ScaryAss Bitches at Lord & Taylor

I found myself with a couple hours to kill after work a couple weeks ago and wandered into Lord & Taylor for some casual browsing. Immediately, a hooker make-up girl pounced over to tell me a national renown make-up artist was at the store and wouldn't I like to try out some stuff. I felt game and said, Yeah! The enthusiasm, of course, wore off in about point two seconds.

She sat me down and asked me what make-up do I wear. I told her, Oh not much, just some mascara and lipstick, and actually, I'm wearing the worst color does she have any suggestions? But she had her agenda and wanted me to try on some YSL moisturizer, because despite the price, it would last a WHOLE YEAR and look how young it made her look, now she actually got carded at places she never got carded before. Which.... I found difficult to believe because her face was totally busted . But already she was lathering on moisturizer. On My Face. Without even asking and kept poking me in the eyes, like wtf?! And then already she was spackling on foundation, and I was like, WHOA, I'm not really comfortable with that, I don't really want that on my face. And the whole time I'm sitting there, she is every once in a while pressing her pubic bone right on my knee and I'm feeling very uncomfortable and trapped and worrying I'm going to have a panic attack right there and how do I get out of there?

She calls over the National Make-up Artist. Hi, he yawns, I'm Braaad. And he's already whipped out a brush and is sweeping bronzer all over my cheeks and my eyelids and holding up the mirror, How does that look? Um, okay, I guess, yeah, it looks okay. And they discuss my lipstick color, and he comes over and meticulously applies a fresh coat (this takes about 5000 eternal minutes), and I look and say, No that color is Awful, Brad. So he tries another, and I say, Uh, missed the mark again. And he is getting annoyed, Well what color do you want, you said you wanted a wine-y color and this is wine.

The little bubble of panic in my chest is threatening to break.

So he goes and looks for a different color. And suddenly, reason sets in, Of course I can just get up and leave at any time. And I grab my phone out of my purse. Oh Look, I say, I'm meeting my friend, sorry, gotta run.

And Brad is standing there, head tilted, an invisible hand on his hip, Well don't you want to buy anything. No. Well, he says, How about the bronzer at least?

And I say, No. Like hello, I already told you bitches, I don't wear that crap.

monkeytown shenanigans ii

monkeytown shenanigans i

I shot this.* I hope it looks intentionally amateur.


we live because from kate bryant on Vimeo.

*Music by Patrick Bower.

FAIL.

hot dog salad

I'm sorry!

I'm sorry, I'm sorry I did not take a picture of the hot dog salad my sister made me for breakfast that I so rudely ignored. Sorry! 

I'm busy! But I can still dream about my favorite author.

Borges loathed mirrors for their ability to reproduce realities. The puzzle I dreamed last night expanded on that idea. In the dream, a man was being interrogated for treason under a false name. The narrater spelled out the dilemma: If the man told the truth, there would remain two realities, the reality of the man and the reality of his alter ego, Nicolaus Krazinksy. And if he denied the truth, he would multiply the number of possible realities. My waking mind had to write it all down to decipher. 

The conclusion I finally came to: If  he lied, the realities number four. The reality of the man, the reality of Nicolaus, the reality of the man who lied about who he was, the reality of Nicolaus Krazinsky lying about who he is.