I finally picked up the September issue and Vogue and suffice to say I need to get to a gym because I can barely lift it. We went to M.A.C. tonight because they were having a launch party for their new fall line and it was a special pre-buy thing but I just went because I am out of my staples, mascara (Lancome), Trax (shadow) and Ambering Rose (blush) though I didn't get mascara because I usually buy that at Sephora.
I succeeded in getting a better blush for daytime (Coppertone) and more Trax because I'll never give that up.
Now I just need to get my head in the game and start planning an outfit for the trade show party in September. I foresee a minor shopping binge
Showing posts with label Playing It Safe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Playing It Safe. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
The Road Not Taken
I think we all had a bad feeling about last night. We went to a show, and missed all but the last two bands (though we chose to miss the headliner by staying downstairs, but that's another story entirely).
I wore a new shirt from H&M, which I love but is totally not my style, and I envisioned The Gentle Giant making fun of it and me responding by throwing a drink in his face.
Thankfully, that never happened.
I wore a new shirt from H&M, which I love but is totally not my style, and I envisioned The Gentle Giant making fun of it and me responding by throwing a drink in his face.
Thankfully, that never happened.
Friday, December 29, 2006
On motivation - or lack thereof
Team Gingerbread: I don't want to call, you should call
The Pansy: No you call!
Team Gingerbread: You lazy fucking bitch! Your phone is in your hand!
The Pansy: Oh, yeah.
Yet another failed attempt at meeting up with the man who doesn't believe in cell phones (aka. The Archaeologist). Thus morphing a potentially debaucherous night out into 'let's stay in and binge-shop online while we wait for the pizza to be delivered only to be thwarted by arcane shipping rules and instead settling for a rousing game of Tomb Raider'.
Classy lady party - golden girls edition.
The Pansy: No you call!
Team Gingerbread: You lazy fucking bitch! Your phone is in your hand!
The Pansy: Oh, yeah.
Yet another failed attempt at meeting up with the man who doesn't believe in cell phones (aka. The Archaeologist). Thus morphing a potentially debaucherous night out into 'let's stay in and binge-shop online while we wait for the pizza to be delivered only to be thwarted by arcane shipping rules and instead settling for a rousing game of Tomb Raider'.
Classy lady party - golden girls edition.
Monday, October 23, 2006
I'm not mad at you, I'm just really hungover
Even though I was nursing a hangover the size of Texas, I had shit to do, so I put on my sunnies and headed out the door, downing my second diet Rockstar in as many hours. I escaped in just under 2.5 hours and called The Engineer to see if I had left my green We hoodie at his place on Monday, he was home, so told him I was coming over to get it, without asking to see if he was busy.
We chatted briefly, our first face-to-face encounter since Monday and he casually asked if I had been crying (read: You look like shit). I said no, that I was just really hungover, then he asked what I was doing later, I made up some excuse that I was actually just there because I was on my way to Wendy's and I figured since I was in the neighbourhood, I'd drop in. It was nothing personal, but I was pretty cranky so I was just trying to get out of there as quickly as possible.
He offered to walk with me to Wendy's, and the whole time we chatted awkwardly about everything but The Big Fight. He apologized in a very roundabout way, somehow failing to really take any blame for the events of that morning.
As I was leaving he grabbed my hand and asked me to call him later.
I walked to the LRT station and headed home and tried not to think about what had just happened.
We chatted briefly, our first face-to-face encounter since Monday and he casually asked if I had been crying (read: You look like shit). I said no, that I was just really hungover, then he asked what I was doing later, I made up some excuse that I was actually just there because I was on my way to Wendy's and I figured since I was in the neighbourhood, I'd drop in. It was nothing personal, but I was pretty cranky so I was just trying to get out of there as quickly as possible.
He offered to walk with me to Wendy's, and the whole time we chatted awkwardly about everything but The Big Fight. He apologized in a very roundabout way, somehow failing to really take any blame for the events of that morning.
As I was leaving he grabbed my hand and asked me to call him later.
I walked to the LRT station and headed home and tried not to think about what had just happened.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Another productive day off
I'm such a go-getter.
How else would you explain my inability to choose staying in bed/lounging around while watching my stories, drinking coffee and eating bonbons all day long over going out in the middle of a rainstorm to get my quarterly STD test (although they're collectively referred to as STI's now by people in the know).
If you've been reading the blog with any frequency over the course of the summer you've likely noticed a recurring theme: boozing and somewhat questionable late night activities, hence the need for an STD test. Don't get me wrong, I've been totally safe but it's better to be safe than sorry.
I've been known to do some stupid things under the influence of alcohol (really now, who hasn't?) but I've learned to be responsible about the fallout from the less-than-stellar quality of my alcohol-induced decision making skills. There's a fine line between fun irresponsible '"No, it's totally cool to stay out all night at the peeler's when you have to get up for work at 7am. Let's do shots!", and stupid irresponsible - the events surrounding Canada Day last year.
When it started raining, I seriously considered just putting off my STD test, because I hate the rain/moisture. But the rain stopped briefly, so I eventually got off my ass, showered, broke my toe on someone's haphazardly strewn furniture (ahem, TC) and trotted off to the train station clad in thin bermuda shorts and a polo (thank God I had the sense to wear shoes, although they were my slipons, which seem to absorb, rather than repel, water), trusty hood-free sweater slung casually under my arm. Luckily, my STD testing clinic of choice is located within a half-block of the train station (there may even be an underground tunnel, though I've yet to suss that out.
So I'm sitting in the waiting room filling out the requisite info and stuff and waiting for my name to be called whilst exchanging knowing sidelong glances with the other 3 girls in the waiting room; to this day, I have never seen any men in this waiting room, unless they were picking up their girlfriends. We had all managed to sit the perfect distance from each other thus allowing others to be able to sit without being too close to anyone else - because let's face it, it's awkward enough already without being forced to engage in idle chit chat with strangers while we wait to be tested for various dieseases.
A head peeks around the corner [Gingerbread]?
I quickly packed up my magazine, I brought my own so that I wouldn't have to go over to the communal table and make eye contact with the other waiting room denizens, and followed the nurse.
Then the Q&A period began. When was your last period? Are you regular? Birth control? etc. Questions were answered, jokes were cracked, it was a thoroughly pleasant experience, then I needed to get my blood work done and as the nurse struggles to find a vein she asks me if I had had anything to drink that morning.
"Uh..."
"I don't mean alcohol, I mean other fluids, like water, juice..."
"Yeah, I had iced tea and some water this morning" which made me wonder about the regular clientele at this clinic.
She eventually found a vein - side note: I'd probably be a pretty shitty candidate for IV drug use, and she told me to call back in 2 weeks time to get my results.
Which means that in roughly two weeks we'll have a drinking extravanganza toasting my STD-free status.
How else would you explain my inability to choose staying in bed/lounging around while watching my stories, drinking coffee and eating bonbons all day long over going out in the middle of a rainstorm to get my quarterly STD test (although they're collectively referred to as STI's now by people in the know).
If you've been reading the blog with any frequency over the course of the summer you've likely noticed a recurring theme: boozing and somewhat questionable late night activities, hence the need for an STD test. Don't get me wrong, I've been totally safe but it's better to be safe than sorry.
I've been known to do some stupid things under the influence of alcohol (really now, who hasn't?) but I've learned to be responsible about the fallout from the less-than-stellar quality of my alcohol-induced decision making skills. There's a fine line between fun irresponsible '"No, it's totally cool to stay out all night at the peeler's when you have to get up for work at 7am. Let's do shots!", and stupid irresponsible - the events surrounding Canada Day last year.
When it started raining, I seriously considered just putting off my STD test, because I hate the rain/moisture. But the rain stopped briefly, so I eventually got off my ass, showered, broke my toe on someone's haphazardly strewn furniture (ahem, TC) and trotted off to the train station clad in thin bermuda shorts and a polo (thank God I had the sense to wear shoes, although they were my slipons, which seem to absorb, rather than repel, water), trusty hood-free sweater slung casually under my arm. Luckily, my STD testing clinic of choice is located within a half-block of the train station (there may even be an underground tunnel, though I've yet to suss that out.
So I'm sitting in the waiting room filling out the requisite info and stuff and waiting for my name to be called whilst exchanging knowing sidelong glances with the other 3 girls in the waiting room; to this day, I have never seen any men in this waiting room, unless they were picking up their girlfriends. We had all managed to sit the perfect distance from each other thus allowing others to be able to sit without being too close to anyone else - because let's face it, it's awkward enough already without being forced to engage in idle chit chat with strangers while we wait to be tested for various dieseases.
A head peeks around the corner [Gingerbread]?
I quickly packed up my magazine, I brought my own so that I wouldn't have to go over to the communal table and make eye contact with the other waiting room denizens, and followed the nurse.
Then the Q&A period began. When was your last period? Are you regular? Birth control? etc. Questions were answered, jokes were cracked, it was a thoroughly pleasant experience, then I needed to get my blood work done and as the nurse struggles to find a vein she asks me if I had had anything to drink that morning.
"Uh..."
"I don't mean alcohol, I mean other fluids, like water, juice..."
"Yeah, I had iced tea and some water this morning" which made me wonder about the regular clientele at this clinic.
She eventually found a vein - side note: I'd probably be a pretty shitty candidate for IV drug use, and she told me to call back in 2 weeks time to get my results.
Which means that in roughly two weeks we'll have a drinking extravanganza toasting my STD-free status.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Best. Personal. Ad. EVER!
It is a beautiful sunny Sunday, and my relationship status is such that I am cleaning out my sock drawer. I get to the bottom, and discover 5 blue, foil squares. Ah, old friends, I remeber you well. The optimism of buying a box of 12. The butterflies in the stomach on the night of your unveiling. And now you sit abandoned. And, it turns out, soon to expire. I'm a frugal sort. I hate wasting anything. So now I've got a timeline for final deployment: Nov 2006. I'm very task-oriented - I love working against a deadline. Don't pass up this opportunity, the offers on the table. Interested parties e-mail xxxxxxx.xxx@gmail.com
Formal date, is that you? Gingerbread thinks to herself...
[classified ad placed in Volume XCVI Issue 43 of our student newspaper, the Gateway]
Formal date, is that you? Gingerbread thinks to herself...
[classified ad placed in Volume XCVI Issue 43 of our student newspaper, the Gateway]
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