Coconuts, experts, and air drums.

I'm sure you've all been losing sleep wondering EXACTLY how my hair and coconut oil experiment is going, aren't you? I bet you've checked back every day, wringing your hands, hoping for news. 

Sleep peacefully tonight, friends. So far, so good.

You know, I actually made it until Sunday without washing my hair last weekend. I skipped two days' worth of shampoos. With that said, I was lookin' pretty rude come Sunday, but it didn't matter because SHAMPOO DAY! I'm now on Day 1 of Round 2 of this less-hair-washing science project, and it's still kind of fun. I've found it sort of gives me something to do with my hair. By the last no-wash day, I need to wear it pulled up, which I never ordinarily do these days, so it's a nice change. Maybe I'll start getting creative and learn how to actually style my hair in some way other than down and straight.

DREAM BIG.

The coconut oil is still fantastic. I've been putting it on my face, post-wash, morning and night. My face is so soft! And it hasn't clogged my pores or created breakouts or otherwise wreaked any kind of havoc on my face. My makeup applies so smoothly. It's all just delightful, really. Also, the night before I wash my hair, I apply coconut oil to the ends of my hair and wrap it up in a braid to go to bed. It makes for the perfect deep conditioning treatment. My hair ends up smelling like coconut for the next day or so, so that's a delicious bonus.

When all is said and done, this may end up being absolutely no benefit to my hair, but it's entertaining enough to experiment. It feels like a challenge, and I'm a sucker for a challenge. It helps that I'm pretty damn lazy, and not having to wash and blow-dry every morning is worth mediocre hair every three days.

Verdict thus far: yes and yes. Either way, the coconut oil stays.

In other news, I spoke on an "expert" panel this week to discuss social media, and I didn't die. I did mention cats and beer probably more than once, but it was a rather enjoyable experience, despite my irrational fear of public speaking and absolute inability to function before a large audience. It helped that when I wasn't speaking, I could bury my face in Twitter and hide, which seems like a pretty basic metaphor for my entire existence. 

This is how you "expert."

This is how you "expert."

Other than dirtier than normal hair, coconut face, and expert-ing, all is quiet on the Western Front. I've procured a hand-me-down treadmill to keep in my bedroom, which is pretty rad. The thing about running in the privacy of your own bedroom is you can do two things: run shirtless, which I'll never do in a million years in broad, public daylight, and I can rock the hell out to my music with air drums and flailing fist bumps. That I might still do in public, but it's much more freeing when the only person judging me is myself. 

What is it the kids are saying? You only live once? YOLO, if you will. You've gotta bang the air drums when given the opportunity.