I got an email from my friend Mary Kaye about yesterday’s entry.
—–Original Message—–
From: Marykay
Sent: Thursday, November 20, 2003 8:56 AM
To: Weetabix
Subject: diary entry
oh my gawd. i can’t believe you ran into mike working at a music store. and i can’t believe he pretended not to remember you! he sooooo remembered you. i am glad you told the readers about the dress thing. didn’t he try on your pantyhose, too?
you were such a bad girl dating mike and esteban at the same time. those were the days. at what point in our lives did we stop having crazy fun?
For the record, I don’t think I’ve stopped having crazy fun. Maybe she means the two of us together. Or maybe she means that dating two guys at the same time was crazy fun. I don’t remember it that way, though. It was really tiring. I never got enough sleep during that year. Man, if there’s one thing that my friends know is that you do NOT interfere with my need for sleep. And with that sentence, I am officially an old woman.
Also, no, Mike didn’t try on my pantyhose. He had his own. With the cotton panel removed so that he had room for his package.
And yes, I broke up with him right after that. Not because of the pantyhose. There were plenty of other reasons.
I’m in the midst of hell week at work. It is driving me insane. Absolutely insane. I almost lost it yesterday when I had lost track in my head of all of the issues I was keeping afloat at that moment. I’d hang up the phone and it would ring again. And the chick in New York was just making it worse. I swear if I had the ability to perform one magic act, I would erase her ability to forward an email. But then she’d call me and ask me how to do it. Forty two times. And then tell me that I didn’t know what I was talking about. And then later, send me a blank email with the subject line ‘u r right’. Because she’s the Artist Formerly Known as The Pain In My Ass.
And then ironically I got an email from my spa, announcing that they were having a holiday open house from 5 pm until 8 pm tonight and all of the Aveda was 10% off, but wait, because I’m a superspecial email girl, I would get 15% off my Aveda purchase. Thus, even though I worked 13 hours, I left work at 7 and scurried downtown and then elbowed my way through the throngs of uppity women with too much disposable income. The Cult of Aveda, noted by the uniform of Gap pea coats, Lauren blazers and Kate Spade bags. There were four chair massage stations set up and who was there but my very favorite masseuse Sarah. And then fate smiled upon me and when I made my way through the line, Sarah was ready to bestow her magic hands upon my neck muscles, where were tight as bridge cables. If anyone isn’t sure where their stress has gone, just check the base of my neck. I suspect it is the true north for every atom of tension in all the world. The cool thing was that right away, Sarah said ‘Hi Weetabix!’, which was strange, because there I was, upright and also wearing clothes! But then, I am in the 99th percentile of cute fat girls, thus probably hard to forget. Then once I had settled my face into the cushion, the first thing she said was ‘So did you ever go talk to the guy in the music store’.
I ended up scoring a bunch of Aveda stuff, including the Hand Relief, which quite honestly should be a controlled substance. I can’t get enough of it. I fantasize about somehow getting my hands on the giant spa-sized tube that they won’t sell to customers. The price is insane, but I am totally their bitch. I keep trying to find an alternative (Curel’s Ultimate Relief is not bad), but in the end I keep going back and plunking down $18 for a teensy tiny tube of Hand Relief that smells like my grandmother’s homemade dish soap.
I think I’m starting to become a beauty junkie. Ok, not just starting. Mo was taking me to task for spending so much on lipstick and she totally has a point. I should be, in the words of my former PA, taking that money and sticking it into a money market account so that I may someday buy a house in a gated community and also have a househusband. But instead, the lipstick, it is so very pretty. And sparkly sometimes. And cute! And it’s not like it’s, you know, having sex with underage boys or something. It’s lipstick. What harm is there in lipstick?
Or ridiculously expensive soap? Ok, y’all, confession time.
I’ve been transfixed with the idea of this soap that Pamie wrote about. She tried AB’s bar (or sliver, I believe) at Journalcon last year and has been addicted ever since.
And it’s expensive soap. Ridiculously expensive soap. And that’s really all it is. Soap. Soap from Japan that you have to special order and comes with its own little pearlized container, complete with cover and special drying vents and everything. It’s advertised as being silver, but seriously, it’s just sort of blackish. Hematite, I would say.
Anna Beth seemingly does not have pores, and also there is a glow about her that defies description. And while I have not seen Pamie since she started using that which from here on will be called The Soap, I’m totally willing to trust. Because I have to find out.
And thus, because I am sick in the head, I buy The Soap.
And the funny thing is that when I told Esteban that it was ridiculously expensive soap, I know that he’s thinking ‘Like, seven dollars?’ And I’m betting that those of you who are product junkies know better. (Tim, I’m looking your way) They know that anyone who wouldn’t dream of a winter without a steady supply of $16 Body Butters isn’t going to blink at $7 soap. So maybe it’s $14 soap? Or the $20 range?
No.
It’s $34 soap.
And it’s not a huge bar, either. It’s probably the size of a normal family-sized bar of Ivory. And it’s SOAP. $34 for soap! And $3 for shipping. $37 dollars for a single bar of BLACK SOAP. Which has a vaguely sketchy smell.
It’s good soap. That’s the problem. I like The Soap. I am afraid for the day when the ARSOA imprint fades into nothing because that means that it is shrinking and there will come a day when there is no more The Soap. And then I will be The Sad. And, apparently, The Ugly, because it is beginning to do something to my rosacea. I’ve only been using it for a week, and I think it might be curing it. Or simply giving it threatening glances. Also, no oil slick mid-day. I don’t know what kind of crazy voodoo this stuff has going on, but you know what? I don’t care. I just don’t. I don’t care if it’s made from rendered ass fat of executives at Sony. I don’t care. I like The Soap. I need The Soap.
And if my crazy Soap addiction doesn’t frighten you, I suspect that it is the harbinger of something more. For instance, I saw a cashmere sweater I really wanted on Tuesday at a Land’s End Outlet. It was black v-neck, no embellishments, no anything. Just a lovely cut of fine cashmere.
I have a dirty little cashmere flirtation. I have several pairs of socks, a scarf and two sweaters. One is red but has an ugly pattern to it so I never wear it. The other is grey, but too large. But this black v-neck’ it was the cashmere of my dreams. Something I could wear regularly and always feel sleek and lovely. The black would do nice things with my winter pale skin. We were meant to be, me and that black v-neck. Which was two sizes too small. I searched through the stacks and found a very light grey crew neck in my size but the color was reminiscent of my alumni sweatshirt, and I am not overly fond of crew necks.
Thus, I got stubborn and walked out empty-handed. The styles are discontinued. They don’t have them on the website anymore. Mofo Lands End, toying with my emotions. Not to mention that a cashmere sweater befitting a curvy round sex goddess’. Well, that’s a lot of cashmere and it’s not exactly cheap. We’re far out of the realm of Japanese Soap or Aveda Hand Cream.
Once again, every quandary in my life would be solved if I had been born a princess. Damn that Princess Stephanie’ I swear we were switched at birth.
The black v-neck cashmere sweater is still haunting me though. I’m going to go make myself feel better by washing my face.
Speaking of being switched at birth, my mom came over and decorated my plant urn thingies in front of the house while I was at work. Which always weirds me out. I always wonder what she wants, but then I remembered that I gave her grocery money for Thanksgiving and also am offering to take my brother overnight next week so she can do an interior job in Northern Wisconsin overnight. I shouldn’t always do the math for such things, and perhaps I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t so totally predictable.
The neato planters are very cool. She used all things from her yard, including some bare twigs that she dyed burgundy. She’s so talented with making things pretty. When we got married, she absolutely swathed the little white country church in white and blush colored tulle. I think she used 120 yards. The church only seated 65 people. I wish she would capitalize on her talent more, but if she thinks about it too much, she’ll always take a step into the bizarre.
OH! And thanks to the Holiday Card exchange, I think I’ve finally gotten into the Holiday mood. For instance, I wasn’t planning on making cards this year, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything. No inspiration. I even went to Barnes & Noble and bought a bunch of boxes in preparation for the Big Card Exchange.
BUT THEN! Then suddenly during lunch (which I got to take at 3:30 today’ tell me, is it really lunch at that point, or is it just sad?) I found the COOLEST wrapping paper and then it hit me. A wrapping plan! I had a wrapping plan! Involving (I shit you not) feathers and glitter and retro prints and silver and white ribbon. And then the card idea hit me. And before you knew it, it was a holly jolly Christmas and I was humming Santa Baby under my breath, in my best Marilyn Monroe.
Squeee! And this weekend, I’m totally going to go into Elf mode. Besides, I’m going to make name tags! Because they need to match the gifts! The gifts which I have not purchased yet, but they will be pretty just the same! Squeee! God bless us every one!
By the way, if you want to be in the Holiday Card Exchange, I’ll need an email from you by the end of the day Friday. And then magically your heart will be filled with seasonal cheer too. Just watch.
