I've never been particularly girly, and for some reason, things that come naturally to other women seem to allude me.

Ahh, who am I kidding? There are middle-school aged girls that have somehow avoided that awkward stage I seem to never have grown out of...

But believe me, I'm trying here. I perfected my cat-eye eyeliner, wearing lipstick, and found a hairstyle that doesn't make me look like the lost brother of Hanson. (There is a very good reason I don't let people see my school I.D. willy-nilly.) Sure, I don't know how to contour or make my eyebrows look "on fleek" but every day I'm trying new things to spice up my cosmetic routine.

I write this after my long-anticipated bath with my illustrious Lush bath bomb. Lush is a great company I've become familiar with after seeing it at the mall by my college. It's cruelty-free and products are handmade with fair trade ingredients. I ordered this bath bomb, read the reviews saying that it smelled "great" and "had a lasting effect," and was excited to try it for myself. That's what single white females do. They buy bath bombs and drink wine and post about it on Instagram. However, after what I deemed a top-tier bath, a definite eight out of 10, I find myself smelling like a leaf.

Like and actual plucked from an oak tree in spring, leaf. Is there any plant bi-products in this bath bomb? No. The main ingredient is cocoa butter and even though my skin is worthy of changing the phrase "soft as a baby's bottom" to "soft as a Stacie's forearm," this doesn't change the fact that my mom told me that I smelled like cut grass. Oh, and my two younger sisters told me the bathroom smells like tomato soup. They are currently spraying Febreeze in the bathroom as I type. So that's great.

This comes a week after I tried Nair for the first time. I thought, "Wow I hate shaving! Let me try this Nair that has been hanging out in the bathroom for a couple weeks." As you can imagine, immediate regret ensued, and I am now beginning to realize a majority of my woes start with bad ideas in the bathroom. Initially I tried using it on my neglected legs. Now, the instructions said that I should leave it on for four minutes, but no more than eight if the initial four didn't work. Already, this was taking more time that actually shaving my legs, but at that point I was already knee deep in fire-smelling chemicals. Alas, after seven minutes it didn't remove a single hair and I was left to actually shave, LIKE SOME KIND OF DAMN ANIMAL. I brushed it off and the next day had the BRILLIANT idea to try it on my armpits because I'm a college-educated woman with enough common sense to shake a stick at.

It burned. It burned so terribly, and here's the kicker: I kept it on for the entire four minutes, and none of my hair was removed. None. At all. However, I got this really cute chemical burn that prevented me from actually shaving my armpits for another two days, but also preventing me from wearing sleeves.

Whatever. At least I can take a decent selfie. #hairflip