I'm Lancôming!

Aloha, readers of this website who are my mom and my boss! I am about to talk about sex!

Well shoot, now I have ruined my punchline. Anyway, the point is, this:

ÔSCILLATION - Vibrating Infinite Powermascara
What it is:
The first vibrating powermascara by Lancôme.

What it does:
This revolutionary mascara provides 7000 oscillations per minute for ultimate lash transformation. Press the button and experience a breakthrough sensation in application. In one easy new gesture, let the vibrating brush combined with an exquisitely smooth formula wrap every lash up to 360 degrees.

What else you need to know:
With ÔSCILLATION Vibrating Infinite Powermascara, your lashes will instantly appear ultimately extended, exceptionally separated, and spectacularly multiplied in number.
"Press the button and experience a breakthrough sensation" indeed. Get it? IT IS BASICALLY A SEX TOY. That contains mascara. Saves some room in the purse, though, I suppose. Do you desperately, deeply need it? You can buy it — for one day only! — here. And I will make fun of you — for many days! — here.



God, I hate being The Girl Who Does This, but you should probably go read this post over at the blog I get paid to write. BECAUSE IT IS ABOUT THE GOOGLE COOKBOOK. SERIOUSLY. GOOGLE. HAS. A COOKBOOK.


vignette: drum line

me: i feel bad about hating elliott smith
me: because he's dead
Adam M: yeah, you're an asshole
Adam M: dude stabbed himself
Adam M: how can you hate that?
Adam M: he was so tortured
me: he was bored to death by his own music?
me: he was like "at least the act of stabbing is a form of percussion"?
me: ok that was not nice, i apologize
Adam M: no, but it was really funny


vignette: bible study!!!

Leila: are you engaged?
me: no!
me: wtf
Leila: oh
Leila: never mind
Leila: amanda read your away message

"I just love Butterfly Blue! I can't stop givng it rave reviews! I tell everyone about this place! I can't wait to have my wedding party there in September!!! The owner has such a wonderful spirit!!!! I suggested to my bible study group to hold our class there next week! See you there!"
me: WTF
Amanda: hahahaha!!!!
me: i am horrified by you
Amanda: i'm a little horrified in myself

Various Nights

I am kind of obsessed with the Brooklyn Cyclones. I love the little-league earnestness of the games, the youthful insouciance of the players (hey there, first baseman Ike Davis), the deeply Marty Markowitzian sense of Brooklyn micro-pride.

But particularly what I love are the theme nights. Virtually every evening is something fun: Asian-American heritage night, LEGO Bionicle Battle night, the inexplicable Salute to the Pork Rind.

At a recent game, Mr. B and I were browsing the upcoming evenings. Medieval Times. Bring Your Bike night. Power of Attorney Night.* Nut Free Night.

"Nut free night? Is that when, like, you don't wear underwear?"
"Maybe it's a typo and it's 'free nut' night, and you get free peanuts?"

No. It turns out it is a night when they don't sell peanuts, so those with deathly nut allergies can watch low-level minor league baseball without keeling over in death. But because of my new career as an investigative journalist, I wanted more info. So I called the Cyclones (seriously! I actually picked up the phone!) and asked for some detail.

The nice lady who picked up the phone seemed a little confused by my request for more depth on this whole Nut Free Night concern, but eventually got to the point:

"You can bring your own peanuts, but we're not going to be selling them."

So basically they are willing to pass the liability on to you. Anyone dies of a peanut allergy on Nut Free Night? Not the Cyclones' problem.

Whether you choose to wear underwear that evening is, however, up to you.

*What the hell is Power of Attorney Night? If you have an answer, you win.

First World Issues


Becky Lee, 39, a Manhattan photographer, declined when a friend asked her — and five other attendants — to have their breasts enhanced. “We’re all Asian and didn’t have a whole lot of cleavage, and she found a doctor in L.A. who was willing to do four for the price of two,” said Ms. Lee, who wore a push-up bra instead.
and later:
Samantha Goldberg, a wedding planner in Chester, N.J., recalled a bride who asked her attendants to get professionally spray-tanned for a Hawaiian-theme reception.

Alas, two women were claustrophobic and couldn’t bear standing in a tanning capsule. “They asked the bride if they could use regular tanning cream from a salon,” Ms. Goldberg said. The bride refused; she wanted everyone to be the same shade. The women ultimately declined to be bridesmaids.
Skin Deep: It’s Botox for You, Dear Bridesmaids [NYTWTF]


Objet d'WTF

In the inbox this morning:

This two-part tasting bowl, commissioned from Sèvres by the Crown specifically for the farm, was designed for the Queen to partake of the farm's fresh milk and is said to be fashioned from a cast of her own breast. The artists adorned the tripod with the head and hoofs of a goat, the Queen's favorite animal. In 2004, Sèvres produced these two special bowls directly from its original moulds. An 18th Century original resides in the museum at the Sèvres manufactory.

Bowl 5" x 5.25 diameter.


Un peu de recherche Google indicates that the Queen in question is Mme. Marie Antoinette. Also, if anyone gets this for me for my birthday (T minus 173 days!), I will honestly not know what to do with my facial expression.


Me, Elsewhere.

There's a very RSGo-esque post up a MP Chicago. It involves chicken nuggets and overanalysis and math and, um, I wrote.

Stop the Presses: PANTS=FOUND

Look, kids, I am not one to walk around staring at people's asses. Or rather, I am not one to walk around staring at people's asses and then taking my camera out of my bag and surreptitiously taking a picture of said ass, and then posting the picture of the ass on the internet. In fact, the one time I did it, my not-yet-boyfriend was so horrified that he almost considered not becoming my actual-yes-boyfriend, and the future as we've known it so far was almost destroyed.

In the immortal words of Britney Spears, Oops... I did it again. And by "oops" here I mean "with complete intentionality, also a little bit of jumping up and down at the awesomeness." BECAUSE. BECAUSE, DUDE, LOOK:

Do you know where this lady was standing? She was standing TWENTY FEET FROM MY APARTMENT. Just chilling in the doorway of the Chinese takeout place. Having those pants on. THOSE PANTS THAT DECLARE HER ABSTINENCE.

I am starting to believe in god.


Is My Cutlery Trying To Tell Me Something?

One of the tines of my fork just snapped off in my mouth and shattered. Um.

Pringle Production

After a court in the UK ruled that Pringles are not, actually, potato chips, astute reader and demander-of-pictures Kat has asked me "dude, what the hell is actually in a Pringle?"

Ask, my dears, and you shall receive a fully bullshat answer:

According to Google, the ingredients on a container of pringles minis reads:


ingredients are generally listed in order from most to least. since we know (from the trial in britain) that there is potato content of about 42%, then that means that all the other ingredients together must equal 48%.

my guess is that this is similar in composition to potato chip cookies (no, seriously, a real thing), which have the basic proportion of 1 part potato to 1 part nonpotato flour to 1 part sugar to 1 part fat. Of course, since pringles are more interested in being potatoey rather than sweet, I think we could eliminate a lot of the sugar element (here, maltodextrin) and redistribute some of the nonpotato flour to the potato side.

So at 42% potato, with the next ingredient being vegetable oil (the fat), let's say 40% of the content is the oil -- probably hydrogenated (solid-state) when making the batter, plus the absorbed hot fat in which the chip is fried. That leaves us with 18% to fill with wheat starch, maltodextrin, salt, rice flour, and dextrose.

It's unlikely that the maltodextrin takes up 8% or more, because it's most commonly derived from potatoes, and - while I'm not sure that would count as "potato product" - let's say that Pringles doesn't want to take chances and bring their total potato content up to an even 50%. So let's say 10% wheat starch, 3.5% maltodextrin, 2% starch, 1.5% rice flour, and 1% dextrose.

et fin.


De Gustibus

It says something about where my tastes lie that when I first saw this picture from KIPlog:

I thought it was some sort of pasta thing covered in a flurry of parmigiano, and my mouth watered. And then when it turned out to be funnel cake covered in sugar, I was all "no, dude, but thanks anyway" and turned my attention to other, more pressing issues.

Vignette: But I Can Say It Here!

So wow. I'm a professional blogger now, health insurance and all. And in light of that, the usual circumspection that I maintain here (no truly horrific sexual imagery, no sailor-quality swearing, no trade secrets about the workplace) actually seems a bit liberal in comparison to the basic rules that tend to come along with blogging on someone else's dime. Not that I'm censored. But there are some turns of phrase...

me: i am going to write a post about [food-related thing that enrages me] at some point, though possibly it will wind up on RSGo because i don't see how i can do this without assloads of vitriol
Leila: oh, i think that's fine. you should do it for your national post
me: can i really use the phrase UNLESS YOU ARE A FUCKING RETARD in allcaps a lot of times?
Leila: you probably cannot say either fucking or retard
Leila: but synonyms are a delight!
me: sexing disabled person?
Leila: yes
Leila: effing dumbass
Leila: i would also support

hey! hey you!

If you're wondering where I've been all this while, check this baby out.


the bleeding edge

Everyone's favorite fashion expert, Ms. Lady, is MIA. I almost emailed her this link with a bolded, underlined, YOU SHOULD BLOG ABOUT THIS note, but then decided heck y'alls, I'll do it myself.

I am super-obsessed with marker bleeding. Not, like, it is the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning, or even so much that I think about it on a once-a-day schedule, but more that whenever I encounter it, I have this deeply-felt moment of GOD THIS IS SO WONDERFUL, WHY AM I NOT DOING THIS? And normally this is a feeling I have with regard to art of the wall-hangable variety, but oh my goodness now it is happening on a DRESS, to wit, fernando brízio's marker-pocket-washable-thingy dress:

This is super-mega-awesome. It really is. You can put markers in the pockets in any pattern, wait an hour for the bleed to form, wear it in good health, and then wash it clean to start anew. If I were the kind of girl to Do Things, as opposed to just Think Things, I would totally be going out to try this myself, probably using permanent markers, probably not sewing pockets into the shift. In fact, Mr. B got me a set of markers last year, and I wonder if this would be a good use for them...