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Mom on Strike

Dear Family,

This is not the NFL. No replacement refs here. No SCABS.

When you wake up in the morning, get your own damn waffle. You can reach the toaster.

Pack your lunch.

When you can’t find your socks, look in the drawer. Or the dryer, or the hamper. Have you ran the washing machine? It’s not magic, it doesn’t run on its own. Oh and don’t just load the blasted thing, put that shit in the dryer, then FOLD. IT. Yep. Guess what? Folding and putting the laundry away is THE BORING part. Uh huh. You may think ‘you’re all that’, putting them dirty clothes in the machine. But that don’t make you a hero.
The battle is in the taking those socks, making them into sock balls. Taking t-shirts that are inside out and putting them right side in.  Or out. Whatever. Oh dear GOD how does every motha fuckin’ shirt get inside out in the wash??? I don’t take off my shirts and put them over my head like that. Is that necessary?

Okay, moving on.

Garbage on the floor. Throw away your own furkin’ wrappers, kleenexes, band-aids, used ones especially, popsicle sticks, gogurt tubes…. oh my gads, is this a frat house??? Throw away all toe nail clippings. I shouldn’t have to ask you twice.

After dinner, if I’m at a PTA meeting, you know one of the many things I do for free, don’t just pile up the dishes on the counter over the dishwasher. Put them IN it. Put the pans in the sink. Put away any leftover food in the refrigerator. Oh, and this is big, WIPE. OFF. THE. COUNTERS. I know it’s hard. It can be yucky. What, all those crumbs and spills. Yeah, disgusting.

If I make the danged dinner, least you can do is clean up after it.

All your clothes and random belongings need to go up to your room. That means all of you. I’m tired of looking at your thermals, hoodies and soccer shoes. Why are there always socks in the family room? Hair accessories are the same. Do they multiply like bunnies? Why are there always bobby pins and hair elastics in every room of the house?

If you have a dish in a room of the house, other than the kitchen, put it away. I don’t want to find your milk glass in your bedroom two weeks later.

Toilet paper needs to be replaced on the roll. How many times do I have to say this? If you are using the last roll, go get several more from the bathroom cupboard.

If you use the last milk, go into the garage fridge, and get the next carton.

All tools need to be returned to their proper place. That means a roll of tape goes back in the office. A hammer goes back in the garage.

Please don’t leave Nerf weapons randomly on the stairs. Someone will trip over them. Okay, I will trip over them.

Now that we have that established, I think I’ll go to the spa, and then eat bonbons watching an entire season of Boardwalk Empire on DVD from the library.

Someone call for pizza.

Surviving flu and crud season

STOP THE PHLEGM BOTS

I thought I would enlighten you with my natural remedies for staying well during the snot season. Mucus glands are on overdrive. Phlegm is rampant. Amoebas are just floating around waiting to settle in your nostrils. Isn’t this all tantalizing?

So what I learned from my acupuncture doctor is that there are wonderful things in nature that can get you out of the phlegm zone so your body rids it faster and you don’t risk infections whether bronchial or sinus.

This is not me being all sanctimonious and in your craw about how healthy I am. Remember, this is the chick who eats seaweed, quinoa, but then loves a doughnut. I enjoy junk food. So do my kids. But we moderate the junk. For the most part we eat fresh, organic, ingredients. My focus is plant based as you might know, I haven’t had meat and dairy in many moons. I have been meat and dairy free for 3 years now and it has been life changing.

Dairy is sort of the gateway for phlegm and mucus. It’s just the truth. So cutting out dairy has cleared me up immensely. I haven’t (knock on wood) had a sinus infection or bronchitis in 3 years.

So when you get the sniffles, don’t drown it in a bowl of ice cream. I know Mr. Ben and Mr. Jerry are very comforting when you aren’t feeling very well, but then the snot monsters get happy, and you don’t want that.

I used to just reach for the Sudafed. But once during a college lecture class, I thought I was going to have a heart attack, my heart was racing from the cold medicine. I know they’ve changed ingredients over the years. But I just don’t like the way they make me feel. Also, if you’re pregnant, breast feeding, or wondering what to give your child, those ingredients can be scary considering the FDA continues to change its mind about them.

What you do want to do is-  Get some fresh ginger root from your grocery store. (It is important to get the fresh ginger, not the dried or the kind in tea bags. My acupuncturist explained these are the wrong temperature for the body to fight what it needs to fight. It’s a Chinese medicine thing, just go with it.) Take a spoon’s edge and scrape off about an inch section. Cut it up or leave the chunk whole. Put it in a pot of water on the stove. Just a medium-ish saucepan will do. Let it come to a boil, then turn it on medium-low to let it simmer for a good 10 or 20 minutes. Pour some in a mug, squeeze in some fresh lemon juice – not crystals, not the juice that comes in that plastic lemon. Fresh lemon. Add some honey. Drink this all day. Drink the whole pot throughout the day. If ginger bothers you,  that’s what the lemon and honey for. Add it to some green or white tea. Drink plenty of water with it.

At night, I put a shot of whiskey or brandy in it. My acupuncture doctor didn’t tell me to do this. I tried it, and it soothed my aches, and helped if my throat was sore. Don’t over do it on the alcohol. Wine and vodka don’t kill a cold as much as we would want them to.

Soak in a hot tub of Epsom salts with Eucalyptus oil. It will clear your passages and sooth any aches.

Avoid raw or cold, wet foods while you are battling the phlegm bots. Have a warm bowl of oatmeal instead of a cold bowl of cereal. Don’t have a salad, have a bowl of vegetable soup. Avoid cream bases of course. According to Chinese medicine, the wet and cold foods contribute to your moisture levels. You want to think, warm and dry. Make sense?

Also, another kicker I add to my arsenal is Elderberry Syrup. I have purchased it at Whole Foods. I bet there’s all kinds of places to get it. It looks like cough syrup and you can give it to your kids. It tastes like jam. My kids complained about it at first, but they got used to it. When they start the sniffle dance, I give them a teaspoon and have them wash it down with some juice.

I swear it cuts the duration of their cold in half. I’ve used this for Emma when she has had to perform and started feeling run-down. She bounces back a lot sooner. I also take a spoonful of it when the kids are getting sick, to prevent myself from getting their crud. So far it’s worked.

Also, the ginger concoction is safe for kids too. I put extra honey in theirs and mix it with chamomile tea. Owen is very good at drinking it, Emma complains a little and usually just drinks juice. Oh well, I try my best.

If you do get hit with a nasty virus, consider acupuncture to clear up your sinuses and chest. I was able to avoid antibiotics the last time I had a nasty, phlegmy cough and I was relieved. Antibiotics can do miracles and in the case of strep throat and other bacterias, I believe in them entirely. But if you can keep your cold from becoming an infection, avoiding antibiotics is better in the long run.
So there you have it. My wisdom. I’m not a doctor, but I play one on TV. Just kidding, I’ve always wanted to say that.

Namaste.

I’m writing over at Bonbon Break this week…

Halloween is one week away. Do you have your costume? Is it slutty? Maybe you need to read about my slutty costume intervention.

This week I was asked to write for Bonbon Break and their special Halloween issue. It’s chock full of giveaways. If you find the zombie of the day,  comment under their post and you are entered to win that day’s giveaway. Hmmm… I wonder who it could be for Wednesday…. better check on over and see.

There’s great stuff in there for recipes, decor, and just fun stuff. Like me! Just click the picture below:

Click on the picture to head on over to Bonbon Break

Sky rocket’s in flight….afternoon delight.

Wait a minute. This isn’t going to be a post about…..about…. sex is it? Actually, it’s a post on the fact that it’s time to clean my shower and marital relations under running water can be dangerous.

It was a Saturday just after lunch. Both kids were out of the house and me and the hubby were just home alone. <eyebrow raises> Yeah. Alone. Now I don’t know about you, but after the kids are in bed, one of us, is usually snoring on the couch. There’s drool involved and the dog curled up next to that person. We are just SO tired by the evening. If we don’t figure out a way for any interludes during daylight, there’s usually a long spell of no relations.

So I go upstairs to take a shower. I casually mentioned, “oh, what do you know- we’re alone and the kids aren’t home. Excuse me while I go take a shower.” Hint hint.  Eventually, I’m in the midst of deep conditioning my hair when the bathroom door opens.

Dialogue exchanged:

Me- “What took you so long stud? (in my best Mae West voice) Are you serious about this? (changing immediately to my own worried voice) One of the kids could be home any minute.” (Emma is far too aware of things that go on behind closed doors.)

Him- “It’s okay, I’ll lock the door. We’ll be quick.”

(yeah, that’s true actually.)

Me- “You sure? We kind of suck at shower sex. One of us could get hurt. Like me.”

Him- “Hey, might as well try, I’ve got to shower anyway.”

He walks into the shower and wraps his arms around my waist.

Me- “OH MY GOD YOUR HANDS ARE LIKE ICE!!! WARM THEM UP FIRST!!!”

Him- “Sorry, I’ll put them under the hot water.”

Me-”AAAAAH….THERE’S WATER IN MY EAR….. YOUR DRIBBLING WATER IN MY EAR WITH YOUR HANDS UP AGAINST THE SHOWER HEAD LIKE THAT!” (I hate water in my ears, just so you know.)

Him-”Sorry, I was just trying to warm them up.”

Me- “Here, let me suds you up ala Christian Grey style.”

Him- “Who’s Christian Grey?”

Me- “nevermind, I’ll just wash you down like all sexy, ‘kay?”

Me- “OH SOAP! THERE’S SOAP IN MY EYE! I THINK IT’S FROM MY CONDITIONER! Wait a minute….Okay…. that’s better.”

Him-”Let me get your back.”

Me-”Yeah, here’s a loofah, I’ve got some black heads I can’t reach back there. It’d be so great if you could scrub them for me.”

Me-”Oooh, your hands are warmer…. so is the rest of you… AAAAAHHH WATER IN MY EAR AGAIN! COULD YOU MOVE SO THIS DOESN’T KEEP HAPPENING?”

Him- “Sorry, it’s kind of cold out here not under the shower. We need a two person shower one of these days.”

Me- “We need a whole new bathroom one of these days. These gold fixtures are the worst in tackiness and the grout is coming apart.”

Him-”Yeah, tell me about it.”

Some kissing and smoochy stuff ensues. Trying to be uber sexy while my hair is piled on my head in a deep conditioning mask and not slipping on the shave foam residue, is a little tricky.

Eventually I try to take things to the next level.

Me- “Uhm, maybe you should like, squat. You’re too tall. Our privates don’t match up when we stand.”

Him- “You could bend over.”

Me- “You could fly off a bridge. What’s that smell? Ew. Do you smell that? Oh yuck! It’s this mildewey shampoo bottle. Look at the bottom of it. It’s all black and it stinks.”

Him- “Could we focus on the reason we’re in here.”

Me- “What’s that sound?”

<From the hall> – “MOM, I’m home!”

And scene.

Shower sex just isn’t what it’s cracked up to be in the movies or romance novels.

Happy Birthday Dad! Reason To Live Friday #20

My dad!

Yesterday was my dad’s 81st birthday. I gushed about him all over Facebook and folks were so sweet to share their admiration. It made me all mushy and weepy inside. Even Daniel Craig played second fiddle to him yesterday.

We went out for dinner to the same fancy place Owen and I have had high tea at. It’s the Fairmont Hotel in Seattle and they have this beautiful dining room called The Georgian room. Owen feels like he’s in Hogwarts when we come to this place.

It does kind of play into our Anglo hearts. They have a Jaguar car parked in front of their valet that they use for their guests AND they have an Omega watch store adjacent to their lobby with Daniel Craig’s poster hanging in the window. It really is a win-win situation.

I’m grateful for my dad because he is loving, tidy, respectful, and funny.

My dad didn’t fit the mold of the sappy dad in Father of the Bride, or Ward Cleaver, or Charles Ingalls even. In fact, I would say that he has become softer since becoming a grandfather. I mentioned in last year’s post dedicated to my dad’s birthday, Ode to My Dad, that he would sometimes yell things like ‘bloody hell’, or get cross with me over tracking mud in the house. He came off as brusk to my friends. But honestly, he is the most warm-hearted, no judgement fellow you could meet.

He wears his Church’s shoes from  30 years ago. They look brand new because he polishes them regularly. He has a sport coat from 20 years ago, a watch from 50 years ago. He takes very good care of his things. He never had much as a boy, so he knows to be grateful for something in case he won’t get another one again.

Heck, we live in a disposable society where we know we can just go buy something new if we change our minds. Not my dad. He doesn’t feel the need to have ‘things’ around. It’s me and my mom that shop for shirts, sweater vests and ties any chance we get. He tells us, no more shirts please. But then, for Father’s Day, I’ll find the perfect plaid Faconnable shirt at Nordstrom, and get it for him. And then he puts it on and looks like he could go hunting with Prince Phillip and I smile with pride. Then he gets a twinkle in his eye and knows he looks pretty good, so he keeps the shirt anyway.

When I was a little girl, heck, when I was in college even, if I had a bad day, he would sit me on his lap and wipe my tears with his handkerchief. There’s a soft handkerchief in his pocket at all times. So much has this habit made an impression, that when Owen has a cold, he has his own collection of cotton handkerchiefs to keep in his pocket. Owen admires his grandfather, who we call Odaddy for short, very much. He prides his British heritage, he has a pocket comb and handkerchief just like his Odaddy, and he takes great interest in the car my dad is rebuilding.

For more than 10 years my dad has been rebuilding a super fancy, vintage 1960s E-type Jaguar. I’m horrible for not remembering exactly what kind, but it’s from the 60s, they are very rare, and it’s a coupe. In it’s day, it was, The Shit. With a limited budget, and aging hands and a tired worn out back, he has rebuilt every square inch with the most immaculate attention to detail. It was just a metal shell when he first got it.

My dream is that some fancy uber rich, car collector will pay him thousands of dollars for it and take it off his hands. That is the ultimate goal. He can’t afford to keep it or drive it. But someone out there will cherish the craftsmanship he has put into it, and give him what he deserves for it.

Gorgeous, isn’t she?

So back to dinner and his birthday. I know that things don’t last forever. I know that getting in your 80s is reaching a place in your life where you don’t know how many years there might be more of on this earth. 5? 20? The latter I hope. He’s healthy, fit and takes good care of himself. And of course, my mom takes good care of him too.

I always get so sappy and teary writing about him. I know not everyone has a perfect father. Or even a father figure in their life to look up to that they can count on. But I am so very grateful for mine. And for my children to have that in their grandfather, I am even more grateful.

Happy Birthday Dad. I love you.

Me, with mom and dad. Gosh I love these two so HARD!!

My attempt at household inspiration

I see all kinds of sweet plaques of inspiration, quotes, and passages for people’s homes that folks post on Facebook or Pinterest.

Gone are the needlepoint cross stitched framed hangings of “Home Sweet Home.” Not that people don’t have those, it’s just different now.

So I thought I would hop on the band wagon and get something endearing for our home.

Here’s the plaque:

So nice, right?

I showed it to Emma.

This is what she told me when she looked at it:

A urinal. Would you have one in your house?

You know, I really have my children to thank for many things. My loose and flacid bladder. My jiggly tummy riddled with stretch marks. My boobs that hang down to my belly button like deflated water balloons complete with their own set of stretch marks. But also, I have them to thank for so much blogging fodder, it’s ridiculous.

The Boy genius, Owen, said to me today, that what we really need in our house is a urinal. Now I always know to put ‘an’ in front of a vowel, so is it ‘an urinal’? That’s just weird and I can’t do that. So, I will say just- urinal.

Okay, he said this of course, while peeing in the toilet. Let me describe to you the situation. I’m in the kitchen getting my 12th morning cup of tea. (I jest.) I can hear him in our powder room down the hall with the door open, peeing. Like a race horse. Then I hear a no pee sound. You know, when the stream isn’t hitting the water anymore. Yeah, that’s the sound of the stream hitting the seat or the side of the bowl. You would think by now at 9 years old, he has pretty good aim. Think again.

That sound is like nails on a chalk board to me. That sound is why I have a container or Clorox wipes under the sink in the cabinet. Sure he takes a square of toilet paper and ‘wipes’ up his dribbles. Barely. I mean, it’s not like he’s thorough or anything. There’s a reason 9 year old boys aren’t in charge of cleaning homes. When he was little he would sit on the toilet. Yes, sitting. How I miss those days. He was a lot more accurate then. Now he revels in the power of standing to pee.

And then he says, “You know what we need? A urinal. Why are houses not made with them?”

After bursting out laughing, I thought for a moment. He’s right. A household urinal would be really great. I mean, I wouldn’t be sitting on it. I think it would catch all the wee and there wouldn’t be any stray spray on the wall or floor. It would be handy for other male guests that come to visit. I could create a whole line of scented urinal cakes. We could have pumpkin spice, creme brulee, caramel apple.

Sure, it wouldn’t be pretty. But it’s not like a toilet is that pretty either. We are just used to it. We can get used to the urinal too.

I, personally, would love a bidet. I’ve always wanted a little sit and sprinkle on my lady bits to save time. My grandparents in Germany always had one. I would ask as a little kid when I visited, what the extra toilet is for.

So we’ll just get our home replumbed with a urinal in the downstairs bathroom, and a bidet for me upstairs.

Now I just need to find on Pinterest any powder room decorating ideas for urinals.

Speaking of urinals, don’t forget to enter my prize giveaway.

Nope, no fancy bathroom plumbing or deodorizers for prizes. But real cash! And cook books, and aprons and all kinds of things. Perfect for the holidays. You just click on the Rafflecopter link to the side. For reals. Don’t worry, your info isn’t used for anything. But I appreciate you spreading the love and sharing my blog so your friends can enter too. November 12th we’ll announce the winner.

Reason To Live Friday #19

Okay, so what if it’s Monday. I was tired. See previous post.

But thank you to those who noticed that Friday’s RTLF was not posted. And you kept me on my toes. So four days late, here it is.

My RTLF gratitude ranges from friendships, James Bond, and brunch.

Friendships come in so many varieties and packages, it’s really very exciting. I realize as I get older that I constantly make new friends. Through Facebook, my blog, other friends, my kids’ activities, there’s people everywhere who will be a friend. When you’re a kid you worry if you are going to make friends. Now, I am excited wondering what people life has in store for me.

I have friends I am still in touch with from 30 years ago. My best friend, Kristi, actually. We met in 5th grade. But then I have a dear friend Jen, who I met not even 2 years ago. And then there’s all my blogging friends, who I haven’t even met in person, but are near and dear to me through the interwebs. Who knows, I might meet someone tomorrow that could end up being an amazing part of my life. I’m open to anything. Thank you people, for being my friend. Even if I do chew loudly.

James Bond. HELLOO!! You don’t have to like all the movies to know that this year marks the 50th Anniversary of the franchise. And dang bless it, if I’m not a lucky girl that Daniel Craig just happens to be the Bond of the moment now so he’s everywhere. Saturday Night Live, 60 Minutes, Jimmy Fallon. How fabulous will it be as that release date in November approaches? Swoon.

Look who got to snuggle Daniel. If only!

Brunch. I would watch Sex in the City and be jealous of Carrie and her gal friends and their standing Sunday brunch date. How fun to swap Saturday night date stories, sex romps and career anxieties over eggs and mimosas? Maybe it was because my Sundays were always about packing the gold fish crackers and the coloring books in the church bag for the kids and then swinging by Denny’s on the way home for pancakes.

But this weekend I got to go on a real live grown-up Sunday brunch with friends. My friend Jen had a 40th birthday celebration over the weekend and some friends flew in from Chicago, Alaska and Florida to celebrate with her. I missed the party because I had my show, but she had me join them for brunch in the big city on Sunday to catch up with them. I didn’t know what to be more excited for, the mini French press pot brought to my table, or the grown up chit chat that did involve sex, snow blowers, and organic chemistry. It was a varied group of people! The pommes frites were fabulous. I only had to fight the pregnant gal for them across me at the table. I went easy on her, the rest of the group was imbibing with mimosas and bloody Mary’s and she just got an orange juice.

Once again, I’m full of gratitude, sentiment, and food. Hoping you are too. Namaste.

Give my regards to Broadway

Okay, maybe I never got to Broadway but I did get back to my high school theater.

This past weekend I performed in an alumni play at my high school for a fundraiser. I hadn’t been on that high school stage in 22 years.

I got to perform with more than a dozen other former students that spanned 30 years of  high school graduates. In one word, it was- incredible.

Here’s something that might surprise you. I loved high school. I know, weird huh? I loved high school because I was a theater geek. And proud of it. I spent hours upon hours rehearsing. I spent weekends until almost midnight running through dress rehearsals and tech rehearsals.

Would I have rather lived in the theater during my school days instead of going to Chemistry or Business Law class? You betcha.

I wasn’t popular, but I loved when people came up to me and said they saw me in the show. I made friends with everyone- jocks, brainiacs, band geeks, cheerleaders, wavers, stoners, whatever. They all did some type of theater for an English credit at some point. For the kids that figured out how much fun it was, they stuck around. And then we just became a family of theater kids. Our director/coach/teacher was a woman we called Gorne. Just her last name was enough.

So here we were, in 2012. All in the name of Gorne, who asked us to do this fundraiser for the Speech and Debate team, something else she coached and yes, I was a part of that too. She found most of us through Facebook and probably our parent’s phone numbers that she still had in some address book somewhere. Yes, I’m friends with some teachers on Facebook. Is that weird?

These are the teachers that made an impression. That treated me like I was a person. They recognized that I wasn’t just a teenager or a student, but a living, breathing, dreaming soul with the world waiting for me. They helped me make that step into the big scary world  and gave me the confidence in myself that kept me from hiding under the covers every day of my first semester of college.

When a bunch of us convened at the Little Theater, that’s what we call the school’s performance hall, to pick up our scripts, I recognized a few faces. Hugs and big hellos were exchanged and it was great to see friends that I had only seen through Facebook and hadn’t had the chance to see in the flesh for the last 20 years. A few faces I recognized immediately as alumni from grades that were before my years. But I knew who they were because when I was in junior high I would come to the high school to see the shows. I fell in love with those performers. They were my idols and inspiration to do theater myself.

One girl, Cindy, was in a performance of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes during her senior year. I loved that show and her in it. When I was face to face with her for this show, I told her how much I admired her. Here we were, both in our 40s, just regular folks, and I felt like I was 15 again idolizing the big campus Senior. She was sweet and humble of course.

The connection we all had, even if we were the class of 1983, 1990, or 2012, was that we wanted to be there for our teacher, Gorne, and for the love we have of that Little Theater. It’s like coming home. Writing this puts a pit in my gut even. It brings tears to my eyes. Because the feeling of being in that Green Room, doing our before show chant (it’s a secret) and walking through the back stage door for Gorne to give us that arm squeeze of encouragement, made me swell with emotion. Taking our places in the dark wings of the back stage, tip toeing around to our props and waiting to hear the audiences reaction, was almost enough to get me to sobs. It felt so good. I couldn’t believe that what I loved most about my youth was being recaptured in a way that wasn’t disappointing or a let down. It was just as much a thrill and a feeling of  family as it was back then.

I pulled myself together, shed a tear or two, but not much since I didn’t want to ruin my false eyelashes, and I swallowed that vomit-nervous feeling, and went on that stage to the bright lights I love so much. It felt good. And best of all, there in the front row, were my kids cheering me on. Does someone have a Kleenex? I’m all verklempt!

The crazy collaborative alumni cast of TUNA DOES VEGAS 2012. Can you find me?

My big Texas makeup for the play.

Vera and Pearl on the plane headed for doom. Well, Vegas. Yes, we played the hell out of those oxygen masks in a very theatrical, dramatic way!

Thanks to Gorne, and the whole cast for making this a truly remarkable experience. I’ll do it again in a heart beat!

I’d like a side of herpes to go with that lipstick please.

EWW GROSS!  I jest. But lately, I think that’s what people are doing. Spreading their oral herpes liberally via makeup at the store.  This has to stop people.

This week has been riddled with bringing things home from the store only to find that they have been…. dun dun dun…… USED!!!

People!  What is wrong with you? Don’t you know that you don’t use the lipsticks on the shelf if they aren’t testers? I don’t want your Abreva medicine on MY lipstick tube.

Case 1- Went to Walgreens because I found on Pinterest a gal that posts low end brands identical to high end brands. Being the makeup whore that I am, I wanted to check out a few. So I’m perusing the shelves of Cover Girl, Revlon and L’Oreal. Not that I would call this stuff ‘low end’ any more. They’re charging $10 for a lipstick now! Geeze, I remember when I bought a Clinique lipstick for $10.

Well, I just went through looking for the colors on my list, dropped them in my basket and checked out.

I get in my car, like any junkie does, and begin to open up my purchase to check out the loot. Apparently, I didn’t have much to check out, first tube I open, I notice the seal has been broken. Dammit. Total brain fart maneuver for me not to have checked this in the store first. I proceed with caution. I know the herpes isn’t going to jump from the tube to my lips, but I’ve now begun conducting my own CSI investigation. Gloves on, black light out…. I notice…. the surface of the lipstick has been touched by human flesh. Double dammit.

Moving on to the next tube. Yep, same thing there.

Three items that I bought were contaminated. I went inside to check the shelf and the remaining products were also tampered with. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?? I pointed out to the Walgreens lady and she said that she’s tired of telling people to stop using the stuff because they get mad at her. Sounds like a fun job. Working at Walgreens AND getting stink eye looks from people tampering with merchandise.

Whatever happened to, ‘you mess it you buy it’? Although, I have knocked over 3 bottles of olive oil in the middle of Cost Plus World Market, and the mess that ensued was disastrous. How I’m even allowed in those stores at all is amazing.  I was relieved they didn’t hold me to the rule, “you break it, you buy it” during that incident.

Back to my infected product rant- later in the week, Emma and I are at Sephora killing time before we head in to a movie. I see two women over at the mirror with a Givenchy mascara tester, yes tester, thank goodness. BUT… and I mean a big BUT, they were putting it on directly from the TUBE using the WAND that comes with it. Anyone knows you use those little mini wands they have at the end caps and you only dip ONCE. No DOUBLE DIPPING. Now that tester has their conjunctivitis all over it.

I used to work at Clinique with Nordstrom. If you are at all familiar with Nordstrom’s liberal return policies, they take back ANYTHING. Well, they did in the 90s anyway. So people would return make up all the time. No biggy. That’s cool. And you can use it and decide you don’t like it and still return it. My favorite though were the customers that would nicely hand me the package, receipt, everything. Then I would ask if  there something wrong with it. You know, to utilize my skillful customer service skillz, because I was supposed to try and sell them something else. Hey, I worked on commission.

So they would say, no thanks, and then they would explain rather sheepishly, “I only used the lipstick once.” or “I only used the eye pencil once.”

And I would politely carry on with my uber friendly customer service. But in my head, the dialogue goes like this, “Oh, you only used it once? Well then I will put that in the USED ONLY ONCE DRAWER. We have a special discount for once used products. Like a roulette wheel of sorts. Great bargains!”

But I didn’t. I just smiled. I don’t care if you’ve used it ONCE or 43 times, that shit is going back to the manufacturer. Should I wipe it off and sell it to the next poor sod? No.

So that brings me to the Walgreens lipsticks. When I saw them in my car that they had been used, I totally thought of some nice lady, “I only used it once.” And then I pictured a puss-filled broken sore on her upper lip, and that’s why I returned them.

Lesson 1- Don’t use products on the shelves that are packaged specifically for tampering. If it’s sealed, don’t unseal it dammit!

Lesson 2- When using a tester, use the little doohickeys they provide and don’t double dip.

Lesson 3- I will never use a mascara at Sephora again.

Please don’t use makeup at the store if you have one of these.

Disclaimer- Do not google images of herpes or conjunctivitis. It will ruin you. There are some things that can’t be unseen.

I also do not believe that every single person who has used a tester at Sephora is contaminated or infected. This is just merely exaggeration for the sake of the blog people.