the chronicles of iowa: the pixie, the heartless, and the jaded.

While I was in Iowa for a few days over Christmas, I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe with my mother and youngest sister.

Being the clever city dweller, I bought the tickets online at Fandango, because it guarantees a seat, and it lets you bypass the line of people waiting to buy tickets. Sure, it's a dollar extra per ticket, but convenience is often worth more than that.

In Chicago, when you get a ticket with Fandango, you print out a confirmation page and give it to the ticket-taker. S/he then gives you tickets and you enter the theatre. No waiting involved. No standing in long lines.

In Cedar Rapids, when you get a ticket with Fandango, you print out a confirmation page and then stand in line with all of the people that are waiting to buy tickets then and there, to let the person in the ticketing booth give you your tickets, so that you may then give the tickets to the ticket-taker. Which means lots of waiting. Lots of standing in long lines.

I felt robbed of the three dollars, honestly. Avoid Fandango outside a metropolitan area.

So, I ended up sitting between a man of about my age, clearly there by himself, and my sister. Mom was on the far side. Before the movie started, I got a tissue from my mother, because I forgot to bring some, and I knew that I would end up crying at some point.

Of course, when Lucy and Susan crept along after Aslan left the camp early in the morning before the big battle, and then were asked to join him as they went for an early morning walk, and then after a while were told that he had to go the rest of the way alone, and then watched in horror from a distance as Aslan was bound and beaten, shaved, and then slain by the witch Jadis, I sobbed and snuffled and cried like a girl.

When the little mice chewed the cords from his body, and Lucy and Susan were sobbing and crying over his abused corpse, I cried.

And when Aslan's body disappeared, and then he appeared with the morning light radiant behind him, quite alive and well, I cried.

Neither my mother or my sister cried, and my sister said that she didn't cry because she knew what was going to happen, and she knew that Aslan wasn't really dead anyway.

The reason that I was crying was two-fold: Poor Susan and Lucy -- they're school girls one minute, queens then next, and then innocent witnesses to a slaughter. I was crying first for Lucy and Susan, because they thought they were just going for a walk with Aslan, and had no idea what was going to happen, even if I did, and then I was crying because they thought that Aslan was dead and gone, and had no idea that he was going to be miraculously resurrected by Deeper Magic. I anticipated what was going to happen, and then empathized with the characters.

I also cried because it was so very well done, and was very emotionally moving. It played out on the screen even more tragically than it played out in my head as I was reading it. And because I have a soul and warm blood actually runs through my veins, apparently unlike my frosty and heartless women kin.

And I wasn't alone in my emotion, either. There were upset small children, all throughout the theatre, and I also will tell you, the man to my right was clearly snuffling during the sad bits. Because he also apparently is an empathizer. And maybe because he didn't know what was going to happen, and was shocked into quiet tears of sorrow, and then barely audible snuffles of relief.

Brutality, death and miraculous resurrection, and then a frightening battle is a bit much for small children, in my book. I'm surprised more children weren't crying from fright.

that which i have received in celebration of baby jesus's birth:

1. The annual family calendar, replete with hilarious photo portrait of my mom at 16, courtesy of my uncle.
2. A jar of mixed peppers to put in my peppermill. Once I finish the 2/3 of the jar I've been using for the last two years, from the family.
   
3. Pear Merlot Conserve, from mom. Mmm, boozy fruit jelly.
4. Chocolate-covered cranberries, from mom. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
5. Lindor Truffles, from mom & dad.
6. Money. Which is my favorite.
   
7. A giftcard to TJ Maxx. From mom. And used to buy fur cuffs for my coat. Which is now the most luxe down jacket ever.
   
8. A giftcard to Wal-Mart. From dad. Which I will probably spend on cat food and potting soil. The next time I go to Wal-Mart, in like 3 months or so.
   
9. Baby blue Alpaca Pete's shearling slippers from mom.
10. Belkin iPod battery backup. Which totally rocks the house down and all around the neighborhood. From Short-Round, or whatever I'm calling my youngest sister these days.
    
11. Udderly Smooth body lotion, from mom.
12. A pair of work gloves to keep in the car in case of emergency, so that I do not get my hands all ucky changing a tire or pouring fluids into their appropriate tanks under the hood. Clearly from dad, who is sensible and automotive. (He gave me de-icer either last year or the year before.)
    
13. Cavender's Greek Seasoning, also from mom. I can't find this in the grocery stores here.
    
14. Conrad's Fate, from dear beloved Matty. Which I will read after I finish the Chronicles of Narnia.
15. Garbage, Garbage cd. From mom.
    
16. Bleed Like Me, Garbage cd. From mom.
    
17. Playing the Angel, Depeche Mode cd. From Princess Stinkerbell.
    
18. A box of Andes mints. Mom lost mine, but the acting GM made up for it.
19. A caramel apple that I left at my parent's house, uneaten. Courtesy of the new Prestige Consultant at work.
    
20. A box of harman/kardon Soundsticks II, from Willybean & Tifling.
21. A metal faerie ornament that Cricket absolutely cannot break into bits, no matter how hard she tries, also from the W&T.
22. A giftcard to Starbucks from the DM. Last year she got me a hideous scarf that I returned, and then ended up giving the giftcard to Kimmy because I never shop at the Gap.
    
23. Fruitcake! Fruitcake! *booty dance* I got a fruitcake! From my lovely Aunt Ann.
    

my face hurts.

I cry a lot.

Mostly in the privacy of my home, but sometimes at work in the bathroom, or in my car, or walking from place to place.

The other day, when I walked into Starbucks to drop off the Toys for Tots presents, the woman behind the counter asked me if I needed anything.

I thanked her, shook my head, and said that I was really just there to drop off some toys, and the other woman behind the counter said, "Wow, that's really nice."

I said, "I guess so." and then wished them both a Merry Christmas, before walking out the door and onto the street.

And then I cried for a couple of blocks, because no one should have to thank me for trying to be a good person.

I don't know if I cry because I'm broken, or if it's because my life is so excruciating most of the time.

I like my job, but I hate where I work most of the time. The people there depress me and make me frustrated for stupid reasons. Kimmy's quitting as soon as the holidays are over, and the acting GM has said more than once that if they don't give her the store after she's successfully operated it for two holiday seasons, she's going to walk as soon as the holidays are over. The bitterness wears me down. I'm an empathizer. If I am exposed to crap like that for a prolonged period of time, I get upset myself. And if the office door is shut and more than one manager is in there, the conversation always turns to how much being a manager there sucks.

I mortally offended Diva by telling her client that sometimes she ran late when she was coming in early to do people before her scheduled shift, and that she'd be there soon. The client showed up 25 minutes early, and then looked at her watch and dramatically sighed every five minutes. I reminded the client that Diva was coming in 3.5 hours early to do her hair, and told her that that Diva ran on her own time table when she was working on her own schedule, which I called "DivaTime," but would definitely be arriving very very soon (she was exactly five minutes late). The acting GM was in the salon when I said this, and said that the traffic was especially bad that morning, but assured the client that Diva would arrive shortly.

When the client complained to Diva that she'd had to wait for 30 minutes, Diva got in her face and told her, "Well, I'm sorry about the five minutes, but the 25 minutes early is totally on you. You didn't have to come in a half hour before your appointment, especially when I told you that I was coming in before my scheduled shift to do you hair."

Which I'm sure further irritated the client. Who then told Diva that the acting GM and I had been gossiping about her, saying she's always late for work, and whatnot, which is entirely not what was said. It's true, but neither of us said it to the client. She pulled that out of her own ass.

Speaking to the acting GM about this afterwards, Diva told her that she was really offended that I had spoken negatively about her to a client, which the acting GM assured her that I really had not done, and then she brought up the whole drag queen thing again, and said that her husband wanted her to quit if being in such a hostile work environment was upsetting her.

That's right. I create a hostile work environment. Which no one else seems to have noticed.

But it definitely creates a tension that wears on me.

I spend all of my energy being sincere and friendly and concerned at work, and then have nothing left at the end of the day.

My clients all love me because I'm sunshine and rainbows with them. And I mean it. I like working with them. For the hour or two that I spend with someone, I am entirely engrossed in that person's world, and we're the practically the best of friends.

The staff and clients seem to generally appreciate that I brought in my coffee pot and electric tea kettle and oodles of tea and coffee grinder and whole bean coffee and cookies and candies and cheddar snack mix (for people that don't like sweets). If I bring sweets, I always make sure to have sugar-free stuff because Diva's on the South Beach Diet, and Pappy technically shouldn't eat sweets.

I do these things because I want to make our salon as pleasant an environment as possible. (Plus, I don't drink coffee and we're almost all now tea drinkers.) I don't do it to kiss ass or make peace or buy affection. I do it because I want to do it.

Technically, all I'm required to do is manage the people and the paperwork. Anything above and beyond that is strictly optional.

I don't have to take all of the notes I've compiled from all of the color classes and then spend hours of my free time putting together a 17-page packet of information for everyone to use. Which they do.

I'm so worn out and tired from living my life that I have no energy for me. I blow my entire emotional wad each day at work, and then come home and cry at Ghost Whisperer.

I don't get enough sleep, and when I get all run down, my stomach starts bothering me. I either spend at least one day a week heaving up my guts in the salon restroom, or else I feel like my insides have been put through a blender.

I like where I live, but I hate the contents of my apartment. I have no room to store anything, so I have stacks of everything everywhere. It's cluttered. My apartment is never neat and clean. Sometimes it's almost tidy, but generally not so.

I joke that I live the lifestyle of a 23 year old guy fresh out of college. I'm socially maladjusted, I eat crap for food, I spend my free time playing video games, reading comics, and zoning out, and my apartment is a pigsty. The only thing missing is beer.

50 First Dates kills me every single time it's on, but I can't stop watching it. I spend most of the movie crying because Henry works so hard to make Lucy love him that it breaks my heart. And because there is so much love in that movie that it makes me I know that at this rate, I'll never be loved that much by anyone. And then when it's over, I cry because I feel so pathetic for getting that worked up over an Adam Sandler movie.

I cried when I read the impersonal Christmas card I got in the mail from my Uncle Craig and my Aunt Roxie, partly because I had no emotional investment in anything they were sharing in their yearly update letter, and partly because I suppose that I should be happy that Jennifer is happily being successful in Scottsdale, and that Michelle just got engaged to a great guy named Jeff. I cried because I don't even really know these people, even though they're my flesh and blood. I know and care about most of my relatives that I've grown up with, but my mother's other brother and his brood are just names on a piece of paper. Before this letter, the only other piece of knowledge I had about Jennifer and Michelle is that they didn't like to visit Grandma when she was alive because she'd pick at them about their physical appearance. Something about thick ankles and a fat aunt, or something.

Substantial segments of my family are just anecdotes to me.

I cry because I look forward to seeing other members of my family, and am robbed of the experience because of a lack of opportunity. The potential is there, but the timing is off.

I cry because I get so emotionally wrapped up in picking presents and wrapping them up all pretty, and then get to watch when people just tear them open and say, "Oh, that's nice. Can I have another present to open?" as they set mine to the side and move on to the rest of the pile.

I know I romanticize the holidays. A trip home to see the family, holiday cheer, a Christmas tree with twinkling lights, festive meals, glad tidings, seasons greetings and all.

Which really translates into about a half-day of activity and what generally devolves into disappointment and boredom.

I cry because the cat peed on my one of fur-lined leather gloves, and I had to wait over a week to find the time to take them to the cleaners. And I had to wear the other gloves that aren't as warm. And when I went to pick them up from the cleaners, I was informed that they didn't do leather and I was to receive a refund for my trouble.

I didn't actually cry just because the perfect coat in retrospect needs a considerable amount of alteration to make it right, but I did cry because it's so hard to find the time and the supplies to accomplish this.

And I cry when I blog, because it's hard to share this much sometimes.

all sorts of charity.

I found a winter coat that meets the majority of my specifications:

1. Black
2. Cozy
   
3. Windproof
4. Warm
5. Long enough to cover my ass
6. Not dowdy
7. Adorned with some sort of rabbit fur.

But, it completely lacks a hood.

It is, however, a a lovely Hilary Radley DUVET coat. It is filled with down, yet not too puffy, and has a deliciously wide black rabbit fur collar that technically zips up over my head if necessary.

Why I would need to do this, I am unsure.

I prefer to wear it zipped up and folded down, much like a big furry turtleneck collar. Except on a coat. And not on a turtleneck.

This collar replicates about half of the purpose of a hood, so in combination with the appropriate hat, I am warmer than all get out.

I have yet to find the appropriate hat. For some reason, I'm imagining a big fluffy black rabbit fur hat of some sort.

The only true fault the coat has is that it lacks fur cuffs.

This wouldn't be a big issue, except Cricket peed on the floor by the front door, and then knocked my rabbit fur lined gloves into it. Which makes one of them smell like cat pee. Nothing I can do makes them not smell like cat pee. I think a trip to the cleaners is in order. If only I had the time.

And for this reason, I decided that I needed to attach black furry cuffs to the coat, to add that certain zing and toasty pop to the ensemble.

The one downside to der interweb is that it is now physically impossible to find things that you want on it anymore.

I crazily thought to myself that I would easily find a vendor for a 4-inch or so wide length of solid black rabbit furriness that would be long enough and supple enough to be easily converted into cuffs.

Instead, I found where I can buy solid pelts and a lot of those hideous black rabbit fur pom pon scarves. Blech. And a lot of the ones that claim to be solid fur look suspiciously like cat fur -- which is apparently frequently used for shady purposes, according to some horrid article I stumbled across. (Dog fur is also very hot and indespicably evil too, it seems.)

If I wanted cat fur, I would just skin Cricket and make her into cuffs. She's deserve it, with all the glove peeing and whatnot.

So, I trekked to a couple of Salvation Army stores, where I ended up not buying rabbit fur, but instead scored a stash of Batman single issues, and bought a pair of boots for a homeless man.

I have since read all of the comics, and am now more than happy to send them to anyone kind enough to give them a new home, or I can just give them back to Salvation Army for someone else to buy.

I have issues 608-613 and 616-619 (most of the Hush arc), Issues 1 and 2 of Gotham County Line, Batman Journey Into Knight #1, 620-625 (Broken City arc), 630 The Last Straw, 639 Grave Consequences, and 640 Old Friends. Gotham County Line are in good condition, and the rest are very good to very fine, with a couple even in near mint to mint condition. I do not have bags and boards, sorry - this is charity, not a business.

Mom said she'd check out the thrift store in Iowa for an old fur jacket to chop up, and I am considering ordering something off of eBay if it comes down to it. I can buy pelts of questionable origin there for fairly cheap.

Or there's always the Cricket option. Even if I can't add fluffy black cuffs to my coat, she's got at least enough fur on her to line a pair of gloves.

i'll just be disappointed again, i'm sure.

I have said it before, and I'll say it again, knowing completely that it's a bad cliche, but I love the romantic notion of Christmas.

Every year I agonize over what to get everyone, and then when I find the right thing, or find something for someone that I wasn't even looking for in the first place, I feel elated and giddy.

This year, I put a lot of thought into how to wrap the presents. No one really cares how pretty the packages are except me. I'm not a country gal, but I had a client give me a gift in a brown box and lovely green ribbons, and it made me think that I wanted to have countryish presents. Everything's wrapped in either simple sage or ruby papers, or else firmly ensconced in a craft paper-covered box. I used real ribbons and twine to make the bows and whatnot. I stragegically employed things like decorative soaps and millinery fruits in my decorating scheme. I made a tray of things I use to decorate, very Martha-like, and I have it standing by if I need to wrap or cheerfully adorn anything else. It looks like a well-planned, old-school Christmas threw up in my living room.

I don't have a tree because Cricket would kill it. I do have Christmas cards on the bookshelf, a stuffed snowbear bearing gifts, and a tiny beaded tree-shaped ornament that I made myself after reading Crate & Barrel's holiday catalogue. But it isn't the same thing.

Even if I could decorate the way I wished, all of my seasonal decorations and the like are buried somewhere in Tif 'n Wil's garage, because their basement had to be gutted down to the studs, and then to some point beyond the studs, because of toxic mold. And I stored all of my off-season clothing, holiday crap, and assorted other things I don't have room for all in their basement. Now I'm stuck with a tall stack of off-season storage bins in my living room, and no Christmas paraphernalia.

I did all my Christmas cards and sent them out, as well as the packages that needed to be shipped to loved ones. I didn't send Overlord Carol a card, but I haven't talked to her in over a year. I still might though. I did my online shopping. I crafted. The only thing holding me up is that the landlord signed for a package on the 13th, and I have yet to receive it myself, although I know we're both in the same apartment building.

Last year I made sweets galore, but this year I don't seem to care. I think invested all of my festive cookery energy on Thanksgiving, with late nights of bread making and flan baking. Sure, I would like to eat truffles and candied grapefruit peel, or nosh on a white chocolate covered pretzel rod. But I can barely keep up with the dishes in the sink. I can't even picture getting the kitchen sanitized to the level that I would need it to be clean for my candymaking to commence.

The place I work used to release a pair of holiday stuffed animals every year, usually some sort of puppy, with the proceeds going to Make-A-Wish. And each year I would buy one each of the boy and girl puppies, and then drop them off at a Starbucks location in their Toys-for-Tots collection baskets. I liked the fact that I could help two charities with one act.

When I was younger, we were usually only a few steps above being white trash. We did a great job with what we had, but I didn't ever have a lot of toys. I know that Christmas isn't about getting stuff, but I know how disappointing it is to not get the presents you'd like to get. If any. I hope that my little gifts can make some little kids feel a little more loved, or at least a little less resentful that their families are poor and depend on charity donations.

I found myself standing in the toy area at a Greatland Target, overwhelmed by the oodles and oodles of crap that was available for purchase. I don't know what's cool. I know I see a lot of commercials for Bratz stuff on television, and judging by the disproportionate amount of Batmans that we saw trick-or-treating, Batman is pretty cool too. I've heard that the Power Rangers are cool again with the younger set.

I checked out all of the Bratz gear, and noted that there was a distinct absence of Bratz Rock Angelz dolls, and that there was a sign saying that due to high demand, they were out of the Rock Angelz dolls and were substituting Sportz dolls. And it looked like no one had purchased any of the Sportz dolls, so I didn't want to get the uncool doll for some little girl.

I totally forgot about the Power Rangers stuff, and when I looked at the Batman stuff, the cool things were like $30 and I don't love the poor children enough to spend that much on one thing. The only things that were a reasonable price were the things that would mostly be targeted at adults that collect action figures *ahem* Ninja Bruce Wayne *ahem*.

Wandering around lost, I decided that little girls seem to enjoy the Disney crap a lot, so I bought a small dress-up Belle doll with a bunch of clip-on outfits for the girl present. And then I decided that Legos are cool for boys, but then remembered someone that I am related to's insane childhood Lego horde, and the joys of stepping on the damned pieces lost in the pile of the carpet. But, I do recall hearing some male child at some point talking about Bionicles, and those are Legos too, except more action-figurey and whatnot. I think you pretty much build them and don't take them back apart, which is good for the feet. Asking a woman who looked mommish for her opinion, we decided that the red one that kinda looked like a bug was cooler than the blue one that kinda looked like a bug, and so I bought that one.

And today I delivered them to the Starbucks on Diversey. right off of Clark.

I have more to say, but I'm tired for now. I'm tired and worn out and have heartburn from eating chips and dip for dinner, and Cricket won't leave me alone (ie: shut the hell up) unless she's being discernably adored from a distance.

Maybe I'll share more tomorrow.
Because I've got plenty to say.

rabbits and gifts

...two thoughts

1) I am now convinced that rabbits are put on this earth to have their fur dyed attractive colors and then be used to keep me warm during cold weather. I am busy lusting after a rabbit-fur collared and lined Dana Buchman trenchcoat at TJ Maxx. I will not buy it because it is too expensive. It does not make me lust after it less, though.

2) On the lusting after thought, I would like the following things for Christmas:

• A new firm full-sized mattress. Mine has pixie-shaped indentations on all four sleeping surfaces, which does not lead to a comfortable night's rest. This is my dream bed.
  
• Swiss Colony Fruitcake. Preferably the Christmas model. And in the largest size possible. However, the Fruitcake Medley is nice, too.
• New Shearling Slippers. (Ahem, mom.)
• Highest priority things off the Amazon wishlist. Although, anything off the wishlist is pretty cool.
• The new Depeche Mode CD.
  
• TJ Maxx or Marshalls giftcards.
• Money.
• Whatever else you think is appropriate.
  

something i received.

(sort of an askpixie.)

From Bethany Taylor (bethanyXXXXXX@cox.XXX)
To: askpixie
Subject: commenting on your page!

"You do not seem like a very friendly person. If you have a ques./ answer
page maybe -you should actually look into properly answering the ques. and
not getting po'd that people ask you about something that you don't know
about. Get Educated!! and if you don't then take your little website off the
internent so people don't inconvenience you with ques. about things you have
no idea about!!!"

I'm not sure specifically what this email is in reference to, but I'm guessing it's either about how I respond to questions about Eyelash Extensions or Thermal Relaxing, which is the majority of what people ask questions about.

And if you read any of my askpixie answers on these topics, they always include a link to a page specifically tailored to answering those questions with everything I've already read/heard/been told and then shared, or at least resources to people that are better equipped to answer their queries.

Such as, from http://www.pixiemartin.com/eepixie.htm:

"What I know about eyelash extensions, eyelash glue, and the whole long eyelash craze in general:

"First off, I am not answering any more questions about eyelash extensions. If you wish to forward me more information on the subject, I will be more than happy to add it to this page.

"The actual function of askpixie is as an advice column for my website, www(dot)pixiemartin(dot)com, but a lot of people have made eyelash extension queries, and a lot of other people have answered them, so they all got an area of their own.

"What I can tell you is that I am a licensed cosmetologist, but I have never actually performed this procedure.

"I also don't do cosmetics or skincare services, but I do technically know some things about cosmetics and skincare, and could theoretically do them.

"I live in Chicago, and I have no idea where you can get eyelash extensions done anywhere, nor do I know about where you can get trained to do them or buy supplies, beyond the places that I'm listing here.

"And, everything I have personally learned about eyelash extensions online, beyond that which has been volunteered, has been gleaned from google searches, and shared with you here.

"It takes some time, but that's where the majority of the answers to people's questions come from, which means you do have the power to find this information for yourself.

"Basically, I don't know anything about this service at all. I'm only sharing what I've read or been told."

Or, from http://www.pixiemartin.com/trpixie.htm:

"What I know about japanese thermal reconditioning, thermal relaxing, and straightening in general:

First off, I am not answering any more questions about thermal reconditioning, thermal relaxing, or straightening.

Once upon a time, like in early 2002, there was almost no information about TR on the web, but now, there is a hell of a lot more informative stuff out there than what I have to offer. There are more salons doing this now than I could shake a stick at, and they all seem to have info about the service on their sites. Most of them even have areas where you can ask questions yourself.

The actual function of askpixie is as an advice column for my website, www(dot)pixiemartin(dot)com, but a lot of people made straightener-based queries, so they got an area of their own.

What I can tell you is that I am a licensed cosmetologist, but I have never actually performed this procedure.

I also don't do regular relaxers, but I do know how they work and could theoretically do them.

I live in Chicago, and have no idea where you can get this done anywhere but here, and then I don't really know all the places that do it here, either. I do know that most Ulta Salons do offer Rusk Thermal Str8, and that Carissima on Clark St. does Bio-Ionic.

And, everything I have learned about thermal reconditioning/relaxing/straightening beyond what has been shared with me by the helpful public has been gleaned from google searches.

It takes some time, but that's where the majority of the answers to people's questions come from, which means you do have the power to find this information for yourself.

And there are so many different brands and options out there, I can't even name them all... Shinbi International (Liscio), Yuko, Bio-Ionic, Magic Hair, & Rusk Thermal Str8 are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head.

Here is an actual hair-based advice site with a huge section dedicated to queries just like yours, but other information is offered up in the actual askpixie entries."

How dare I state that I am not equipped to answer a question on a topic that is something outside my realm of expertise, answer it to the best of my limited ability, and then provide resources for the person asking the question to actually find the answer for themselves?

I must be a total bitch!

I guess I should 1) Invest a few thousand dollars into taking classes in both of these topic areas. 2) Then lobby corporate, so that I can go about setting up the salon to provide these services. And when they say no, 3) quit my job at the salon where I am employed, consequently losing all of my benefits and security, to go 4) open my own salon, to the tune of a hell of a lot more than a few thousand dollars. And then once I 5) secure the financing for that venture, and have 6) adequately advertised, 7) staffed and 8) supplied my new salon, I should then 9) do these particular services on the eager public for a while to get practice, just so that I can 10) authoritatively answer questions that I have already provided ways to get answers for by people that are already in the know.

Of course, after the aeon that it would have taken me to achieve these ten steps to successfully helping answer the public's queries had actually passed, I certainly wouldn't have the time to answer any of them anyway. I would be either in debtor's prison, hiding out from a loan shark in the interest of keeping my life and limbs intact, or else just plain be too busy running my successful salon to play around on the internet with idiots like you.

You know, you might actually be right about me not being a very nice person.

Thank you for that insight into my being.

Maybe that's something I'll put my energy into working on in the new year.

sometimes i'm the naked chef.

Often it's because I prefer to prepare foods that are simple and delicious on their own, a'la Jamie Oliver.

Although, sometimes it's just because it's really fucking hot in the kitchen when I'm baking.

Unless you count an apron or oven mitts as clothing.

Because then I'd just be the mostly-naked chef.

Which doesn't sound near as glamorous.

csi: miami vs. pixiemartin.com: chicago

On Monday night's CSI: Miami, the plot revolved around a group of teen-aged college kids playing a real-life version of a Grand Theft Auto-esque video game.

They were mirroring the story line of the game, level by level, detail by detail -- rob a bank with a cop inside, shoot a teller and the security guard, tag a hot bystander (attempted rape, thankfully, but thwarted before it could be more than a scary thought), kidnap the bank manager, get the bank manager to tell you where the next bank's money shipment will be delivered, steal it, get busted, break into the police station and steal the evidence against the pinched criminal, etc.

And when the police went to the people responsible for the video game, in order to get a copy of the script, so that they could stop the gamers before more people got hurt, the CEO shut them down, citing that "800,000 units sold last quarter." He then refused to help the police because his lawyers said that was proprietary information, and was arrested for obstruction of justice.

I'm sure that somewhere in here, there's already been some alarmingly ridiculous flights of fancy plot-wise, but I was bothered by something else.

Because of the CEO's refusal to aid the authorities, the CSI that figured out the game connection to the crimes had to play the game level by level, to outwit the criminals. Etc.

And conveniently, he got to the level where they raid the police station (or in this case, the CSI lab) just in time to stop them from killing anyone else, much less accomplishing their criminal objective.

I won't even go into the rest of the plot, because it got even less likely, but infinitely more thrillingly Hollywood.

Now, here's my issue... If a video game has been around long enough for their to be "800,000 units sold last quarter," it's been around long enough for at least half a dozen people to have compiled a very neat and complete FAQ and step-by-step walkthrough of the game, and then post it somewhere accessible to everyone online, like IGN or Neoseeker.

Which means that they should have just gone online, spent five minutes web-browsing, and then solving the case from there.

Instead of paying one of their officers to sit around all day, and play video games.

Yeesh.

leaves change colors and so do i.

My hair is this color, and your hair isn't.

Well, okay. Maybe it is.

But I really doubt it.

I mean, I suppose it's possible.

It isn't like achieving a particular haircolor
is a truly impossible task.

I do it all the time.

But then I rock at that shit.

I just think that it's highly unlikely that any
of you have this exact color on your head
right this very second.

just a thought

...hmmm

As I was standing in front of the mirror, wearing only a pair of 12-hole high-top black leather Converse All-Stars, I had a thought.

Somewhere out there, I totally had to be fulfilling some dude's fetish for sneaker-clad, nude chicks.

Even if he didn't know it.

drag me down and out

...i'm rambling

So, I had this pre-op (I didn't check down her pants, but I'm guessing from the stubble on her neck here) transexual woman come in for a job interview.

It wasn't her gender that bothered me. It was the fact that her hair was this big crazy Dame Edna 'do, the same color as a school bus, and featuring at least an inch of dark outgrowth.

And that her clearly often-worn false eyelashes were falling off her right eyelid. Probably under the weight of 57 or more applications of mascara. It was like a tarantula seeking the sweet release of freedom, but only making it half way there.

You know how when women wear eyeshadow, they generally blend the colors into one another? And how bad drag performers often fill in some sort of geometric shape they've created from their lashline to just above the crease, usually with one shade of garish something? This prospective job candidate unfortunately subscribed to that latter form of cosmetic aesthetic. Via bright, flaming irregular pentagons of fuschia.

The lips were tightly penciled, and filled in with a surprisingly-normal shade of burgundy. But they still looked draggy.

I can't even describe the eyebrows. I just can't.

The kicker, though, was the fact that she was wearing the most Plain Jane outfit you could ever hope to see. Old school, small town elementary school librarians aspire to be this frumpy.

To her credit, she did call the next day and told me that she had accepted a full-time position elsewhere, and didn't want me to waste any further time considering her application. Which was a relief, in a way, but still sort of felt like a snub.

So I was talking to my newest stylist, Drama, about this woman, explaining that the gender status wasn't the issue. Appearance was. I told Drama that if this woman had looked half as glamorous as Diva does everyday, and believe me, Diva is about as tastefully blingy as a woman can be , that I would have hired her in an instant.
The next day, Diva told me that she was very upset about something that I said the day before, when I was comparing her to a drag queen.

She had half overheard what I had been saying, and decided that I was saying that she looked like she was a drag queen.

More specifically, that she looked like a man. A man in women's clothing.

And even more specifically, a presumably gay man.

I assured her that I had said that she was the sort of over-the-top-yet-still-okay glamorous that many drag queens spend their whole careers trying to achieve. That is she were a drag queen, everyone would just assume that she was an incredibly fabulous-looking woman.

She said that she was glad she'd gotten that cleared up, because what I was talking about was a sin, and that the Bible even talked about how it was a sin.

I asked her where it said in the Bible that "Thou Shalt Not Dress In The Clothing Of The Opposite Gender In An Attempt To Look Glam, Or Else."

And she said that wasn't in the Bible, and wasn't what she was talking about. She was talking about the being gay part.

Because all men that wear women's clothing are obviously gay male sinners who are going to Hell for their wicked ways.

I tried to assure her that not every man in a woman's garb happened to be gay. I told her lots of heterosexual men wore women's clothing regularly.

And she said that they were sinners, too.

And then she assured me that they were all going to Hell. Because it's a sin.

I was going to ask her again which passage in the Bible delivered the message that "Thou Shalt Not Dress In The Clothing Of The Opposite Gender In An Attempt To Look Glam, Or Else."

But then I decided that she'd just think I was making fun of her.

And you definitely do not want to offend the Christian sensibilities of proud Southern Baptist women of color.

(Even if they are hypocrites and sinners of the worst kind.)

ways to tell i'm not my neighbors.

...i'm potentially more courteous

When I am getting out of my car with a load of groceries, and then as I am walking towards the apartment building, I notice that two of my other neighbors are both getting out of their cars with loads of groceries, my automatic inclination is to prop the door open so that the other people don't have to akwardly set down their groceries, fish for keys, and then fumble their ways into the building, like I just had to do.

I am also inclined to do things like hold the elevator if someone is immediately behind me, with a large load of groceries, or at least send the elevator back down to the first floor once I reach mine, if said neighbor isn't close enough for me to reasonably wait. I do have ice cream melting, you know.

i thought the text said it all.

...but it wasn't clear enough

Okay, I just got an email from someone on eBay, regarding one of my listings.

After having played Chrono Cross through 2.5 times, I decided to play something else, and figured I might as well sell the game. That way I can stockpile Paypal funding to buy more games. I like to think of it as a self-generating entertainment fund.

In the colorful description, I included the following, word for word:

"This is the original release, and is in very good condition. It comes complete with the 2 original game discs, insert manual, and accompanying jewel case."

Crazy me, I thought it was pretty damned clear that this was the original version, and not the greatest hits release.

So this is the emailed question I got, which tells me that it wasn't clear enough for the average bear:

"is this the original or greatest hits version?"

I did behave, and replied with the following:

"I do believe I said it was the original in the actual text of the listing, but yes, it is original and not the greatest hit version."

What I really wanted to say was:

"If you aren't intelligent enough to read the listing for content, where it CLEARLY states several times that it is the original version, and not the greatest hits release, perhaps you shouldn't bid on this game.

"I say this because I'm pretty sure that if you're that dense, you probably 1) will not enjoy the subtleties of the game, because it's clever and requires strategic planning, patience, and out of the box thinking, and 2) will be terribly confused by the complexities of the plot -- it's like a "Choose you own adventure" book, except with moving pictures and an interactive controller device! There's body swapping for criminy's sake, and an important message about how mankind is a mistake and a blight upon everything with which it comes into contact. You probably won't even care (if you even realize) that you're a patsy and have been duped into doing stupid things throughout much of the game by manipulative forces of evil.

But if you really want to ask me stupid questions and give me money as well, I guess I'm game for that, but on a limited basis. If you really want to drown me with idiocy, buy the game, but don't even dare to be suprised that the handling fee is going to at least triple."

But I didn't, because I'm a grown-up. And I want to sell things to people with money so that I can make money in return. It doesn't pay to alienate potential customers. Literally and figuratively. But mostly literally.

And now, to bed. But first, to set back all the clocks!

who the hell knows?

...i'm perplexed

I don't understand Bobobo-Bo Bo-Bobo.

Seriously.

What the fuck is it, and why is it on Cartoon Network?

Trigun makes more sense, and that's saying a hell of a lot.

Anime News Network's summary of the show is this:

"Bo Bobo is a man with the incredible power of hearing the voices of hair and using his own to fight. He uses his power to fight off the Margarita Empire and all of EmperorTsuru Tsuruiina's minions who are stealing the hair off of anyone they find to power up their emperor."

Apparently his nose-hair figures largely into his combat style.

Yes, I said nose-hair.

Nose-hair is his weapon of choice.

I used to work with someone that swore she wasn't a hairdresser, but was instead able to "channel the hair," and then cut it however it was supposed to be cut, as per the hair's pychic instruction.

She also believed that in a past life she was a demi-human slave girl on Atlantis, and that she taught music to some sort of patrician's lovely children. Apparently, Atlantis went down because of volcanic action. I know this because she remembers it happening.

But then you have to remember that she was a staunch vegan, on her way to becoming a fruitarian (you only eat that which did not die in order to be eaten. Wild rice? okay. Wheat? bad. Apple and orange good. Carrot and potato bad. Etcetera.), with the ultimate goal of subsiting only on water and air. Like the yogis or something.

But she didn't use her nose-hairs for anything but their intended filtration purposes.

Jesus, I know a hell of a lot of nutjobs. They're everywhere.

Yes, pot kettle, kettle pot.

I know.

But still.

rcn isn't so yummylicious

...or something like that.

10.16.05

You know, if you're going to change the cable channel line up, you shouldn't mysteriously give me free pay-per-view, the movie channel, cinemax, encore, and whatnot, and then mysteriously whisk them away at like 10:15pm, the same evening.

Because some of us were watching The Punisher for the first and probably only time, because Thomas Jane is the Christopher Lambert for the 21st Century*, and we're all secretly Christopher Lambert fangirls/boys. And right when it was getting to the final punishing bits, like the last 5 minutes or so, it went all squigglevision. So, I was forced to watch/listen to the ending of the movie like it was scrambled porn.

Which made my head hurt.

Incidentally, if you're going to take away 5 more of the channels in my cable lineup, in addition to the 5 or 6 you've already snatched away, my bill should be shrinking accordingly. I now lack MTV, VH1 & BET, as well as some old timey movie channels. Not that I used them much, but it was nice to know that I could watch Soul Train or Punk'd if I really wanted to at some point in my life.
**********
*Plus, Mr. Jane was cut like crystal in this movie, and he was shirtless a lot. Which is yummylicious. I like the muscular divets around the hipbones that only occur when you are buff. Then can make me even forgive a moderately furry chest.

gracious...

...i've seen it all

10.13.05

I believe that I have pretty much seen it all, as of earlier this afternoon.

Whilst channel surfing (surfing, hah!), I happened upon an episode of Batman (the live action dumbass version) that I had not previously seen.

Wherein, Batman and The Joker had a surf-off.

A surf-off replete with personalized long boards (Batman's was yellow with a black bat logo, and Joker's was green with a image of his face at the top) and associated surfing gear.

Such as the brightly-colored, wildly-patterned surf shorts they were wearing OVER their regular costumes/finery...

Batman's yellow and black long shorts over his gray and black costume, the yellow utility belt fashionably worn over the waistband of the shorts, and Joker's green and black pair, making a striking contrast to his lovely magenta suit.

Because I can't get the images out of my head. They weren't bright enough to permanently burn into my retinas, but damned near close.

I know I'm going to have a disturbing dream about this.

I just do.

something so cliche

...it made me want to share

10.02.05

I went to see Serenity with Tifling & Willybean, (HI WIL!) and then went out to dinner with some of their friends.

As per the norm, I forgot my packaged leftovers on the table. It's been happening my whole life, & pretty much if someone doesn't catch it before we leave the restaurant, I will probably remember the food all by myself 5% of the time, if that.

I also bought Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman at Borders, as did Willybean.

Now I want Thud, by Terry Pratchett, which Willybean already has. He said that after Tifling read it that I could borrow it, but I would prefer to own my own copy, since I have every single one of the regular books in the Discworld series, including the young adult fiction ones, & the slightly racy Nanny Ogg's Cookbook. And I just ordered it from Amazon because it is more economical that way. And I even ordered Three Incestuous Sisters, by Audrey Niffenegger, Where's My Cow? by Terry Pratchett, & Batman Begins on DVD, too.

Which is all well and good, but isn't the reason I'm sharing.

As I was driving home, I was waiting for the light to change at Albion, so I could turn onto Clark, when the doors on the car in front of me opened up, a bunch of Asian kids got out, ran around the car and all hopped back, right as the light was changing.

That's right, a Chinese Firedrill.

And even better, possibly a Chinese Chinese Firedrill, although a Vietnamese Chinese Firedrill, a Thai Chinese Firedrill, or even a Malaysian Chinese Firedrill would be almost as good.

thought i was dead, eh?

...i'm visiting

09.20.05

It's not that I don't love you.

I'm mean, truly, you're a great public.

The best public I've ever known.

It's just that I have been spending a lot of time with the PS2 lately, playing old PS1 games*.

You know how it is. You think you're just going to spend a couple of hours on mindless entertainment, but then you look at the clock and it's really late, so late that the public is probably already sleeping.

So you creep in silently and go to bed yourself.

That and I have a new work-friend who works at Another Store Like Unto Mine, but her's is a nicer, newer version.

She's super energetic and chirpy, but she's also as weird and messed up as I am... just in new and different ways. She burns off her frustrations walking the dog or taking hip-hop dance classes, and I kill monsters and solve quests from the comfort of my own sofa.

She went to beauty school as a way to pay for college, and worked in and ran her mom's salon all throughout her collegiate experience. Now she has a degree in Spanish literature, and runs a salon in another store Like Unto Mine But Nicer.

In the car today, because we're driving back and forth everyday this week to a far away destination to get training on how to be a "More Effective Salon Manager," (alternate class title: "How to Grin and Bear It When Someone Foists Another Job That Isn't Really Your Responsibility Upon Your Already Ridiculous Workload & Still Do It All Effectively, Just Because Corporate's Initiative To Do This Thing You Now Do Failed Miserably At the Corporate Level .") Sparky told me that she wasn't sure what she wanted to do careerwise in the future. While she likes doing hair, this position for her is just a way to make money and have benefits until she figures out what she wants to do for real.

Merely a stepping stone to better things, if you will.

And it made me think for a minute about how this is a 23 year-old essentially starting off her lot in life, fresh out of college. Sparky's filled to the brim with fantastic business skills, and has it all planned out for now. If she needs help with a difficult issue, she googles it to find out how to delicately handle it the best way, without making it worse, and probably make it all better instead.

And I'm a 33 year-old that considers this position a career. I make okay money, I have security and benefits, a matched 401K, paid vacations, and I'm a salaried position. If I could think of something else I'd like to do better that I'd make more money doing and still have that security, I'd probably be all over that, to be honest. And I've been thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up, back when I was a 23 year-old starting off my lot in life, fresh out of school.

I'm pretty sure it wasn't what I am right now.

I'm realizing again that quirks and foibles that are cute in a twenty-something are considered childish and pathetic in someone over 30.

I'm almost out of the 19-34 demographic, which means that I guess I'll have to grow up and figure it out before July 9, 2007. That gives me 21 months to find the meaning of me.

But for now I'd still rather play video games and watch television.

**********

*A lot of them are ones that I've played before a long time ago, either on the SNES or PS1, but many of them are also sequels to those particular games. Or, believe it or not, director's cuts of older games.

saturday = sux0r.

...i feel bad

09.11.05

My smoothie maker died. I think the frozen banana chunks were just too much for it. And replacing it will cost 3x what I paid for it on clearance. I never even made blended margaritas with it. Poor, beloved unmixed margaritas.

And I got a letter from the Post Office admonishing me for not using the correct format for my address. When I mail things out, I use a pre-printed address label that says the right thing, and that's the address I give to people. However, people will write whatever version of your address that they want to use as your address when they send you things, and you really can't make them do otherwise. Sorry, I don't control space and time, USPS.

And I gave someone a bad haircut yesterday. She had baby fine, thin hair with weird internal layers that I didn't see until I got into them, and then it was too late. So, I had to blend and blend and blend and then change the shape of the cut, all while pretending that whatever I did was on purpose. The haircut looks fine, and she didn't say anything, but technical skill-wise, it sucked major ass. I don't do bad hair. I just don't. So fucking up a haircut is so foreign to me that it makes me feel the same way in the pit of my stomach that I feel whenever someone decides to hit my car in such a manner that it will cost money to repair. Or 2x the feeling when I have to terminate the employment of someone that is sweet and nice and someone that I like.

And now that I actually own a bottle of Escada Rockin' Rio, I don't think I like it as much as I did when I was just trying it on at work. At least the D'lish (Clean) Sweet Layer is d'licious.

And most pettily, I constantly get complimented on my eyes and eye makeup, being that I have pretty eyes and I have mad phat eyeshading skillz, but when we voted today at work, I didn't even get a nomination for Best Eyes. I got one nomination for Best Skin (?), but not one for Best Eyes. And the woman that won Best Eyes only got it because her eyeliner was glittery and bright.

chaos reigns.

...i'm aghast

09.01.05

It's absolutely amazing to me that one horrible natural disaster has plunged part of our nation into Third World conditions.

And even more amazing to me is that the government seems unable or unwilling to help.

Tens of thousands of people in New Orleans are starving to death and dying of thirst in the streets, assaulted by extremely heat and humidity. Anarchy reigns -- with no authorities, refugees (I never thought I'd ever have to call Americans in America that name) are robbing and raping each other.

It is mostly because of private and corporate support that anything is being done at all, and that's truly little enough.

This is a disgrace.

I am sorry for the people outside of New Orleans, that have lost their homes, returning to find cement slabs where their houses used to be.

But at least they aren't trapped in a watery hell.

The ill lack basic medical treatment. The lucky ones in hospitals are being airlifted out and triaged. The ones on the street don't have insulin, chemo, drug cocktails, etc.

Outside the convention center, among the refuse piles, the dead are left outside the doors, covered in sheets or blankets.

I'm terrified that with the standing water, the general health of the public, and insanely unsanitary conditions that cholera and typhoid and hepatitis will break out among the crowds.

Buses and other forms of transport for the victims have been promised, days ago. And very few have arrived. Many of the drivers are frankly terrified of being killed in a stampede of people trying to escape the city, and refuse to go anywhere near the place.

Ironically, now that the people at the gathering sites are too weak to leave the places where they've been told to go for safety, and to walk somewhere else for rescuing, that's precisely what they're being told to do.

National Guard troops have been deployed en masse, solely to keep the peace. Not to help, but to prevent looting, rioting, and killing.

Where are the concerned celebrities now, drumming up a huge relief effort to aid our tsunami victims? They were swift enough to help other countries, but haven't leapt to attention for their fellow nationals.

The President will be touring tomorrow, and I'm sure he'll be watered and fed.

And the people are still standing and sitting in the streets, weakly chanting, "WE NEED HELP!"

open mouth, and...

...insert foot

Happy 14th Birthday to my little sister, Short Round, who is actually now taller than me, and only round in a curvy, hourglass sort of way.

(And Happy 40th to Amanda Tapping -- I celebrated it last year, so why not mention it this year?)

08.28.05

I said, "I was watching part of Masterminds the other day, when I realized, 'Dude! That's the kid from Angel that played Connor... um, Vincent Kar-somethingorother.' And I watched it a little bit longer and realized, 'Holy Shit! That's Teryl Rothery!"

And she said, "Masterminds... Masterminds... Oh, the movie with Patrick Stewart! You know, I've never seen it."

To which I replied, attempting wit and failing miserably, "Yeah, but Picard's got nothing on MacGyver or O'Neil..."

And she raised an eyebrow and said, "Rick is Rick. But, Patrick is one of my favorite people that I've worked with... he's really great."

I mumbled something about having heard that about him, and then her attention was diverted by the handler telling her it was time to go to the next table.

I'm glad I didn't admit that I'm pretty sure I actually paid money to see Masterminds when it was in theaters.

********************

Peter Williams (Apophis)

Don S. Davis (General Hammond)
Teryl Rothery (Dr. Janet Frasier)
Tony Amendola (Master Bra'tac)

Christopher Judge (Teal'c)
Michael Shanks (Dr. Daniel Jackson)

age spots forthcoming.

...i'm falling apart

08.14.05

I was lazing about on the couch this afternoon, when I had another startling realization about myself.

Namely...

"Good Lord! I have cellulite on the back of my calves!"

As though it isn't enough that I'm pasty ass white, you can see every hair follicle on my legs as though I was a plucked chicken, and that in the right light you can definitely see the developing spider veins on the back of my left calf, just a little to the left and above the two chicken pox marks, but now if the muscles are all slack, there is a definite cottage-cheesy pucker to the skin back there as well.

Now I guess I'm just waiting for the boobs to finally give in to gravity a little bit more, and the age spots to crop up instead of freckles.

It's not like I'll ever have navel-grazers or anything. I don't have ample enough breastage to accomplish that feat. Maybe if I get really fat and bend uncomfortably at the waist I might be able to do it, but that's the only way, I believe.

But still.

what else now...

...i should just give up

08.12.05

I got to work today, expecting Rico to already be there, because he always seems to be a little early every day he works.

And he wasn't there.

Wednesday, we'd changed his schedule to come in at 10am instead of 12pm, so I thought that maybe he forgot, or thought that started next week, so I didn't really think anything about it, and went about my morning routine.

Around 10:30am, the MM tells me that Rico no-called no-showed for work yesterday. He didn't show up even though he had lots of appointments, and no one could get ahold of him.

I still hoped that he'd show up at 12pm.

After 12pm, I tried calling him, but couldn't track him down. All the numbers he gave me were for friends, and they all seemed to be interested in his whereabouts as well.

Around 1:30pm, Rico called.

He apologized, gave me a long series of excuses and apologies, and then told me that he couldn't work for me anymore because he was very sick, he was surprised he'd lasted as long as he had (a whole 6 weeks), blah blah blah, that he was going to be going away for a while, and that he'd be in to get his stuff in person the next day, and to talk to me more at that time.

Some people are speculating the the "sick" and "going away for a while" mean he's going into rehab, because some people speculate that he's been high at work before.

I personally think he's going to Crazytown, which is a popular place to be, these days.

If you know that you aren't going to be able to stick out a job, don't even bother applying. All it does is cause stress for who the hell ever is hiring you, because when you cut and run at the last minute, it leaves that person holding the bag and cleaning up the mess.

Like maybe having a bunch of appointments to be rescheduled, and forcing the manager to scramble to get coverage since she's already lost 2 employees, in the last two weeks, and you're making it a 3rd, cutting the salon staff in half.

Dude, I'm boned, and I don't even care.

Why should anything I work at be easy? My working life has been one long string of fuck-ups, so why should this be any different? People take advantage of me, shit on me, and drive me crazy no matter where I am, so hey.

Crazytown is starting to sound a little attractive, although a trip there would totally prevent me from buying a handgun in the future, should I be inclined to do so.

Which would effectively prevent me from going concealed-weapon postal someday at wherever I'm working, you know, when they finally do drive me over the edge.

**********

As an aside, I was told today by someone that knows someone that knows someone, that Rico was homeless all of last year, and that part of his unreliability was his being forced to couch surf and live out of a suitcase. Apparently, the reason he'd arrive so early to work and stay so ridiculously late, which he still does, was because he didn't have anywhere else to be.

He told me that he got mugged yesterday and lost everything he had except for his id and the money in his pocket -- they took his manbag, which had his day planner, containing all the numbers he needed for everyone, including all of his regular clients, and whatever else he toted around with him from day to day.

That's why I like the Palm. Even if you lose it, you have all that shit downloaded onto your desktop, so you don't really lose the info. Just the means to carry it around with you in a calculator-sized space.

How sad.

If I wasn't irritated, I might even feel bad for the kid.

allegedly bogus bath & body

...i'm a criminal mastermind

08.07.05

I got this hideously fragranced Victoria's Secret lotion and body scrub as a gift from a client, and I know that she purchased it from the store down the block from where I work, because she told me that was where it was from, and I believe and trust her.

True, I could have just returned it to any VS store, like maybe the one down the block from where I work, and exchange it for something less offensively-odored, but that means I'd have to actually go to a VS store, and then sniff noxious lotions and stuff until I found one I could tolerate.

Which is too much work.

So, I decided to sell it on eBay.

And after all my effort, I made like $1.50 profit, which is still better than a poke in the eye, or having to actually own and use Amber Romance bathcrap.

Today, I read the feedback the buyer left, which was, "fast shipping thanks although it doesn't look authentic."

What the fuck? These are the photos that I posted with the listing, because they're the ones that I took of the product with my little ol' camera.

Looks pretty authentic to me, but then I'm the photographer, so I'm biased. Or sane. I get those two things confused every once in a while.

Okay, so here's my take on the whole issue at hand.

I'm a person selling one VS listing, and a few other random listings of haircare products.

As a potential buyer, I would expect that the shopper would check out all the stuff I was selling, see that it was a bunch of random crap, see the pictures of authentic product, and figure that it was either a purchase I'd made, or gift that I'd received.

I would also expect that the buyer would check out my profile, see that I've had nothing but incredibly positive feedback in the last 6 years I've been on eBay, and go from there.

I wouldn't expect that the buyer would be suspicious that the product was counterfeit, because I'm not selling fifty kajillion other VS products, like some vendors on eBay do.

When I see someone selling 50 Kate Spade handbags, New With Tags, I get suspicious when they're selling them for 1/3 retail price. I expect that they've either been shoplifted from the stores directly, or else fell of the back of a department store delivery truck.

I don't imagine that the seller has some sort of mass production facility for designer impostor bags, with official paperwork and authentic-looking sales tags still attached to them.

I think generalized crime.

For criminy's sake, maybe I'm naive, but I don't really see a huge VS body care knock off market.

You can buy it at the stores all the time for like 3/$20.

I can't imagine selling it online in sets, at $1.50 profit per sale, and actually recouping the cost of the actual knock off production. Especially in multiples of one.

I'd have to locate the appropriate packaging, and then reproduce the labels, before concocting two products that smell exactly the same as the stuff at the stores, as well as having the right consistencies and textures.

I am neither that motivated or clever, and I am definitely not endowed with that sort of mad phat skillz; Recognize what song the carousel's calliope is butchering? Yes, I can do that. But mass produce near-authentic body care items and then sell only one set of them on eBay, presumably having arranged somewhere else to distribute them off of eBay? I don't think so.

Or maybe I just bought one set of knock off products that someone else made, and then make a whopping $1.50 profit for all the effort involved in purchasing, listing, packing and shipping the items off to some unwitting dupe somewhere far from here.

I think we've established that I'm too lazy for that many steps. List, pack and ship? Sure. Go out and buy it first? I don't think so.

And if the buyer felt it wasn't the product as specified, I would expect to hear about it from the person. Or that they'd contact eBay with their suspicions, and eBay would contact me for some sort of resolution.

Whatever.

I left a response saying, "It was purchased at a store. Take up product design with VS, since they made it."

And now, I wonder if VS would be insulted if they knew that someone thought their packaging was bogus looking enough to suspect it wasn't authentic.

Maybe they need a new design team.

But that's totally not my problem.

something so wrong

...i'm still grappling with the idea

08.02.05

Today, in the produce aisle of the grocery store, I came upon a product called Grapple.

*




















"Looks like an apple. Tastes like a grape."

Being an intelligent-minded consumer, I immediately wondered how they'd managed to cross-breed the grape and apple, because they are from extremely different botanical families.

Roses and apples? Maybe. They're both Rosaceae.

THE ROSE FAMILY

"The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose -
But were always a rose."

Robert Frost

I'm familiar with the aprium and the pluot. Also both Rosaceae.

But never a cross between a Vitaceae and a Rosaceae.

And then I read the fine print: apparently, a Grapple is really a Fuji apple imbued with the powers of artificial grape flavoring.

Which just sounds really fucking nasty.

*Photo courtesy of Steve Portigal.
Happy now?

ring me up

...i'm stymied

07.31.05

I need a new ringtone.

The Theme to Law & Order, while entertaining, just isn't doing it for me anymore.

During the colder seasons, I use Dance of the Sugar Plum Faeries.

And I just developed the ability to have non-polyphonic ringtones on my phone, thanks to new Get It Now technology. Or maybe not new technology so much as a new potential source of income.

I have a list of songs that I can download, but I can't decide which one to get.

1. C'mon C'mon - Von Bondies
2. Beverly Hills - Weezer
3. Wake Me Up Before You Go Go - Wham!
4. Should I Stay or Should I Go? - The Clash
5. I Wanna Be Sedated - Ramones
6. Kiss Off - Violent Femmes
7. Blue Monday - New Order
8. Bizarre Love Triangle - New Order
9. Living Dead Girl - Rob Zombie
10. (Even) More Human than Human - X-Ecutioners (f. Rob Zombie)
11. Eden - Hooverphonic
12. Strangelove - Depeche Mode
13. Suicide Blonde - INXS
14. No Phone - Cake
15. Everybody Knows - Leonard Cohen
16. Sunrise - Duran Duran
17. This Fire - Franz Ferdinand
18. What Are You Waiting For? - Gwen Stefani
19. Toxic - Britney Spears
20. Cosmic Thing - B-52s
21. Theme to From Russia with Love - John Barry
22. Theme to Goldfinger - John Barry
23. Theme to Pink Panther - Henry Mancini
24. Theme to Doctor No - Hugo Montenegro & His Orchestra
25. Theme to Bewitched
26. Theme to Thunderball
27. Tubular Bells (Theme to The Exorcist)
28. Theme to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly - Hugo Montenegro & His Orchestra

Current front runners are 9, 14, 19, 28.

What do you think?