense power is too much for one person to wield.
And please, for the love of cheese, KEEP LEAVING ME/US/THE UNIVERSE ideas! The best place to do it? In the forums at the Crunchy Community. Where we can all join in, partake, and discuss. It’s the right thing to do. Really.
Clear Skin From the Inside Out : Green Smoothies
This is the Powder Green Smoothie – sans spinach and kale.
Her 5-year-old butt sat firmly planted on the chair, not by will. By force.
Psychic mom-force.
Giant, wracking sobs shook her body, as she swallowed for air through the hands over her tortured mouth.
“Just ten,” the apron-wearing fascist in the kitchen yelled. “Swallow! Ten! And you can get up!”
She was alone. The expanse of the empty dining room table loomed in front of her. Its glowering size only magnified the plate that sat between her elbows.
On which was … an entire serving of peas. From which … she had to eat ten. Ten would release her from this 5 o’clock prison.
(“Just ten,” she thought, sobbing even in her brain.)
Delicately, as if it were toxic waste, she pinched a pea between her tiny thumb and forefinger. She moved her glass of water precariously close to the edge of the table. She held the pea out in front of her, as far as her arm would go. With the other hand, she pinched her nose and squinched her reddened, tear-soaked face.
“One.” She took a deep breath in.
“Two.” She brought the pea closer to her mouth and closed her eyes tightly.
“Three.” The pea shot between her teeth as she chased it furiously with a drink of water. “It’s a vomit-filled pill. It’s just a pill,” she told herself and swallowed, hard, the pea sticking to the side of her throat. She gagged then. Loudly. Wretchedly. Gloriously.
Enough to save her, she hoped.
“Don’t be so melodramatic! EAT TEN PEAS. NOW!”
The fascist in the kitchen would never relent. So she repeated the process nine more times.
Three days a week. For five straight years.
Until one day, she won.
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Crunchy Shopping!
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