“You’re back on my good list now that we’ve confirmed you’re pro-ish deodorant.” — James Jayko

It used to be that I never left the house without makeup. I always got fully “ready” before venturing outside, no matter where I was headed, and this “readiness” was achieved by straightening my hair in sections with a fat curling iron for about 45 minutes, applying both mascara and eyeliner, and then spending approximately ten full minutes putting on lipstick — and by “lipstick” here I mean “chunky tube of high-definition matte pigment.” I didn’t fuck around with the much milder lip “stain” I wear now. (I used to spend about 1/8th of my twentysomething nights on the town Reapplying My Lipstick™.)

It didn’t matter if I was only going down to the corner store for a pack of smokes; I always, always at least put on lipstick. I honestly thought that my un-made-up face was that hideous and unsuited for public viewing, because you know, everyone would obviously be looking at me… not. I at least needed pinkish-reddish-fuchsia lips, because obviously a twenty-two year-old’s lips aren’t naturally rosy enough!

And even if I were merely going around the corner for bagels, I would usually — maybe not always, but usually — don an entire Outfit™. There was no throwing on a sweatshirt over pajamas for me. I would change into a fresh pair of pants and a matching top, and with my hair “done” and my face “set”, I would venture out into the world to get a cup of coffee across the street for five minutes. And then I would come back and watch television on the couch for the rest of the day.

Nowadays, though, let’s just say that I dance to the beat of a different drum. I’ve swapped out all my drugstore cosmetics for their organic counterparts, and the only thing that goes onto my body that’s halfway illegit is my trusty Body Shop lipstain, and, Wait, wha-what, you ask? Why, it’s the Body Shop — is it not *gasp* natural/organic? Not so much, no, I reply. They don’t test on animals, sure, but a lot of their stuff contains some pretty harsh and questionably carcinogenic ingredients.

I still wear makeup, but it’s mostly organic, and while that may sound too crunchily earthy for your tastes, it’s honestly the highest quality makeup I’ve ever used — the eyeliner glides on beautifully and the mascara doesn’t make my eyes sting, and? My children might not be born with gills and ADHD now.

But the other morning when I woke — after a drunken, dinnerless night on the town with Tara — I slothed around the apartment for awhile, finally brought myself to take a bath, and then — realizing I either needed a full-fledged tropical vacation or at the very least an in-home spa treatment to combat my stress — decided to hotfoot it over to Chinatown, braless, for some reishi mushrooms.

Apparently, reishi mushrooms are ridonculously amazing for you, and have actually shown signs of, like, curing cancer. They have been used for centuries in treating various ailments, so when someone in my office mentioned them recently in jest — “Oh, I found some reishi mushrooms at an herb store in Chinatown for, like, $60/oz. Ha ha… you’d have to be really stressed to fork over that kind of cash… yeah right… ha ha!” — I sat there, unnoticed, frantically writing down the specifics so that I could go get some for my very own, as I happened to be very stressed. Too stressed to care how expensive they are. And knowledgeable of my innately super-sleuthic deal-finding ways.

I found them pretty quickly on Grand Street between Mott and Elizabeth. They were available for $10/lb., which is nothing when you’re made aware that they’re enormous (three = one lb.) Only about one 1/16th of a mushroom goes into a cup of tea. When I got home and prepared the stuff I said a little prayer, in hopes that I wasn’t using the wrong proportions. From what I’d heard, I honestly wasn’t sure I should be doing this alone. But it came out okay, and I felt less stressed with each sip.

Unless it was just getting up and physically going to Chinatown sans brassiere and makeup that chilled me out, which is also possible. It’s hard to tell in this city of high-definition flash and pomp. Sometimes when a gal ventures out into the world au naturel, that’s as good a cure as the fungi of the hour.

And now I have the remainder of these huge-ass mushrooms sitting on my kitchen shelf, and I keep waiting for the boy to notice them. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t — it’s hard to say for sure in this city of high-definition flash and pomp.