My lips’ own private methadone
I’ve got to kick the habit.
It’s been the monkey on my back for years now.
A nasty habit that’s spiralled out of control.
Dammit Burt’s Bees, I just can’t seem to quit you.
But today, I may have found my salvation. A new lease on my lips’ moisture, as well as my precious sanity.
The first application of Thymes Gardener was downright euphoric— a smooth and soothing texture, a light, refreshing scent of new jasmine blooms that does justice to the Gardner name, a respectable SPF 15 and seductive French ingredient translation that says you, you worldly, discerning cosmopolite, you know from personal care products. So what it’s made in Minneapolis? This is but a minor detail.
So yes, the Thymes Gardener seems to have everything that Burt’s Bees does not. Except for that pesky and addictive tingly minty sensation. That delightful momentary pick-me-up nestled safely in my front pocket. Sweet, sweet tingly minty sensation.
Is this a bad time to admit that I also bought a tube Burt’s Bees?
*cough*
Brothers in flames
Update: Anne has made a brilliant observation in the comments section about how Angela also resembles a muppetous creature, namely Sam the Eagle. This has caused me to rethink my original laziness and find photos of another separated at birth that has been nagging at me since the beginning of the show. Funny you should mention muppets…
When Robert wears his sunglasses, which is pretty much all the time, he reminds me of Zoot from the Electric Mayhem Band! Why, Robert, why?
Now back to our regular non-updated blog.
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Forgive me, but as I’ve said before, I love doing this.
Kayne from Project Runway.
The Heat Miser.
Separated at birth?!
Admit it. If you can get past Miser’s nose, the resemblance is uncanny!
Doorky musings
A funny thing happened when I began working for my current company, which has been housed in both the now defunct Sun Times Building (sniff) and a generic, nondescript, monochromatic (read: gray) downtown corporate midrise without a soul (sigh).
Though each of these buildings definitely has(d) their own distinct vibe and the average tenant hails from a different median age (Sun Times: old boy network; Multi-Use CorporateBox2000™: 30-somethings), I was introduced to a phenomenon I had not previously experienced at college nor at my first “real job” in the city. I was suddenly negotiating, and not always unpleasantly, the world of Chivalry and Proper Decorum, more specifically the practice of Door Holding for The Ladies and what seems to be 11th Commandment, Ladies First.
I’m not sure how I had escaped this social trapping before this awakening. Was it was all so ingrained into my brain that I just hadn’t noticed before? Of course we’ve all had the Ladies First mantra shoved down our throats since birth, but I guess I’ve either been fraternizing with uncivilized thugs or enlightened-gender-role-rejectin’ men, depending on how you look at it. Or it really could be that despite my delicate constitution, I am no delicate flower. I don’t play the damsel in distress card too often and generally feel uncomfortable receiving any special attention or undue help from our dear male counterparts. I love you guys, but really, I’ve got two moderately functioning arms. They may resemble mosquito bites, but thems muscles in there, and I can pull that chair out on my own. Obviously I am not offended by this gesture, but I much more prefer it within a I’m human, you’re human, let’s make the world a more friendly, cooperative place context.
So, I guess that’s why I was so shocked when I entered into the time warp that was the Sun Times building, and now neo-Chivalryland. I am continually thrown into awkward “you first, no after you, you were here first, no I insist after you” situations at the elevator, escalator, and convenience store line. And of course there is the race from behind to open the door thing. Except there’s one thing that throws everyone for a loop. The revolving door. Praise be to the revolving door!
My male co-worker and I have had many a conversation about the revolving door, its effects on traditional etiquette and how it quite possibly flips this whole chivalrous act thing on its head. Because really, when you think about it, the Ladies First rule doesn’t apply in a revolving door. Sending a woman into the revolving door first is like basically inviting her to shove a heavyish box across the floor. And following her in the next quadrant is the equivalent of a free ride. Yeah, sure you do a little pushing, but really, getting the door’s momentum started is the hard part. And yet the same men that insist on opening a regular door for me are constantly ushering me into the revolving door first. Now where’s the logic in that?
I don’t really have an opinion on this whole matter, but it does come up a lot. Mostly because everytime my co-worker and I get to one of our many revolving doors, he can’t not be a gentleman due to his upbringing and I’m usually on autopilot, so we end up almost knocking each other over and laughing that we can’t seem to get it all straight.
Ah, these silly misunderstandings between the sexes. Now if I could only figure out why many of the women in my building are not able to sense other life forms and choose to suddenly stop walking mid-stride causing a human pile-up behind them.
The Air and Water Show is nerve-wracking
They’re just practicing today, but the screeching, thunderous jet noises and peripheral glimpses of menacing high-powered machinery soaring between highrise buildings make my heart race and put me on edge. I don’t like the sounds of being in some sort of war zone. And it really puts a finer point on my sympathy for those that do live in one. The Air and Water Show makes me crabby.
Interplanet Janet
We need three names for the newly discovered planets in our solar system…
any ideas?
