Wow, who knew you all had such strong opinions about mascara, huh? Not me, that's for sure. I'm sort of concerned about what I've got myself into, honestly, because in my head I assumed at least one of the top three contenders would be a drugstore brand and I wouldn't have to go bankrupt buying three fancy mascaras to test in the name of science, but you all are a fancy bunch with your Lancome this and your Chanel that, so we shall see—when I finally get around to tallying the results—whether I shall be living on cheese and crackers for the next month in order to conduct The Great Mascara Experiment of 2012. Not that I'd be complaining about living on cheese and crackers, mind. In fact, it sounds perfectly lovely.
In other news, I have now been at my new job for almost a month and it is going swimmingly. Why do we say that: swimmingly? I am doggy-paddling my way through it, regardless—haven't drowned yet—and I am enjoying it enormously, although my days have suddenly got a whole lot longer now that I'm not working from home anymore. (Also, I miss my office. Some evenings I just go and sit in there with my wine and pour a little out for my former self, the one who used to work, unshowered, in her pajama pants and slippers, her sleep mask often still perched atop her head until the doorbell rang and she threw on some normal clothes and ran a brush through her hair so the UPS man wouldn't recognize her for the sloth that she was.)
Ironically, what I assumed was going to be one of my least favorite parts about the new job—my hour-long commute each way—has turned out to be one of my favorites (for now, anyway; I have a feeling my thoughts on this may have changed in a month) and this is because I have rediscovered something dear to me, Internet: the music of the 90s.
Now, as you may remember, certain bands from the 90s never actually left my heart, but there are a great many who did—both accidentally and, it turns out, temporarily—and I am having great fun rediscovering them again through the power of the online music community (I'm a big fan of Mog, but I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on Rdio and Spotify, if you like those better.) Every morning, while Sean drives—we're commuting together at the moment, which not only gives each of us someone else to talk to, but also allows us to use the carpool lane, HURRAH—I queue up my iPhone with long-forgotten gems of the 90s, and we both rock out in that way particular only to aging thirtysomethings who are quietly and desperately lamenting the loss of their youth.
Remember Shed Seven, for instance? Kula Shaker? Ocean Colour Scene? Suede? Elastica? Sleeper? Feeder? Placebo? Lots of other bands who decided they would be more successful if their name only consisted of one word? And that's only the Britpop segment of our morning jam session, too; if we've got time, we veer into the American stuff afterwards, calling up lost memories over the dulcet tones of the Gin Blossoms, Soul Asylum, Alice in Chains, Better Than Ezra, the Smashing Pumpkins, Crash Test Dummies, and the Butthole Surfers. Ah, the 90s, man; glorious times. I used to think that if I could time travel, I'd want to go back to the 60s if only to see for myself what it was like, but now I think I'd probably rather head back to my heyday of 1996 and just, like, rock the heck out of some denim overalls and a bindi.
The only other exciting thing happening right now, really, is that we're getting the outside of our house painted this week, which is an event more thrilling to me than Christmas, a 50% off sale at Restoration Hardware, and my (upcoming) birthday all happening at once. (Can you imagine if that did all happen at once? I'm sure it has to someone, somewhere. I hope their brain didn't explode too much when it did.)
In preparation for the house-painting—which will not be done by us, despite the fairly decent job I think I did on our front door last month, painting it red just in time for the holidays, which was hilarious because then I just kept telling people "oh, I did it for Christmas. The red just goes so much better with the wreath. What, you don't do that too? You just put up a tree? Underachiever!"—we spent most of this weekend trying to narrow down a paint color. Narrowing down a paint color for the front of your house is a lot more unnerving than narrowing down a paint color for, say, your master bedroom, because when you are narrowing down a paint color for your master bedroom, you can at least be comforted by the fact that no-one is going to see that color besides the people you invite into your master bedroom, which—as long as you don't have some sort of kinky open relationship, I guess—will be a) not many people, and b) mostly people you like. When you are choosing paint colors for the outside of your house, however, you cannot get it out of your mind that every Tom, Dick, and Harry out for their afternoon walk might be passing judgment on the fact that you chose a cobalt over a charcoal, THE HORROR.
Anyway, after much debate, we've narrowed it down to Pewter Cast, Ellie's Gray, and Mindful Gray, which—as I'm sure you can tell from the names—are three fairly neutral shades of chartreuse. Ha! Just keeping you on your toes; they're gray, of course. Though you have no idea, as a former English major, how tempting it was to go for the one called Dorian Gray, which yes, I am not even kidding, was actually one of the paint samples we saw. I love that somewhere out there at Sherwin Williams' headquarters, there is a dude sitting back in his chair and laughing. "Dorian Gray," he is chuckling to himself. "Damn, I'm the best paint namer ever."