Category Archives: shopping

Jan 26 2 comments
music, shopping

Relax, Dad. I spent two dollars.

This evening, I had dinner with my dad at On The Border, because Randy LOVES HIM A CHAIN RESTAURANT. This was our first face-to-face since my frog-throated, “Hey, Dad? I kind of don’t have a job anymore” phone call. Like most only children, I have this crippling fear of letting my parents down. I had protected them from my general unhappiness at my place of employment, so when the agency and I decided to break up, their reaction was more or less, “Wha happon?” But, you know, more articulate, and peppered with Michigan accents. Dinner tonight was nice. He could tell I was happy, that I had slept peacefully for the first time in a while.

However, the siren song of Half-Price Books was ringing out across 86th street - more specifically, their used vinyl section. I have found some GEMS. One of my favorite LPs I own — Judy Garland Live at Carnegie Hall (1961) — I purchased for 50 cents. So despite the necessary penny-pinching that will inevitably take over my life for the next however-long, I scoured the dusty sleeves and came up with these…

NeilNeil Diamond: THE JAZZ SINGER

WHICH WAS OBVIOUSLY USED AS A COASTER AT SOME POINT. How DARE you use the Jewish Elvis’ art to protect your coffee table from leaky beverages! Don’t you worry, Jazz Singer LP. You’re in a good home now. PS. There might be a soul-defining, fist-pumping sing-along to “America” tonight.

Not pictured, because I’m lazy: the soundtrack to “My Fair Lady” with Julie Andrews and Rex Harrison. Is there anything more delicious than ol’ Rex’s melodic ramblings on, “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face”? I think not.

PavsBravo Pavarotti!

I’ve been getting back into opera lately (a bit of a revival from the Post-Break-Up Renaissance of this summer) so in addition to this Pavarotti Greatest Hits JAM I bought a recording of La Boheme at the Met. I’m pretty sure La Boheme is the Sgt. Pepper of operas, am I right? My knowledge is so basic, I get the impression that to the seasoned opera fan I’m basically saying, “HEY, HEY YOU GUYS - have you ever heard this song, ‘Satisfaction,’ by  The Rolling Stones? It’s gonna blow your mind.”  Still, you gotta start somewhere. I think a wise men once said, “People’s reactions to opera the first time they see it is very dramatic; they either love it or they hate it. If they love it, they will always love it. If they don’t, they may learn to appreciate it, but it will never become part of their soul.”

That wise man was Richard Gere, in the film, Pretty Woman.

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May 17 5 comments
shopping

New Addictions.

Disclaimer: If you are a dude, there’s really nothing for you in this entry, as it is obscenely girly. Alas, it’s NaBloPoMo, and sometimes I don’t have anything to write about except how one shade of lipstick can take you from “classic” to “slutty.”

. . .

I don’t really go shopping, per se.  My entire wardrobe and contents of my makeup tackle-box are built on the following premise: I have nothing to wear to xyz event.  I must buy something. This theory has been executed since I could dress myself . I need a new outfit for the roller skating party, homecoming game, frat party. Eventually, there are enough events to supply me with clothes for a given season.  But I couldn’t tell you the last time I went shopping, “just to look around.”  It depresses me to browse without being able to buy - the mark of an Only Child Princess, no doubt.

This afternoon, I traversed the northside for two things:

ONE. L”Occitane’s Almond Shower Oil (Huile DE DOUCHE!!!)

Once again turning my tub into the TUB OF DEATH.

TWO: A matte red lipstick.

A few weeks ago I was looking for a pinky nude lipstick and grabbed the wrong color from behind the tester. It was “rum-raisin,” but I didn’t hate it.   I am a late riser, which doesn’t leave me a lot of time for makeup, but with the bolder lip I felt more put together. Thinking I needed to upgrade to a truer red but feeling rather intimidated,  I set out with a mantra (”Life is short. Wear the red lipstick.”).  I’m not sure how many of you wear a classic red, but it is VERY tricky to find one that isn’t “TOO” something — too magenta-y, too brownish, too shiny, too glittery, too dry, TOO SLUTTY.

But I digress.  I went to the Fashion Mall for those two items. For those of you who don’t live in Indianapolis, there are two major malls on the northeast side - Castleton Square Mall and the Fashion Mall.  Both are fabulous, but the two are worlds apart.

Castleton Square Mall = JCPenney.  High School kids dropped off by their moms.  Forever 21.

Fashion Mall = Saks 5th Avenue.  Botoxed cougars.  Tiffany & Co.

As you might expect, I rarely hit up the Fashion Mall because it is filled with delicious temptations, like ANTHROPOLGIE DEAR GOD I WANT TO EAT THEIR ENTIRE INVENTORY I LOVE IT SO. Miraculously, I practiced amazing restraint by staying out of that place. And yet? I spent a third of my paycheck today, mostly on things that will be washed off at the end of the day. Something weird happened: I started SHOPPING. With money that I should be saving for, oh, I don’t know, A PLACE TO LIVE.

I have a feeling that with eating healthier and not stuffing my feelings, I’m just transferring my addictions to retail. First clue:  the weird rush I got in Sephora, with all the fragrances and glosses and primers and mascaraaaasss.  Which is weird, because I typically buy crap makeup at CVS, as it’s across the street from my house.  But today, after an hour of smelling perfume-soaked sample sticks and painting an endless rainbow of eyeshadows on my hand, I had a “BEING A GIRL IS SO RAD!” moment. It was very Flower Drum Song.

REFERENCE:

(Link to video)

Soooo I went a little overboard today. I won’t go into it because it’s kind of excessive and horrible.  Just remember to ooh and aah when I whip out my Dior lipstick, because it cost like twenty-five bucks. (Oh God. I spent $25 on lipstick.) Also? I bought an solid orange scarf, as well as a printed orange scarf.  As if I needed two orange scarves. AS IF I NEEDED ANY MORE SCARVES, PERIOD.

It’s hard to tell the difference between buyer’s remorse and straight up Catholic guilt.

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