Since I'm a visual person I hardly ever remember the album title but I just remember what the album art looks like.
I’ve been up here since January and I’m still “living out of a suitcase,” as it goes. I don’t wait your pity; my clothes are all in my suitcases--a huge tan one, the cheapest little blue one that broke coming back from Austin, and all of my thongs, tights, bras and socks are stuffed into the medium-sized cardboard box that my dad shipped a tiny vintage bracelet in--because I’m too lazy to purchase furniture.
(You’ve earned 40 love points, Dad, and a bonus 12 for using that mondo box to ship; it’s enabled me to delay buying this dumb dresser for, like, an extra month and a half.)
But as part of my acceptance that I have a job now and won’t be bouncing to a new city every four to six months anymore, I need to start permanent-ing my apartment. The dresser will be the turning point. I’ll obsess over not having a bed next.
So on Saturday I went to Brooklyn Flea to see if there was a nice dresser to be had. I’m not even mad at the spritely old lady peddling what I’m sure she wants some dumbasses to think is so painfully “Shabby Chic,” paint-chipped white furniture who laughed at me when I told her I’d only pay $150 for her stupid armoire.
Seriously though, she can suck it. I know the going rate for a good armoire and that wasn’t it. I hope that huge piece of metal siding that was coming loose from the grotesque new high rise adjacent to the market smashed onto her dumb armoire--whose DOOR DIDN’T EVEN STAY CLOSED--when it finally fell.
Yah, so we had to evacuate the park area because the fugly condos with the atrocious marketing, apparently made from Elmer’s glue and popsicle sticks, were falling apart and we were at danger of getting smushed violently like a huge, hairy, fatty cockroach into a puddle of human mess. Or, like, impaled, splitting us in half like the most obnoxious horror movie. Or decapitated even! Running around like a headless chicken into the Saturday-on-Bedford-Ave. crowd, spurting actual blood into the “outside-table-please?” brunchers’ bloody marys, until collapsing, twitching on the ground, in front of the $200-poncho baby store.
On that thought, I don’t think it’s too weird to assume that children’s clothing store should also sell pregnancy tests. Right???
So we left, and I decided that it was time for another drug store beauty run, this time at King’s Pharmacy on Bedford Ave.
There was lots of Dr. Bronner's in the window so I assumed I was in for some hippie organic-type stuff. Not really. It was your typical mom-and-pop-type drugstore situation--overwhelmingly so. You know, the kind of place that’s stuffed with immaculately organized products, nervous-looking clerks pricing each individual item with a tag gun, fluorescent lights and perforated metal shelving, void of any soul, that keeps kitschy magnets and funny phrases buttons at the checkout counter to try to make up for it? That was this place.
On the up side, it had Gigi wax stuff! I thought gone were the days when I’d give myself Brazilians in the comfort of my own apartment when I moved away from a Sally’s Beauty Supply. Bummer news when I didn’t see the hard wax--the ONLY kind I’d even consider using for DIY pube removal.
Moving on to the makeup aisle, wherein I was finally inspired to start shopping.
I actually needed nail polish remover, and, as per Catch-22 (never read it), there were simply too many choices. I know variety’s great, and I guess you don’t really need to worry about shelf life, but there were at least twenty different options. I was getting anxious and picked up one of those jars of nail polish remover that my high school nannies used to use--I have never seen anybody use one since. Lemon-flavored, obviously. It works pretty well. I presented it with quite the challenge right off the bat with some glitter polish, but it got the job done pretty quickly.
This thing kind of deserves it’s own post because I think it might actually be better than cotton balls, which ALWAYS leave tiny strings of cotton in my cuticle corners, which then leave squiggly lines in my polish. Probably the third most irritating thing in my world. The sponge does it’s spongey thing just chillin in the chemicals, and in typical sponge fashion, doesn’t erode, leaving itself in your cuticles.
Now for the Kardashian pit, which I know is supposed to come before the peak: you’re basically dipping your fingers straight into acetone.
I got two nail polishes: one Brucci Nail Hardener (which worked well for a cheap polish and comes in tons of colors; I didn’t hate it; also just finding out that it's been around since '77, clearly when their label was made, and is based in South Africa), and some Wet n Wild Fast Dry Nail Color because I’ve been wondering lately what glitter polish looks like with a matte topcoat.
Next was the Wet n Wild MegaLast Liquid Lip Color. OMG you guys Wet n Wild is NOT playing around with this one. It goes on like a gloss and dries to a really pretty smooth matte finish. And refuses to go anywhere. I usually get all of my makeup off with some miracle Bioderma, but this stuff acted like the whole wet cotton pad thing never happened. I had to massage castor oil onto my lips to melt it, then finally got it off with more Bioderma.
And, finally, this stuff:
I used the remaining products to realize my dream of being a white trash runaway from the '90s.
I really, really like this lip liner. The shade is Sand, although it bears absolutely no resemblance to the color of any sand in existence. Regardless, it's the perfect supermodel neutral and goes on smooth.
Does anybody know what happened to that stupid high-rise?