Nov 10, 2013

Kitties and Creams

Do you ever have such a bad hair day that you want to pull a "Britney" circa 2007, and be done with life as you know it? I do all the time.

Typically I experience the urge to shave my head Monday-Saturday, and you better bet your ass on Sundays, when I don't go out, I look like Claudia Schiffer. Of course my hair is fab, my makeup is stellar, my skin is zit free, my wrinkles are less wrinkly and I'm sitting on my God damn couch watching a Say Yes to the Dress marathon, while doing the single girl sob into my 100 dollar designers pillows that I can't afford. Sometimes, on lonely spinster Sundays I take a walk to the convenience store (which is painfully located right next to my apartment, and I've proven there is nothing I wouldn't do for a Klondike bar), to see if I can get a compliment from the nice Asian couple behind the counter. But instead, they just watch me in case I shoplift a can of diet coke like I did ONCE BY ACCIDENT last October, and they haven't forgotten it. I didn't steal your baby so calm the fuck down. 

Here's what happened: I had about 12 packs of Reece's Pieces, a frozen pizza and some maxi pads in my hands, and I wanted a can of coke soooo badly to ensure that I got diabetes, but I couldn't carry it, so I put the can in my pocket and ended up walking out without paying for it.  BUT because my conscience will eventually be the cause of my death, I ran back to the store and told them what I had done and gave them money. They had zero idea as to what I was talking about, but when I took the can out of my pocket, they looked at me like I set their cat on fire. And yes, they have a cat. A dirty one that hangs out on the shelves and scares the piss out of you when you reach for something. I have some serious concerns about the health and a safety of letting that fur ball roam the shelves, but my love for chocolate trumps it. Every. Time. So I keep going back.  See....


When I'm feeling the shittiest of shit, I have one magical place that I go where all is right in the world: Shoppers Drugmart. Fuck yeah. Even saying the name gets me aroused. The Beauty Boutique in the mecca of cosmetics, is where I plan to marry my vibrator man of my dreams. And then after we can all swipe our Optimum Points cards and get makeovers.  (If you're American, Shoppers Drugmart is pharmacy with a pimped out makeup section and they have a points system which makes me tingle in my panties.)

You name it, I've bought it all. Although I work in sales, I'm the number one target to be swindled by sales people. And the word "no" seems to have disappeared from vocabulary. God, If I could just learn to say no I would have saved myself a shit load of money and would cut down on all the STD scares. Oh well. #YOLO.

I paid a visit to the Shoppers in the east end this weekend with my mother, mainly because the staff in there knows both my mother and I by first name and I feel like a PIMP when I'm in there. My mom doesn't have a makeup addiction, and she thinks I'm right off my rocker for paying $346329420 for concealer. But she does want me to get married in this lifetime, and to do so, you have to be somewhat attractive, and concealer always helps. Actually, you don't have to be attractive to get married, I see it all the time. It just so happens that I want an attractive husband who will divorce me in 5 years but at least I can look back on pictures and think "yeah, I tapped that." 

So as I get further and further off topic, my trip to Shoppers inspired me to think of all the useless items I've bought in the last few months. I thought we could take a look inside my shopping bag...sprinkled with a bit of my award winning attitude of course. 

Microdermabrasion Scrub: I recently spent $100 on an exfoliator that promised new skin. Fuckers. I was desperately hoping that after just a few scrubs, my wrinkles would decrease and if I scrubbed my epidermis (see mom, I use big words, university wasn't a complete waste) hard enough, it would reveal that my face is a carbon copy of Heidi Klum...and then I woke up. Apart from my skin looking like I had just been discharged from the burn unit, I spent hours in front of the mirror waiting for the big $100 change. No dice. Instead, I quickly realized that I'd have better luck burning a 100 dollar bill and roasting my face over a camp fire.

Pore Refiner: You know those mirrors that are double sided and one of those sides is SUPER magnified? Those are fun if you're int the business of self torture! I hope the person who thought of the magnified mirror is trapped in a well somewhere or is currently being eaten by a shark as I type. Who the fuck wants to see that their face is actually a replica of the surface of Mars, filled with crators and holes? Because that's sure as shit what mine looks like up close and magnified. Anyway, using a double sided mirror for 0.5 seconds was enough for me to type "how to tighten your fucking pores" into Google, and strap on my very favourite penny loafers and scurry to the the big SH to get myself yet another cream that made big promises AND BIG LET DOWNS. WHY CAN'T I LOOK LIKE EVA LONGORIA AND BE DONE WITH THIS SHIT. I've come to the conclusion that the only way my pores are going to stick together is if I individually glue them one by one. And never go in sunlight or office lighting so people can't see what my skin really looks like.

Lip Liners: I buy lip liners in hopes that my lips will look fuller and appear as soft billowy, luscious cushions, instead of the thin,heart shaped, cracked messes they are.  My obsession with lip liner started when I was 13 and my mom took me to the Body Shop (the store, not a garage) and let me pick out "neutral" makeup. I put neutral in quotations as it was far from neutral. In fact I would say I picked out all shit brown colours. That's neutral enough right? Essentially, I looked like a little Latina gangsta off the streets of Compton by purposely drawing my lip liner wayyyy outside my lips. I believe this look is also known as a Chola chic.
It was like this, but picture it on a pimply, pasty Scottish girl from the suburbs.

Join me on my next Shoppers adventure when I test out home blood pressure kits and wingless maxi pads.

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