Oooh. Shiny.

I've said it before, but I love makeup. Makeup makes me happy.

The shimmer of powders, the sheen of creams, even the pure translucence of a simple moisturizer all bring a smile to my face. I love seeing pans, sticks, tubes, mounds of color in such varying depths and intensities that the rainbow pales in comparison.

In terms of providing comfort, chocolate is a distant second to the rapture that takes place once the waxy smell of a richly pigmented lipstick wafts into my brain.

It's one of the reasons I wouldn't hesitate to call myself shallow, really, but there you go.

If there's one benefit from such single-minded devotion, it's that people always know what to get you for your birthday. No one ever hesitates in helping to append my ever-increasing collection.

This birthday was, fortunately, no different. Deception and the sadistic desire to see me turn into a mess filled with both guilt for cosmetic greed and a gnawing desire to get my paws on more pigment aside, my mother is pretty much awesome for getting me this:


Benefit's Stay Put Set and Beauty Bestsellers

Commence gushing over the gorgeousness that is the packaging. Teeny tiny Benefit bestsellers? For $10? Brilliant, and absolutely adorable.

I'm currently loving the Erase Paste, which comes in the shade Medium. The Stay Don't Stray Primer is also commendable and, from the looks of things, may help any eyeshadow survive the Apocalypse. The little vial of Posietint has also proven itself to be the most gorgeous shade of pink for both cheeks and lips, and surprisingly, despite my initial misgivings, That Gal primer is slowly worming its pretty, scented self into my morning routine.

I may provide swatches soon, just for kicks.

High Beam is High Beam in that it makes you look ethereal and pretty. However, I have yet to try Some Kind-A Gorgeous, and I'm a bit "Meh," with the Creaseless Cream Shadow/Liner (in R.S.V.P.). The latter is way too light to ever be considered as a liner, and the formulation's a bit dry. Very pretty color though.

Speaking of pretty colors, the powers that be have decided to temper my bliss with an absolute tragedy:



This color was beautiful. It's Mary Kay's Suede, which I discovered was discontinued, recently replaced by Amber Suede, which is a totally different thing, people. I know Bobbi Brown says that if a color you love is discontinued it means you're living in the past and you have to deal, woman, but on this point, I'll have to disagree with the queen of natural makeup. Suede was a plummy, browned red that worked with everything and didn't even have to be worn with natural makeup. You could slap black on your eyes and it still worked. Yes, I've tried.

I think I may have to do some lipstick surgery, and I'm already out of sample jars.

And while we're talking about makeup and all things ephemeral, I'm throwing this question out to the universe: Why is MAC's Face and Body foundation, a water-based bit of genius that seems made for the humid tropics, unavailable in the Philippines?



Think about it, MAC. Think about it.

And They Lived Happily Ever After

Fairy tales don't need to involve castles, dragons or knights on white horses.

Apparently, a good record player will do.

Whoopsies.

Remember how I said I'd try to post "once a week"? [See: first blog post.]

Yeah, I lied.

But if it's worth anything, I have been doing some non-blog writing, since - irony of ironies - I am now employed, a productive member of society with a Social Security number, a bank account, and all the trappings of the yuppie archetype I was so ready to hate all of two weeks ago.

Best thing I can do, I suppose, is to just keep calm and, well, carry on. I'll pretend this little blip never happened.

In other news, it's Sunday night, and I have two stories due tomorrow. It's not that I don't like writing it's just that, seriously, at this moment, I would much rather be where he is:

Mommie Dearest

I really don't know if I should be ashamed that, three entries in, my only subscriber is my mother. She has also been threatening to forward my blog to my grandmother and aunt. So much for building a strong foundation before letting loose on the interwebs.

Granted, my mom subscribes to absolutely nothing, so I'll take it as a compliment.

Oh, and for the record, the only thing she and Joan Crawford have in common is a slight propensity for keeping things clean.

Thanks, mom.

The Elements of Style

If someone sat me down several months ago and told me just how hard it would be to get a job, I would probably have done one of two things: panicked, and signed up for the first post-graduate course that would take me, or laughed right in their face.

After all, with youth comes acne, sartorial misadventures, misguided, lost loves, a complete belief in personal infallibility, and a sense of idealism that would put Andy Dufresne to shame.

It is this very last quality that has left me completely unaware of the difficulties involved in finding a job that (a) I would like, and (b) would pay if not well, then decently. This isn't really saying much though. I am a writer, and we aren't really known for our 401Ks or whatever it is that the corporate kids talk about every weekend at the country club. Half our pay lies in the hackneyed, old cliche, "Do something you love and you'll never work a day in your life," I guess.

Lately, the hunt for a company that would take me from the realms of the unemployed led me to the offices of several networks and publishing houses. For the uninitiated, movies, television shows, and magazines are just about the pinnacle of glamour but, the reality is, where the images of style and luxury are created are decidedly the opposite. Where one expects to see a shiny indoor composition of steel and Lucite and leather, one finds instead a dense maze of cubicles, depressingly gray chairs on wheels, and mountains of cardboard boxes filled with hundreds of back-issues. All this opulence is, of course, lit by that most depressing and unflattering form of lighting, the white fluorescent bulb.

This is where this season’s It bag or must-have lipstick are chosen. This is where names like Galliano, McQueen, Lagerfeld, and Slimane are thrown around like they were friends about to drop by for coffee. This is where the decision between a skinny belt or a wide one is a matter of life and death. This is where blue is never really blue, but rather, cobalt, azure, turquoise or aquamarine. This is where the hours are long and unpredictable, where the pay is often bad, and where, when all the couture has been put away and the makeup washed off, nothing will ever be taken seriously if you haven’t squeezed it from the deepest recesses of your soul.

This is also where - despite the seemingly solitary purpose of superficiality and glorification of the ephemeral - I can and am allowed to make a difference, no matter how small. This is, despite knowing the sacrifice that the world of the perfectly arranged demands, what I want my future to be.

And to think I could have taken up business in school.