9:59 p.m. - 2005-02-22
However, tonight, BFRB and I decided to actually leave the house. I had to buy some semblance of a wedding gift for my former office mate (the one holding the glowing vibrator in this entry). She said she was registered at Bed Bath & Beyond, so I decided a small gift card was in order. However, it took all my self-control not to buy her this:
Seriously. No wonder the shit was on clearance.
Then, we went to Ulta so I could attempt to locate my favorite moisturizer that the Evil Empire suddenly decided not to carry anymore. See, I have skin that resembles a 14-year-olds. It's oily and prone to breakouts. But, since I'm 30, I'm starting to see wrinkles. I think this is some complete bullshit. I mean, if they could find a way to drill for oil on my face, we wouldn't be fighting some stupid war in Iraq. But somehow, it still wrinkles. Therefore, I need some sort of lotion. I cannot use regular lotion, though, because it just makes my face extra-shiny and my makeup smear everywhere. (Not that I've worn much makeup for the last few weeks. I'm not sure I remember how to apply it. But it's the PRINCIPLE, people.) Most of the teenager-type lotions, though, make me break out. I found ONE KIND that actually works and doesn't cost $40 a bottle (there are several of that variety that work, but I ain't got no job, and even though my father is being extra generous and telling me to ask if I need money, I don't want to have to ask, and I doubt he would see $40 moisturizer as a necessity.)
So where was I?
Oh yes, Ulta. It's the girlie superstore. Makeup. Hair stuff. Perfume. Various other beauty products. It's very hard to go in there and not spend money. However, we managed. BFRB bought a candle, and I bought some moisturizer that was NOT the right kind, because, even though they carry the right kind, they were OUT.
Ulta also has a salon, so we decided to get our eyebrows waxed. Unlike my usual eyebrow-waxing locale (nail salon...the chick does a great job), this place is all high-class and shit. They take you back to a little room with some allegedly soothing music playing, and proceed to painfully rip off your excess eyebrow hair. In my case, that's a lot. I inherited the unibrow. I have these horrible visions of myself in a nursing home at 80 with these big bushy old-man eyebrows and a whole lot of nurses averting their eyes because they don't want to go "I know you're old and ugly anyway, but really, those eyebrows look like they belong on the Yeti."
Why do I think about shit like this?
Since I've been such a slacker, I will close with a list of the good and bad about being job-free. We'll start with the good news:
But the bad news is: