Thursday, May 31, 2007

2 Posts in One Day? Sacre bleu!

Thursday, May 31, 2007
I woke up this morning, and after a long stretch to "Kiss" by Prince and a bowl of corn bran, I got ready for the day.

Now, there was something about the light this morning, or maybe it was the influence of the Artist Formerly Known As, but I looked in the mirror and thought, hot damn! check out my bad self!

So I rolled on out as-was, rocking foxy bedhead (no comb for me this morning!) and feeling pretty saucy. I knew this was going to be a great day- it was hot, I was hawt, and all was going to be good in the world.

Flash forward 6 hours, and with my newly clear vision (thanks, new contact lenses fitted over the lunch break! I can finally see what it is I'm typing!), I'm feeling extra foxalicious. Oh, that's right. I am a sexy beast. And I'm still singing Prince in my head.

I notice a bohemian-looking guy with really well fitting pants walking in front of me. He's one tall drink of water, let me tell you- ponytail, well fitting pants, some kind of earthy tribal bead thing on his wrist. He looks Euro, but not Trashy. Also, he looks like the kind of guy that might smell like sandalwood or something, but not in an offensive patchouli-wearing, living in a van hippie kind of way. Total and utter hawtness. Did I mention the well-fitting pants?

Then, with the sun beaming down, the gods must be smiling at me today... he turns around and looks directly at me. At that very instant, I glance into the mirrored glass window, realize that I've got some kind of large, suspicious looking (probably yogurt!) stain on my shirt, that my hair is unbrushed in a "I live in a van and smell like incense" way and then I realize that I'm actually singing out loud.

And in my shock, I realize that my tall, hot, european pants dude has the Hapsburg nose and one hell of an overbite. Neither minimized by the strange look on his face as he checks out the mess of a megan he is faced with.

Thank god I got new contacts and have the gall to leave my house looking like I belong in a mental institution for the fashion phobic, or I could have had one hell of a time explaing to Breanne why I picked up a fugly european hippie.

It Runs in the Family

I have a confession.

I love history.

All the drama, the treachery, the lies, death, murder- oh, it's so smutty! I love it!

I can't help it, you know. I've been obsessed with the British Royals since I was wee. I think it probably has something to do with Papa B telling me bedtime stories about the Reformation and queens getting their heads whacked off. I love it.

So when I saw that the CBC would be showing the miniseries The Tudors next season, I squealed with glee. Of all the historical smut out there, the court of King Henry VIII is tops. And while I love reading about history, watching it interpreted in glorious widescreen colour is awesometastic.

Yay, CBC!

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Suddenly I See

Wednesday, May 30, 2007
I've always loved my optometrist. Since I was a little girl, I've wanted to marry him. Oh, yes, me, the girl who has been swearing up and down since approximately 10 minutes after birth that she was a FEMINIST and was not going to BEND to your PATRIARCHAL WAYS and that the institution of marriage was OLD FASHIONED and POINTLESS!!

I'd throw those silly notions aside for my optometrist in Saskatoon, oh yes I would. If only he weren't old enough to be my father. And you know, on his second wife. Maybe I could marry his son and hatch my plan from the inside...

But I digress. My optometrist in Saskatoon was the nicest Dr. I had. My orthodontist in Saskatoon ranked second, because while he caused me epic amounts of pain and embarrassment, he was a smart ass and wasn't putting up with my smart ass ways. (That is a very important quality in a man who ruins the social lives and romantic prospects of teenagers, let me tell you)

But Dr. Kerr, he never caused me pain. Oh, no, not even when I got old enough to suffer through endless contact lens solution allergies; not when he flipped my eyelids inside out and poked at my eyeballs because I had that weird twitch. Even when I started having to get that test where they puff you in the eyeball with air- I hate that one! He was always patient and understanding and caring, and from what I understand, the best in his field.

Yeah, well, apparently I had to up and move to this urban hell-hole, and couldn't convince the good Doctor to relocate his practice. So two years pass, I run out of contacts, and I finally break down and book myself in with some lady in the Eaton's Centre. She's nice and all, but she's no Dr. Kerr.

But she did clear up a little mystery for me.

Apparently, wearing the same pair of 14-day disposable contact lenses since October had nothing to do with the fact that my vision is blurry. Oh, no. That would be because I'm rapidly GOING BLIND.

Monday, May 28, 2007

An Open Letter to My 12-year-old Self

Monday, May 28, 2007
Dear Younger, bespectacled and Tragically Dorky (But Not Yet in a Charmingly Neurotic Self-Deprecating Way) Self,

DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT profess your undying love for your current (and let's face it, epic eight-year) crush in letters to that girl you met at some camp, be it band or science. You will regret it, years and years and years later when she is dating said elementary-junior-and-senior-high crush, and pulls out those embarrassing letters to show him.

Because eventually, everyone who lives in Saskatchewan will meet each other, and no secrets are ever sacred.

Trust me. You will save yourself one hell of an embarrassing encounter at your parents' retirement party, where you will show up sans-escort but looking tarty, much to the chagrin of your mother and under the scrutiny/pity of everyone there who is getting engaged or is engaged or is already married...if you just don't write those proclamations of unending luff.

Hugs and Kisses,

Your Older and None-the-Wiser Self

ps- Cute, slightly dorky looking guy who must work in the Encana building or the Palliser building or maybe City Hall, that I see at Starbucks? Who the barista tells me is named Derek? I luff you. But I promise I won't tell my penpals, for fear that they will someday date you and it will be awkward between us.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Dear Blog Gods,

Sunday, May 27, 2007
Just one more day off.


Pretty please?

Hugs and Kisses.


Saturday, May 26, 2007

Live from Saskatchewan, It's Saturday Night!

Saturday, May 26, 2007

I have to be all gushy here for a minute and say how cool it was to come home for my parents' retirement celebration. A couple hundred people, an epic slide show, a rousing game of "Doug and Lenore Bailey, This is Your Life!", and enough appetizers and puffed wheat squares to feed an army. For several days.

I'm not kidding you. There are about 14 opened boxes of crackers sitting on the counter in this house.

I talk a lot of smack about being from Saskatchewan. It's part of my bit; a great conversation starter and launching pad for story telling- plus, it's a handy excuse for escaping unscathed when I'm confused or embarassed. But in all seriousness, this city girl wouldn't be who she is without the love and guidance of 400-odd people in a little town smack in the middle of the bald ass prairie.

And even though I was modestly embarassed every time I was asked if I had 'someone special gesture towards left hand ring finger' back in calgary, I had a great time. And I looked damn good.

Tarty, but good.

And THEN! I spent all day today Garage Sailing at the Annual Eatonia Garage Sale Day. You just can't argue with a Dean Martin album, a blue fun-fur steering wheel cover, and a tin with a glittering peacock...all for only $1.50!

Thursday, May 24, 2007

This isn't about me, I swear. No, it's really a friend of mine. I swear.

Thursday, May 24, 2007
Say you have a friend, who may or may not be extremely socially awkward, who has got a minor, insignificant crush on someone who happens to work in the same industry as she does, who also may or may not be extremely socially awkward.

Now, let's say that (hypothetically) this person happens to bump into your friend on an average of once every three weeks or so. If your friend was completely unable to function around this individual, and prone to saying absurd things like "hii'mmakingapinatawhatareyoudoinggeethat'scool!" in a high pitched squeal when she sees him, and is completely incapable of normal human interaction...would you tell her to forget it and take her crushes elsewhere?

Because, I mean, hypothetically speaking, of course, if she were ever to attempt to act on it, or drop not-so-subtle hints to said crush that she was really into him, both your friend and this dude would probably die of shame, embarassment and social awkardness? This doesn't exactly bode well for your friend's future relationship, now does it?

But then again, dying of shame and social awkwardness might be better than your friend spending the rest of her days pining away awkwardly...

April snowstorms bring May snowstorms!

Huzzah! Our annual almost-June snow has arrived! Finally!

That was always the rule when I was growing up; Mom didn't break out her tube top and plant the garden until after May 24. Not May 2-4 Weekend, as they call it in other places, another weird colloquialism for a flat of beer and a statutory holiday, but rather, the actual twenty-fourth day of May.

Here it is, May 24th, and there is snow on the ground. Soon it will be washed away with rain, which is such a pretty thought I can't contain my excitement, but snow it is. Lucky for you all, I have yet to bust out the garden romper and attempt (in vain) to attract the neighbourhood hotties, because if I had, this blog would quickly become a ranting mess about my ruined heirloom garden.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Sometimes, it's like I'm living a Beckett play.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Hopeless, frustrated, no way out.

Also, with post-apocalyptic talking heads in jars.

I keep trying things; the same things, different things, over and over again. I fail. I fail miserably, with flying colours and disasterous soundtracks, but I keep doing it. I'm getting really good at miserable failure, in fact, one might argue that I fail better each time.

And so on it goes, same story, different setting or characters or lighting cues. Over and over and over again, frustratingly hopeless and endless.

And just when you think it's come to the end at last-

it starts all over again from the beginning.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007


Tuesday, May 22, 2007
I've been having a bout of weird, weird dreams lately. One of them was about vampires that wouldn't die when exposed to sunlight. I have dreamt about getting stranded in the wilderness, about killer zombies invading Britain, and that everyone I know was slowly dying of a rare and incurable disease, leaving me to save the human race. Oh, and every single time I go back to my mom and dad's house, I dream that all of my teeth are falling out.

But the worst- the worst! dream was last night.

I woke up shaking, in a cold sweat, too afraid to go back to sleep.

I dreamt that there was a world coffee shortage, and that espresso was being heavily rationed and was no longer available.

I don't even want to think about the horror that would be.

Monday, May 21, 2007

no one's interested in something you didn't do...

Monday, May 21, 2007
I will not renege on my dislike for the Tragically Hip, despite the fact that it does make me un-Canadian, and unpatriotic, and unsupportive of the Canadian music scene, something I should be more sensitive to, as it may someday be the hand that feeds me.

But I will admit that I love, love, love the song "Wheat Kings". I can't help it. It's so Saskatchewan. It reminds me of home, it reminds me of the people at home, and yes, it reminds me of David Milgaard, okay!?

But it also makes me think. About the fact that I don't know what is going to happen tomorrow, that I could wake up or not wake up, or I might have a different address, or if I miss one paycheck I will actually be out on the street. I can tell you what happened yesterday, upside down and inside out, and I can explain how I got from point A to here, but I can't tell you what's going to happen next. I also can't be sure that my version of the events that have come to pass is the same as yours- and if the way you see it and lived it is different, then whose version is correct?

And you know what?

It drives me absolutely crazy.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Friday Night Funannigans

Saturday, May 19, 2007
See how I did that? It's that easy, friends- combine two words to create an even awesomer word. Like, "fun" and "shenanigans"...Funanigans.

This is how I know it's too late for me to be awake.

Anywho, Friday night this week was spent at the Casino. I am sad to report that I have shamed my family once again- I, Megan T. Bailey, Esq, entered a casino and neither drank alcohol nor gambled.

Not even on the penny slots, Mom!!

Instead, I worked in the cash cage.

Now before you get all excited, and let visions of Bond Movies and Ocean's One-hundred-and-forty-six or whatever we're at now dance in your head, let me tell you that it was not so glamourous.

But on the other hand, one truly has not lived until they give themselves a massive papercut while counting out twenty-one thousand dollars in crisp brown bills.

One night, $132,000 in chips, and one tired-but-wired Meganude.

I'd call that a success.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Slow Walkers Make Me Wig Out

Friday, May 18, 2007
This morning when I got off the train (which smelled like a disgusting combination of stale urine and McDonalds...ruminate on that for a while if you will), I found myself stuck behind the slowest-moving group of old ladies EVER.

Iwas slowly counting to ten and trying to remember that plowing over little old ladies would be wrong when I realized that one of them looked EXACTLY like my Great Aunt Adeline- ill-fitting wig and all!!

I really like Great Aunt Adeline. I mean, besides that one time when I accidentally walked in on her at 3 in the morning, sitting on the toilet without her wig on at Grandma's house, and she scared the living beejesus out of me- because really, people, what is more frightening than a hairless woman in her mid eighties sitting on the throne in the wee hours?!

So I stopped with my impatience, took a deep breath and smiled at the Great Aunt Adeline doppelganger, and cut across the train platform. Another day, another old lady not scandalized by the impolite youth.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Hot Town! Summer in the City

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Sure, the omniscient 'They' are calling for snow or rain and snow or hopefully just rain this weekend, but today, I will ignore them. Today is a day full of the sizzling promise of summer; the stuff that icy-cold frappucino patio dreams are made of. The Thursday before the Half-Day Friday of the Long Weekend that preceeds the Short, Short Work Week that preceeds yet another Long Weekend.

Ahhhh. It's enough to make a girl feel all Porgy and Bess.

Break out the Rompers, baby, and start chilling the sweet tea. I'll be waiting in my backyard.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Following the Bouncing Ball!

Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Huh. So apparently this blog has rapidly turned into an ever-expanding list of the people, places, things and circumstances that irritate me- which isn't exactly fair! Because while I might come off as a hard-eyed realist, jaded by the pressures of urban existance, we all know that somewhere deep inside, I'm just a wide-eyed farm girl who is the blogosphere equivalent of the action movie hooker with a heart of gold.

Except, I mean, I'm not a Lady of the Evening, so don't freak out just yet, Mom.

So now, for a dramatic change of pace, a list of expressions I cannot say without singing:

-Long, long weekend
-Everybody wants to be a cat
-Young doctors in love
-Would you hand me a towel, Mister Tangerine Speedo?

In an unrelated and completely coincidental note, I have recently discovered that if one is standing alone on the train platform, softly singing "everybody wants to be a cat", the crazies will stop asking for spare change and/or your phone number.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Someone INCREDIBLY ANNOYED

Monday, May 14, 2007
It has come to my attention that since Christmas, ONE THIRD of the people that I graduated from High School with (a mere FIVE years ago) have gotten married or are engaged. Mostly to each other.

This should not irritate me. And really, to be honest, I am delighted for all of them- somewhere under all of this bitter rage. Seriously, people! Marriage ruins most of the fun- and babies ruin the rest!! What's the rush?!

Cutting through the crap, let's get to what is really bothering me- and it's not that I have yet to be invited to any of these weddings, despite knowing most of those people SINCE THEY WERE BORN ONTO THIS GREEN EARTH...but that's beside the point. I am enraged because I know (sorry, dudes) that at least half of these unions will not last, and by the time that I get hitched (and hell freezes over), all of my childhood friends and frenemies will be getting ready for Wedding 2.0: Bigger, Better, Bolder, and they will steal my wedding thunder.

Screw you all.

And yes, that's how I really feel. Now excuse me while I go try to find something to wear to all your goddamn ceremonies. I'll be the drunk one in the back, half-listening to you talk about flower colours and honeymoons and telling amusing anecdotes about the guys she dates. You know, the ones who ask her if she's " love".

An Open Letter to the Residents of Beverly Street

Dear Neighbours,

I've got my eye on you. You know who I am-I live in the tacky little house between the two large, million-dollar-plus estate homes. The one house on the street that is obviously a rental property.

Yes, okay, the one with the giant Jimi Hendrix poster in the window!!

I don't fit in, what with your double-wide strollers, finely manicured lawns and luxury vehicles, ranging from a Beamer to a Lexus to a Stretch Limousine (seriously...), but you've made me feel welcome enough. Your drunken teenaged sons even are so nice as to yell lewd things at me from your verandas when I walk home from ye olde pubbe; talk about making a girl feel at home!

But you're all on my watch, Yuppies...because though I may have moved my barbeque to the front step like common trailer trash, and I may crouch in the front door to bask in it's propane-fueled glory- I will not fall prey to the Bailey Family Barbeque Curse.

That's right. The second one of you inner-city snobs tries to swipe my juicy bacon-wrapped sirlion steaks off that grill...

I'll be all up in yours.

Hugs and Kisses!


Irritation: Monday's Legacy

Do you want to know what irritates me lately?

Of course you don't. But this is my blog, and I'm going to subject you to it anyways. Stop reading now if you're not up for a rant or rambling and moderately offensive commentary. Go here instead.

I really wish more people blogged on the weekends. It's not like the internet ceases to exist, people! It's still there, feeling neglected, and I still come home and check my email and want to read blogs in my semi-intoxicated early-early-Sunday morning stupor!

But I do understand that most people are out DOING on the weekends, so that they have something entertaining to write about come Monday, and thus I have something entertaining to read come Monday, because without such entertainment I sink into a terribly whiny and irritable mood.

I guess what I'm getting at here is that I'm whiny and irritated and demand CONSTANT ENTERTAINMENT, even on weekends, especially on Mondays.

Yep, sounds 'bout right.

Friday, May 11, 2007

This is going to get me disinherited, for sure...

Friday, May 11, 2007
So I had this long-winded post written about how awkward it would be to run into someone on the street in the middle of the afternoon who had seen you naked (hypothetically speaking, of course, because we all know that I got the nickname
"Meganude" when I was trying to explain to friends how I was now the New! and Improved! Megan!, or the Megan-new; but I had a cold, and was all stuffed up and so on, so 'new' came out all nasally...)

And then I remembered that my parents and relatives read this blog, and might just JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS, branding me forever a hussy, when really, I was talking about how I ran into that lady that I saw all the time in the woman's locker room at the university after tethered water running classes.

So to protect the innocent from the mind-polluting Evil Megan, I will instead rant on about how I don't want to see pictures of the following:

1. Your friend/cousin/fiancee who you say looks "JUST LIKE ME!" but is actually a circus freak with huge hands and a tiny, tiny head. I have really small hands, people, and a huge head (with a huge flat spot on the back, omigod, how could i have not noticed this until YESTERDAY?!)

2. Your vacation photos that include pictures of people I don't know, or of repetitive scenery that bores me.

3. Babies with food on their faces.

4. Snakes with food on their faces.

5. Babies with snakes on their faces.

I am, however, okay with pictures of snakes eating babies.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Knowlege Gleaned in the Past 18 Hours

Thursday, May 10, 2007
You know how some people ooze so much relaxed charm and confidence that they can get away with practically anything? The people who can call other people- friends, strangers, waitstaff, swimming pool attendants- adorkable petnames like 'honey' and 'sweetie' or 'luv' or 'sugarbuns' or even 'pastryhips' and not sound like a swarmy creepo?


I'm so not one of those people.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

It's Time For Another Fabulous Episode of "It Can't Be That Hard, Can It?"

Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Some of you may remember previous installments- like when I tried to program the universal remote control, or the homemade mac and cheese-aster. But this one might be the ultimate in underestimation of difficulty.

Oh, laugh if you will. But let's just chalk this one up to the ever-growing list of things I don't know how to do, presumably because I'm increasingly incompetent, to a level that surprises even myself.

I mowed. The lawn.

Now, I had never done this particular landscaping task, obviously because my parents had a second child named Allan, for whom it was decreed that he would bask in my shadow and take care of such duties for me. That's what brothers are for, non? Climbing on the roof to put up Christmas lights, standing on tall ladders, carrying heavy things, and general automobile/machine-based/yard-and-home maintenance.

Yeah, well, apparently MY brother is TOO BUSY with his JOB or something, and I'm an independant and self-sufficient mainfloor-suite dwelling gal-about-town. I can handle anything!

Yeah, well, apparently there's a REASON that fabulous self-sufficient gals-about-town hire the neighbourboy to do these things for them. Because after nearly running over the extension cord (only AFTER I figured out that you have to plug the damn thing in...) several times, 'accidentally' mowing over the hideous shrubberies planted by the landlord, and deafening anyone within a 4 kilometer radius who happened to be outside enjoying a frosty minty julep...I learned that lawn mowery is not my forte.

And this, gentle blogreaders, is exactly why I will eventually break down and someday get married.

Because I don't think the neighbourboy's parents are all too keen about my offering their underaged son seven dollars and a warm Wild Grape Smirnoff Ice to do it for me.

Another Reason Why I Miss Candice, Who Lives In Winnipeg But Doesn't Read This Blog

She inspires me daily, including the encouragement to one day go to McDonalds and order an ice water with a side of gravy, make it bacon.

Monday, May 07, 2007

If Today Was Still Part of the Weekend...

Monday, May 07, 2007
I'd be sitting outside in a terry romper and diving into some sweet, sweet yukaflux. Then I'd invite you all to join me in the First Great Sunburn Fest of 2007. Maybe we'd inhale propane until we got dizzy and then light something on fire and cook over it.

Oh, what fun it would be!

But it's not.

Thanks, Monday, you merciless killjoy.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

An Open Letter to Drivers Who Accelerate Through Crosswalks and Other Choice Individuals at Starbucks

Thursday, May 03, 2007
Dear Frenz,

I have this problem, see. I don't think it's just me, but my crippling insecurity leaves that to doubt. I walk to the train every day, two or four or eight times I cross 10th street at the well-marked pedestrian crosswalk- oh, you know, the one with yield lights that flash when someone is trying to cross the street. By second cup. Surely you know it, or one just like it in your neighbourhood.

At any rate, I walk, because it would be stupid to drive for many reasons, including but not limited to:
-it's a 12 minute train ride, and not even a two block walk to the grocereteria/caffeine dispensary
-I like reducing my carbon footprint and the emissions I produce, saving our environment
-the company I work for partially subsidizes our transit passes
-I don't have a car and I feel pretty guilty stealing the vehicles of my neighbours

At any rate, I walk. And EVERY FREAKING DAY, one of you assholes speeds up as I begin to cross the street, nearly hitting me and startling me to within an inch of my life, which, I need not remind you, is NOT A GOOD IDEA BEFORE I'VE HAD MY COFFEE.

Now, it's not just me, see. If it was just me you did this to, fine, I'd just assume that the universe was once again trying to have me killed, or it was a Gaiman-esque plot whereby I would become the undead minion of a lesser god and mayhem would ensue.

But alas.

I know several neigbourhood childrens who walk the same way to school that I do to the train or the store. AND THEY ARE SMALLER THAN ME. You won't see them. The aren't as likely to scream obsenities at you and punch the hood/trunk of your car if you don't stop.


For the children.


Hugs and Kisses,


ps- girl at starbucks? With the mustache? And the lycra tubetop over the wrinkled white blouse, under the far-to-wide silver woven belt? Your pants are waaaay too tight to be office (or anywhere!!) appropriate. And your headband looks stupid that way. Just thought you'd like to know.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Really Embarassingly Awkward Story...

Wednesday, May 02, 2007
So this morning, I was at work and the most terrible thing...JUST KIDDING. I unfortunately don't have a really embarassingly awkward story, other than the fact that no one is commenting on my two previous really embarassing stories about acne and being hit on by Canadian Idols. I feel so unloved.

At any rate, yes, it's Wednesday, it's May, I need a drink and I'm very excited about Spiderman 3 coming out this weekend.

Also, I compiled a list of movies I would like to rent in the near future. That is to say, movies I would like to rent in the near future if Blockbuster "forgets" to charge me the 2 months of late fees (actually, now, I just own the movies, thanks to their No Late Fees Policy, which also goes above and beyond my expectations to ensure that asshats like me are out there, 'stealing' the movies and just not returning them, paying a paltry sum for a film one isn't likely to find at Ye Olde Movie Purchasing Shoppe).

Which is why I find it so amusing that yesterday, I opened my mail to discover that Blockbuster has sent me a letter- and not an angry, we want our money, biatch! letter. Oh no, it's a Dear Megan My Sweet, we miss your warm eyes and infectuous laugh, why hast thou forsaken us? letter. The kind you really wish you could send that guy you dated, except with less drunken rambling and swearing about how "I'm the best damn thing you'll never have!", "Why didn't you love me? Were you sleeping with my sister?!" and "Maybe I'll just go DIE now, how'd you like that?"

Wait. That's the relationship equivalent of the we want our money, biatch! form letter.


Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Lock-down at Safeway

Tuesday, May 01, 2007
So last night, on my way home from dinner out with an old and long-lost friend, I stopped in at the Safeway to pick up the essentials I'd require in the next day or two.

Conditioner, bell pepper, salmon fillet, zuchinni, little cookies, tofu and something to clear up this little problem I've been having.

Apparently, I'm 16 again, beacause I've broken out like I haven't since I salivated over the JTT poster on my wall and listened to my Savage Garden cd until I sobbed my little heart to sleep.

(Okay, so I did that last thing like, two weeks ago, but whatever)

So there I stand, in the pharmacy aisle at Safeway with dry hair and a mucky complexion, clutching my Suave brand cheap-o creme rinse because I will NOT be spending double on a salon brand at a GROCERY store, for godssake- and I discover something alarming.

Did you know that they lock up the Clearasil when the pharmacist isn't on duty?!!


Makes me wonder what the hell is in that stuff that it's too dangerous to sell to unassuming grocery shoppers after 10:00pm. Should I just be slathering my mug with drano?

So here I am, shocked and confused, still Captain McZitty with dry hair and a fridge full of tofu that I haven't a freaking clue how to prepare.