Thursday, February 18, 2010

that really chaps my lips

My lips have been chapped now for a solid 9 months. I thought they were getting better for a second there but they are having a freak out again. Everyone keeps telling me to go to the doctor but I really don't want to. It isn't because I hate doctors. Au contraire, I just recently skipped into my physician's office to see if I could get her to give me some speed so I wouldn't have to sleep so much. It failed. When I told her I was tired and I slept a lot she told me to "sleep while I can." Implying what? That some day I won't be able to sleep? That was just fucking stupid but she holds the prescription pad so I held my tongue.

For anyone who's worried about me. Don't be. While my goal in life is to have more energy and get more done, I'm not crazy. I didn't actually think she was going to give me speed.

Not really.

My point is, I'm not afraid to go to the doctor, it's just that it is a total pain in the ass and usually disappointing. Besides, I really want to figure this out on my own. I want to figure out with detective like precision which product may be the culprit and I want to find some home brew, nutty crunchy concoction that will cure me. I don't want to have to depend on a third party to get what I need.

Especially when they won't give it to me.

The Mommie dearest in me.

Today I just feel like throwing out all my shoes. It's not that I hate them, it's just that lately I've been feeling like I don't have the perfect shoes for the outfits I'm putting together. So I settle. Which I kinda hate and that makes me want to throw them all out and start over, even though I know that is stupid on so many levels. I imagine this is how people sometimes feel about their kids. What?

I have threatened to take them to the "bad shoe home" if they don't shape up. I vividly remember the "bad girl home" threat being particularly effective. Especially the time we did a drive by. Perhaps I should take a swing by the goodwill with all my shoes, or better yet, one of those drop boxes where things fall out and are scattered all over the parking lot in desolate disarray. That should put the fear of DSW in them.

On the other hand, maybe I will go and buy one pair of shoes that I will favor in order to create some healthy competition for my attention. I feel obliged to say that my parents did not do this. However, it is something I would do as a parent hence, my knowing better than to have children.

I do have my tax appointment next week and for anyone keeping track that means I will have accomplished one of my resolutions. However, the more important resolution of actually learning about finances has not happened so I fear a repeat of last year's tax/shoe debacle. Why would I buy a pair of shoes that I love above all my other shoes only to have the heartbreak and humiliation of returning them when I find out I owe thousands of dollars to the IRS? It flies too close to masochism in my book. I can't stand the thought of having to crawl back to my old shoes and beg their forgiveness in a dramatic Shakespearianesque downfall through hubris situation.

I guess I better find a way to suck it up and fall in love with my old shoes again.
This sucks.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Warning: I'm breaking the dream rule again...

For anyone who hates to hear about other people's dreams, now is your chance to bail.

Last night I had one of those waitress dreams/nightmares. John Baptiste was sitting at the counter waiting for coffee but I couldn't find any cream that was good so I had to go down to the basement to find some. It took me forever to find it, all the while I was painfully aware that his coffee was getting cold. As I was heading upstairs I discovered that we made donuts at the restaurant and I could pick one to eat. IT WAS SUCH A DIFFICULT CHOICE. I had an apron full of creamers and I had just picked the wrong donut. What a waste. I was definitely going to have to have another one.

Who is John Baptiste, you ask? Someone from the far far left field of my brain where, apparently, people from my high school live. I think he's someone who went to my high school but it is quite possible I made him up. When I googled him, "John the Baptist" came up so it might have been him.
This is all I need, baked goods and my past oozing out of my psyche and converging in my dreams. Throw in a spider and we have ourselves a total party.

Fuck, I want a donut right now.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Come ON!

First let me say that Urban Outfitters is absolutely one of my favorite stores. ever. They have interesting pieces, beautiful cardigans, cute dresses, and great sales. While their catalog has of late made me feel like I'm about 25 years too old for their image, I shop there anyway. I simply eschew that feeling because, quite frankly, the 11 year old pre-pubescent girls that they have modeling, look ridiculous in most of their stuff. They should stick to early/mid 20's looking models as that is the demographic I like to be too old for.

Anyhoo, I came across these boots while trolling the UO site. It is the "Jeffrey Campbell lace, over the knee boot."

Ummm ya think?

The boot shaft is 22"! I measured it on my leg and that boot would have to be named the "Jeffrey Campbell a teeny bit below the cooch" boot. Unbelievable. I mean seriously, who's leg will that fit on? I want to see that leg. It is making me angry that those legs even exist.

I just...

I'm out.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Bed Head: Navigating illusion and reality

Bed Head has both negative and positive connotations. I have spent many hours creating the illusion of messy "just woke up" hair. The whole genre has been elevated to an art form. There are tons of products to help me in this undertaking, not the least of which is my new new found love, hair powder. Hair powder has the dual purpose of creating texture while also absorbing oil and getting rid of any of the negative aspects of actual bed head.

There are several reasons not to wash your hair every single day:
  • protecting your color
  • time constraints
  • it looks better
  • laziness
I'm working on a combo platter of at least two of these at all times.

Here's the thing, the trick to never letting anyone know the reality of your bed head is looking at the back of your skull. You MUST, must must take a mirror and look. When you sleep on your hair (and I think most of us do), you inevitably rub a flattened, matted, baldish looking spot into the back of your hair. If you fail to fix it, the entire illusion is shattered and everyone will look at you with a little crinkle of their nose. I think it is because getting out of bed and not smelling fresh are inevitably linked. I've seen it over and over and I've done it myself. It doesn't matter if you've showered. We are talking about the illusion here. And our job is to be in control of the illusion at all times. You are what you present. So we need to make sure we know what we are presenting.

I just saw a bed head illusion offender the other day and it occurred to me that perhaps people don't think to look at the back of their head so maybe they don't know it exists. Lord knows I often don't look at my ass in an attempt to pretend it isn't there. If I can't see it, it won't bother me. However, denial isn't always the best way to go lest you suddenly realize there is a giant hole in the butt of your pants or you have tell tale "authentic" bed head. Therefore, I thought it was time to address it. Officially. In this official blog.