Sephora, surprisingly ghetto

I am not ashamed to say that I like Sephora, I’m just ashamed that I have patronized its stores. There are two main hubs in NYC, across the street from Herald Square’s Macy’s (and one door up from Old Navy) and on Union Square (on the same block as Barnes & Noble’s).

It really is for the SATC wannabes and their gays, but I will say the Union Square Sephora doesn’t blast their Euro-techno-rave-dance-pop epic fail bullfuck (unlike Aerosoles- OMG WTF!). I am a red lipstick addict and had have been on the safari (of “Dr. Livingston, I presume?” epic proportions) for the perfect shade for years.

1) Graftobian- red (Their red glitter is cool too.)

2) Maybelline Color Sensational– Red Revival and Very Cherry

3) Kat Von D Painted Love lipstick– Hellbent, Underage Red, and limited edition Adora (I used to get this shade of red back in high school in the 99 cent stores and Rite Aid. How far we have fallen.)

4) Too Faced Lip of Luxury– Runway Red and Drop Dead Red

5) DuWop– Private Red (doesn’t change shade for shit, and yes Smeyer has her Twifuck makeup line with these asshats)

And BIG surprise (for some one who assiduously avoided lip glosses from their 90s hype like the motherfucking plague):

6) Buxom Big and Healthy lip gloss and full-color polish- Trixie, Betsy, Vanessa, Charity, Ginger, Betty, and Roxanne.  And they all do Barcelona. (And, no, they really don’t plump up your lips. But it will be nice and tingly and no stickiness or tack.)

7) Fresh– Sugar Shag (I also love their Sake and Cannabis Santal fragrances, but get Bvlgari Blv Pour Homme on Amazon.)

Now my beef is with the fucking customers. You’d think with these predominantly skinny white girls running around like chickenheads the moment Lee Byung-hun walks into a room ready to line up, they’d be a little bit more… I don’t know… HYGIENIC with the fucking testers! It’s a goddamn wreck at the Herald Square Sephora (only a tenth or two better at Union Square) and I haven’t gone back from my first visit two months ago. It looks the same way that Duane Reade on Fulton Street Brooklyn before the chain’s mass renovations! I mean these goddamn bitches put the damn tester makeup on! I don’t want to sound paranoid, but Mom always taught me to just swipe the shit on the back of my hand to see if it went with my skin then wipe it off with a tissue. And I do that! Do you know the kinds of bacteria makeup contains? Do you have your fat heads up SPJ’s ass not to know this? I mean motherfucking seriously!

Well Mom likes Trixie and Sugar Fairy and wants a couple of tubes, so I’m going to the Fresh and Bare Escentuals stores in the city. But I don’t have high hopes for cleanliness.

Stay tuned for my next update in my adventures with eye shadow! In all of my makeup wearing years (’round 16) this four-eyed geek has never wore eye makeup. Well, Too Faced was just too hard to resist so I purchased Lash Gasm in black, Lava Gloss liner in Super Gloss Black, Duo Shadows in Lucky Charms and Shamrock Chic, and an eye shadow Blender Brush. Because you have to dress up enough to get all smartassy when they’re giving you the secret personality test during a job interview.

If Foamy was POTUS, the world would be a lot more livelier. You know it's true you fat bastards.

Red lipstick- here, now, and forever!

“Eye catching” and “feminine” are two words that really don’t describe me. “Fat”, “loud”, and “bitchy” are pretty typical. But when I heard the former I was a shoujo anime main character with my head down low, thanking her profusely.

And all because of the fucked up F train. Thanks MTA, bang-up job!

The Russian woman (I hesitate to use the designation former Soviet) needed to get the D to get back to Brighton Beach (Little Odessa/Moscow), so she asked me if the F was going to get off the R line for her to transfer at West 4th I told her when I was on my way to the Queens Center the F switched from the local to the express (A line) after Queensbridge, so I assumed it would switch back. “Yeah the brand spanking new PA system still makes the conductor sound like he’s choking on an elephant’s dick”, I agreed.

If you’ve ever had to endure the “educational homeless shelter” that is Kingsborough Community College (thanks Mr. Feldman!) then you’ve probably run into many colorful former Soviet peoples. The women redefine “fashionista”. This chick (a psychologist- the wonders of the USSR’s educational system) was rail thin wearing black Italian spike-heeled half-boots, leggings, a flouncy black skirt and fake fur jacket with glitter rimmed cat’s eye glasses. She was also pushing 60. But boy they can get away with it! And because I was wearing my Novica bling (amethysts and garnets are the only sparkles I find sexy) she decided to natter away like I was her old classmate at Kazan University.

But then she said she couldn’t help but ask me for help because she noticed my red lipstick. Well Kat Von D might not be totally off the mark (and I worship her Painted Love line), but I hardly think any NHL hotties would hardly stop play and get demolished by a Devils powerplay if my whale ass was planted on the other side of the glass at center ice because I’m sporting Underage Red. Nevertheless, tonight I was “feminine” and “eye catching”, all thanks to a little tube of red lipstick.

Like Lisa Simpson there was that one thing on my Xmas lists that Mom deeply considered taking me to the child psychiatrist’s for: the ruby slippers. It is my impossible dream. I remember Halloween ’85 when a psychotic childhood friend of mine went as Dorothy and I was Bugs Bunny. The psycho’s aunt made her blue gingham dress and white blouse that was an exact match to Judy Garland’s costume. But the only thing I saw were a pair of Mary Janes that were dipped in glue and doused in red glitter and sequins. I cried for a week. No, I bawled for a week. That’s how bad I was. I was fucking jealous! And y’know, it’s okay to be jealous over the stupidest shit sometimes.

Then I don’t know how many years later it was, but I was at my late great-aunt’s house and in the bathroom I found this ancient unused tube of red lipstick. Now I was taught (by a scary tale from Mom) never to put on anybody else’s lipstick, so I put a dash of it on my hand. It was a very nice shade, I think it was called Chinese Coral, so in really good lighting you can see that it’s in the orange shade of the red spectrum. Sad to say I have to stick to either the straight up “classic” (everything is fucking “classic” these days) red or “blood” red which is in the violet end of the spectrum. But it was then that I figured out that red lipstick could be my ruby slippers proxy, and I’ve stayed loyal ever since.

So whenever Klohe Kartrashian, Mr. Blackwell, or YouTube tell you that wearing red lipstick is taking a fashion risk, you can tell them to take a running jump into a wheat thresher. Because the last thing I need is to taste is Heidi Klum-Seal’s sticky-as-her-pap-smear Golden Tundra Download 2.0 Peacock Vibrator lipgloss in my Haagen-Dazs sorbet!