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Jett Superior laid this on you on || January 11, 2007 || 10:58 pm

Words are necessary to my survival. Shit, I thought you knew that?

Earlier I sat languidly in the bath, watching the bubbles in a bottle of coconut oil. Hello, oxygen! and before you know it, you are engrossed in something so simple and gorgeous right there in the imprecise center of the ordinary and perhaps mundane. That was a long fucking sentence. Where has all my heartily-abused-but-never just-plain disregarded-like-this punctuation functioning gone?

This coconut concotion is something I started doing about six months ago. More and more I find myself leaning toward the realm of natural and homeopathic where my prettifying crap is concerned. I mix one part coconut oil to one part almond oil and put it in a glass bath bottle I have no idea how I procured. It just sorta showed up one day expecting to be used and so I did; I used it.

Anyway, coconut oil comes solid but is an almost-immediate melt under the warmth of a touch. Float the jar in some hot water and be amazed at the transformation, kids. Almost as good as those little pills that come out of their compact existence when left to soak for a few days: To swell x amount of times in size, to take on extra molecules, to somehow creepily –after the initial spate of delight passes– feel like slippery deadweight.

Pour up equal parts of the oils (and lately I have a secret ingredient, shh) into a pump or squeeze container and start moisturizing with it about three times a week.

I gave Tess this recipe a couple of weeks ago. We do a spa day every so often; she gets a pedi and facial and I get a massage. On our last one, I came in, bundled in floppy clothes. “Here,” I said, and tossed a plastic bottle at her.

“Whaaaat’s theeeees bobby?” she said, intrigued.

“I want you to try it during my massage today. You might want to start using it on all your clients.” She took a long, eyebrows-raised sniff of it and by the end of the session she was praising my name. Liked it so much that she started using it herself.

Today, she was running around the office, proclaiming joy and swearing by the concotion.

“My buhht is! as! smooooth azza baby’s!! Here, wanna feel?” or “Wanna feel my butt? It is smoooooth.” My head got all swelldyish at one point, when I realized that yes indeedy, I do in fact contribute to humanity.

The last time that Tess and I bonded over bath products was also the last instance I can recall having made an impulse purchase solely for self. We rolled up into the Orlando airport loaded for bear. If by bear, we all mean hella sweet bathgoodies.

We landed in a shop that was desolately empty save for the counter girl. Tess and I were cutting up –in a lowkey fashion for us– and the young woman managed to fall in with us. We left with two bags for each of us: One had our purchases, the other was stuffed slap full of every sample I could’ve wanted. Shit, it was great.

So I’ve been thinking about the bond of humor, and how valuable a commodity it is in this bloated, disconnected world of ours. Tess is effortless in her execution of The Funny. Sometimes I feel I’m being pulled along behind and simply endeavor to play the damned finest straight man I can. It works. Everywhere we go, we seem to leave laughter in our wake.

I saw this guy, Baton Bob, the other day and that fucker made me grin for hours: “I don’t care if people are laughing at me or with me. The point is, they’re laughing.” Yes sir, BB, that is indeed the fucking spirit. And you have some entirely fabulous legs.

So that leads us to my overall point: Make the airport clerk bust a wide smile; be a fucking ambassador when you travel, folks. It doesn’t matter if the extent of your travels is to the mailbox. There’s the mailman to consider, there’s the random passerby.

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

I started a piece today. It is called ‘transcendence’; I toyed with the idea of spelling that with an ‘a’ (thus supplanting that last ‘e’ there). Then I thought better of it, remembering that silly pretentiousness really shits up my day. The work is still all in my head, but it is unfolding with the most majestic sense of “You’re Gonna Wanna Put Your Hands On ME But Quick” and I can hardly wait to begin it. There are thorns and brambles and wire and twine and gossamer wings and sloppily-painted blooms waiting to be grouped together and then sorted just so.

Who can deny the call of the wild? To date, I’ve never been able to. I’m just glad this wolf-wail produces something more positive than most of the others I’ve been drawn to.

In closing, somebody around here always manages to check the deadbolt. That somebody is not me. Whether this is a sign of lazy or of courage…well, that’s anybody’s guess.

There, my friend, I wrote you a fucking letter.

(woe. is me.)

2 worked it out »

  1. J Dazzle 1.12.2007

    I’ve been looking for coconut oil everywhere…..where do you get yours? All I can find is coconut stuff for food. I can’t find any for skin care.

     
  2. Jettomatika 1.13.2007

    What I’m using is food grade. It comes in quart jars and retails for about nine bucks. This, when mixed with the almond oil, lasts around five(?) or so months.

    I get mine at my local ‘health food’ store. Just about anywhere that sells supplements (Vitamin World, YAY!) should have some.

     

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