ugh olive oil in my eye #whitegrlproblem

I'm sitting on my bed right now typing this shiz. And there is olive oil dripping into my eye blurring my vision to the point where, when I wink seductively with my right eye open, it looks like the world is a giant rainbow jellyfish.

Over my spring break, I've been tackling important issues--namely cowboying up in a preschool in Over The Rhine and getting my face to look dewy and radiant and sexy. 

Over The Rhine has proven to be easier than I thought--Cincinnati's really a great place to be, and though there seems to be some kinda mass exodus out of the city, Cincinnati's quite underrated and has a lot to offer in terms of diversity, food, shopping, indie hangouts (most important aspect of a city, lezz be real honest here) and whatnot. Not out of the question that I might stay in the Midwest after graduation. Also, the pre-schoolers are just hilar and fart a lot. One girl yesterday was really angry so she just sat on the mat with her arms and legs tightly crossed and made a combo constipated/angry face. Which could have been so terrifying. But her hair was in like . . .puffy cotton candy tufts mohawk-style on her head. Like a hardcore rocker, but in little girl hair form? And she really just looked like a baby stegosaurus who was angry at her inability to poop. So while we were having circle time and singing the good morning song I was actually just laughing at her. Literally I would be singing like a superstar, and then I would accidentally look at her and crack up and have to look away. And then it would happen again! But I don't think pre-schoolers realize when you are laughing at them. So. . .idk maybe it's a future career for me: ruining 4-year-olds' self esteem by being a pre-school teacher. Betta watch out Future Moms of America! But really though, the kids are fun to play with and smart and are masters at silently passing gas. If you ever want a really fun volunteer opportunity in downtown Cincinnati, holla!

So part one of the important issues is basically checked off the list--Margaret is capable of being street savvy in the big, bad streets of the 513 and of lassoing gassy Pre-K'ers. 

The second part of the important issues has proven to be more difficult. As we all know, I would literally sacrifice a unicorn to get facial skin that looks like Natalie Portman's (actually though, is there anything about her that isn't totally dope? I think I hate her, true story). Recently, I've decided that I have to stop blowing all my hard-earned ca$h money on more Neutrogena products. Because it's like, hello, despite a long-term relationship with Neutrogena, my face is still more of a dermatological mess than Snooki's curious orange hue. So, what I've been doing is putting olive oil and lemon juice on my face. Which sounds rational. Or ridiculous. Depending on how you feel about global warming. Anyways lemon juice is supposed to dry out current acne, also to lighten past acne scarring and olive oil serves as a good moisturizer. So it makes sense. But ya I get that I'm like a step away from being a tossed salad. Whateva. Haters gonna hate. You'll be on your knees when my skin is glowy and radiant and yours is a piece of elephant dung surrounded by dung-eating beetles. YA !!!!

I'm not a fan of this blog post. I'm sorry. I love you. Spring is coming! Unless you live in the southern hemisphere. In which case I'm doubly sorry now.