2002-09-03

Kiss and make up.

"It's the unholy alliance!" I yelled to the Cubegirl in the middle of the Vinh Kan Ginseng Company. I was referring to a package of little red gift baggies, the front of which depicted the very disturbing image of Papa Smurf and a decidedly jaundiced-looking Snoopy, wearing what looked for all the world like a pink ruffled housedress.

Of course I bought them, whipping them out at regular intervals throughout the afternoon while singing Kiss's "Unholy," much to the amusement of the Mobtowns, in from Baltimore for the long weekend, who we were treating to a tour of "Not Pretty Boston," my particular area of expertise.

Since I've gotten sober, I've developed a rather nasty addiction to beauty products. I went shopping yesterday with Paula, my "enabler" of sorts, where I proceeded to drop a titanic wad of cash on makeup. I spent the equivalent of a week's worth of lunches on "shimmering lotion." That's right, I paid money for a 5 oz. bottle of pinkish goo to make my face look shiny.

Here's where some of the more radical recovery-philes will shout, "Substitution! Substitution!" Fine. If you want to call me a "dry drunk" for filling the void in my soul with an $18 lipstick, be my guest. I suspect, though, that your cheaper brand will leave an imprint on my lily-white ass once you're done kissing it. Pucker up, buttercup.

Here's how bad it is: Paula and I were at MAC yesterday. Paula was pondering the lipstick shades, and wanted to try one out, but was not satisfied with the standard Q-tip application from the tester tube.

"I need a lip brush," she said, scanning the counters.

This is the hell of it, chickens: I had one in my bag. I have become a makeup whore. Still, I'm not as bad as Paula, who hoards all of her MAC empties, because for every six you return to the store for recycling, you get a free lipstick. It's true. She had a sandwich bag full of �em, and I was in no position to laugh at her, what with my carrying around a lip brush and all. It was horrible.

lisamcc at 12:05 p.m.

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