Tweezerman Tweezers

I have been battling my eyebrows for 13 years. Don't get me wrong, we've had some good times (remember that time i was sweating and you kept it out of my eyes? thanks, guys.), but for the most part we've been at odds. Basically, I want them to be sleek, lovely, face-defining arches with hairs that all point in one direction. They, left to their own devices, would more closely resemble an army of deserters, all fleeing in different directions toward the safety of the forest, i.e. my hairline.

My mom, a former beautician, started waxing my eyebrows when I was twelve. Before you start crying child abuse, you should know that puberty hit me pretty early and that by the time I entered middle school I was already beginning to look like Andy Rooney. Weekly waxing sessions went on until I graduated, moved out, and was left to my own devices. Enter the tweezers.

At the height of my plucking madness, I was spending 90 minutes a week with tweezers in hand. Seriously. I did the math. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure that at least half of that was spent trying unsuccessfully to grip uncooperative hairs with my sad, dull Revlon tweezers. I was so naive. Then I saw this picture:



We're gonna skip the whole Ohmygod Gwen Stefani thing because, duh. Just look at their fucking Eyebrows. After staring at the above photo for about 8 minutes, I decided to take action. I knew there had to be a better way. Granted, Miss Gwen has a lot of resources I don't, but dadgummit, I do have a lot of time. And access to Sephora, which turned out to be all I actually needed, because for $20 they will sell you (big trumpet flourish!) Tweezerman Tweezers!!!

Seriously, you guys, they're amazing. I have the pointed ones as my problem is more strays than volume, and they ruthlessly hunt down all deserters and court marshall the shit out of them (you like how I brought it back around, there?). Also!!! They come in pink and like, zebra print. And!! They're guaranteed for life and the Tweezerman people will sharpen them for you or replace them if the tips break off. So Rad!!

Thank you, Internets!

I know it's lazy to just give you a post redirecting you to other things, but this is what I've got right now.



VH1.com Blog

Fact: I've never heard of anyone not liking Biz Markie.




Why was I not made aware of this sooner?

And in further evidence that icanhascheezburger is up in my internets, pwning my life, Jezebel is having an LOLVogue captioning contest. Go look.

I'd forgotten how pervy Paula Abdul's cartoon boyfriend is.

I'm Ready to Love the Beckhams.

The media onslaught has been successful. I have decided to welcome the Beckhams into my heart. And in the case of David Beckham, my crotch.


I just find her refusal to smile so charming!

The Power of Intention -or- Kitten Party!!! A True Story!!!

A lot of the time, I have trouble falling asleep. It used to help to think about interior design, because nothing interested me less and I could bore myself to sleep contemplating duvet covers and decorative tchotchkes. This stopped working for me about a year ago, as I have become dismally domesticated and now find the subject absolutely thrilling. A solution came to me a couple months ago as I lay thinking to myself, "Wouldn't it be, like, the best thing ever to be surrounded by baby animals of all sorts?" I imagined a baby monkey hanging from my neck, a tiny hippo leaning against my back, and kittens. Lots and lots of kittens. It was glorious, and it soothed me into sleep rather quickly. This train of thought has since become my go-to relaxation technique.

On a recent visit to Portland, the dream came true.

We were visiting our buddy Emmett, who took us to his friend's house after a night of well-ventilated bars and charming Puerto Rican strippers. One of the residents of the house informed me that her cat had just given birth, and asked if I would like to see the brand new tiny baby kittens.
Imagine my glee! She took me into her closet, and there they were. Seven adorable kittens, each about the size of a can of tuna, nestled close to their mother, sleeping sweetly. And that was when she started putting the kittens all over me. There were three in my lap, two in my shirt, and one in each hand. It was perfect. And it just goes to show, if you just think about something hard enough, it will totally happen, which is why I need to stop thinking about how raccoons own the night because they have thumbs.

Saturday night I made eye-contact with John Krasinski three (3!!!) times. Whooooooooooooaaaa!!!!
Let's backtrack a little.

So, I was working the box office at Neumo's tonight when my homie, Natalie, informed me that she saw Jim from The Office at The Crocodile yesterday. Apparently he's in town hanging out with Ben Gibbard. Whatever. I promptly freaked the fuck out, because I, like every other woman in America, am completely in love with him.


After I made her tell me everything about it, we realized that he was probably still in town, and maybe he was on the hill. Perhaps at the Cha Cha? And at that magic moment, who should show up but Cha Cha regular Jon Cairns. I asked him if he'd been at the Cha Cha. and if he'd seen Jim from The Office. Jon had no idea who I was talking about. I then asked if he'd seen Ben Gibbard.

"Oh, yeah, " he said. "He's at the Redwood with a couple of other dudes."
"Like, maybe Jim from The Office?"
"Yeah, I guess so."

That was all the information I needed.

Dreamboat!!

The moment I finished my shift, me and Natalie were gone, man. We walked to the Redwood so fast we nearly left our hair behind. We were two women on a mission.

So, we got there and the place was totally packed. My buddy Aaron was checking ID's at the door, and I stopped to talk him up for a minute. But as I was talking to him, I noticed that the man behind him had a very familiar neck. Like, maybe I've seen it every Thursday night at 8:30 for the last three years. That's right. It was the neck of one John Krasinski. Sweeeeeet!!

He was totally posted up, so we didn't get a good look until he went outside to smoke. Natalie and I quickly conferred and decided that the best course of action would be to follow him, as it is not a successful stalking if you don't do some following. So we went outside and that is when we made eye contacts numbers 1 and 2. Eye contact number three came later when we were all back inside, pretending to ignore him again. I cannot tell you what passed between us in those brief moments because it is private and it belongs to me and Jim from The Office. All I'm going to say is that there may have been some eyebrow action. And maybe a touch of fear.

I Hate the Word "Guy"

Last night at work, this drunk dude came up to me and asked, "Would you date a gay guy?" I hesitated. Not because I don't enjoy the company of homosexuals, or because this particular homosexual bore a striking resemblance to Tweedle Dee (or Tweedle Dum, your pick), or even because I am a married, heterosexual woman. I hesitated because I hate the word "Guy." Had he asked me if I would date a gay man, I would have said yes pretty quickly. I feel like the word "Guy" is kind of interchangable with "Douche." This is what happens in my head:

Gay "Guy":


Gay "Man":


And wouldn't you much, much rather go on a date with David Hyde Pierce?

Also, whenever I hear the phrase "Black Guy" it sounds racist to me. Do you know what I mean? So I say we all stop using the word "Guy" whenever possible. "You Guys" is acceptable, I guess, but I really prefer "Y'all". I know, it sounds uneducated, but don't you find it to be infinitely more inviting and (Alright, I have to interject here. I'm barely paying attention to what I'm typing. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is coming out in exactly one week and I can barely contain myself. What am I doing blogging? I should be rereading the book or looking at stills or something!! Next week is going to be so awesooooooooome!!!) personable than "You Guys"? "You Guys" sounds accusatory.




I'm freeeeeakiiiiiing ooooouuuuuuuuuut!!!!