Thursday, August 13, 2009

Availably present balance

Perhaps it's the incessant ways of New York city, but today I felt superbly flustered during an errand at Saks 5th Avenue. While browsing for a good mechanical eye-liner, I was bombarded by the plasticities that the free albeit ignorant world likes to call "cosmetic counter women". Someone better think of a scarier name. And quick. These lunatics will spritz their $400 Chanel No. 4, 5, 78, in absolutely any direction. I could have been coughing up my inner organs and I still would have received a fetid squirt of whatever those women were selling. The problem is, with the bat of their false eyelashes, and their rather silly amounts of bronzer, they are almost impossible to both ignore or deny. I let a small Filipino woman spritz the new Issey Miyake on my arm, a cute and very effeminate man massage my temples with cooling sandalwood gel, and a 6-foot tall stiletto clad tween spray my pinkie finger with Juicy Couture's newest scent (which is actually and truly delicious.)

I left Saks with a brown eyeliner and a new sense of personal odor.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

And we're back

Upon entering my humble cubicle, I realized that I hadn't posted an entry in peachycreme for about, well, a year. "It's time to re-kick peachycreme!", I pronounced--finger tips a-twitchin'. To which I got a roll of the eyes, and a maniacal chuckle from Raquel. Sarcasm aside, it is time to resuscitate this compendium of rants. Time to re-establish my standing in the blogosphere.

I think I've been spending too many hours in this office. So many, in fact, that I have formed some sort of strange bond with a specific bathroom stall in the ladies room. Now, I know women are "known" to flock together to the lavatories. To travel in groups (what? we're close. we catch up in there.) But I think I've finally hit the wall and taken a strange step. I've befriended a toilet. A clean, immaculate, no bull-shit new friend. However, a couple of minutes ago, I was shocked and appalled to find a stranger, spread-legged over my new friend. My new ceramic friend. I was forced to enter the third-from-the-left stall. The one with the very sad, very bad, wiggly door. My seven minutes in heaven. Ruined.