Wednesday, November 05, 2003
i've had a revlonation.
it's funny, because the one who's least afraid just mentioned it, but i have my own drama with drugstore makeup. being a little girl with prematurely bad skin, i thought makeup was going to be my Way Out. i could never get it together to create peer-adequate hair or clothes, but makeup was next to godliness.
so i love the drugstore. and least-afraid has *seen* me pig out on revlon at the rite-aid on broadway in seattle. we're different, though: she finds one or two cheapies that delight her in the present moment, while i am constantly looking for The Answer. something that will work and make me feel better. like, zoloft.
so yesterday, i went to the Revlon Employee Store. private citizens are allowed in, but it's in the building that houses CBS, so you have to show ID and get a pass. and then you travel down an escalator into the bad concrete bowels of this building--not bad, just, they would never show them to CBS execs. the linoleum is chipped and the ceilings are low and have lots of crappy-looking vents. suddenly, you're mrs. frisby. and through one door is a classroom sized store of drugstore makeup at a median price of about a buck ninety nine.
it was like one of those roman feasts. i kept putting stuff in the basket, and then purging the basket and starting over.
confidential to you, my friend: i remember the pink. and moreover, i remember being the one who got to go with you to pick it out. ask me when i'm fifty. i'll say, sure i remember.
so i love the drugstore. and least-afraid has *seen* me pig out on revlon at the rite-aid on broadway in seattle. we're different, though: she finds one or two cheapies that delight her in the present moment, while i am constantly looking for The Answer. something that will work and make me feel better. like, zoloft.
so yesterday, i went to the Revlon Employee Store. private citizens are allowed in, but it's in the building that houses CBS, so you have to show ID and get a pass. and then you travel down an escalator into the bad concrete bowels of this building--not bad, just, they would never show them to CBS execs. the linoleum is chipped and the ceilings are low and have lots of crappy-looking vents. suddenly, you're mrs. frisby. and through one door is a classroom sized store of drugstore makeup at a median price of about a buck ninety nine.
it was like one of those roman feasts. i kept putting stuff in the basket, and then purging the basket and starting over.
confidential to you, my friend: i remember the pink. and moreover, i remember being the one who got to go with you to pick it out. ask me when i'm fifty. i'll say, sure i remember.
