5 posts tagged “dior”
Dear warm Hornsby's I found on the counter,
Thank you for being the last alcoholic beverage left in my apartment. You've been on my counter for two weeks now, since Chad thinks you're gross and I forgot you were there. Tonight I can't sleep, partly because I slept until 11:30 this morning, partly because I didn't get home from work until close to 11 PM, and partly because I'm stressed out about the big, awful day I have to look forward to at work tomorrow. So, my dear cider, work your 5.5% magic on me, and sing me to sleep soon. Make it a heavy sleep, so that tomorrow while I'm trying to pull $3,000 in sales from nowhere for our National Event, I'll be well rested and able to put up with anything.
Goodnight, dear cider, goodnight.
Love,
Amanda
It was really slow at work today. At three o'clock, I'd only sold a bottle of Hypnotic Poison and a mascara. Not a very exciting afternoon. I decided that my counter needed a good scrubbin' down, since it had been a few days since I'd taken everything apart and cleaned it. (Don't think me a clean freak or anything; my counter is just built into the side of the escalator and it gets all dusty...and no one wants to wear dusty make-up.)
So, here I am, minding my own business and cleaning all eight thousand Dior lipsticks, when I notice a very small man walking around the store with an almost empty, plastic bag of those mini-sized phone books that you can keep in your car. He took two out and set them on the Clinique counter. He took two out and set them on the Prescriptives counter. And then he took the last two out, set them next to me, and walked away. I couldn't even say thank you before he was gone.
I looked around the department. No one else had even noticed him. Indeed, the girls at Clinique had just simply put their little phone books away, never even questioning from whence they came. Of course, since I was super bored and all, I decided to see if anyone else thought it was peculiar. Guess not. Everyone just thought that the little man I'd seen was just the guy who gets paid to deliver phone books. Way to ruin my excitement. I'd like to think that the world isn't that banal, and that there really was some better reason for a four foot tall man to be walking around with a bag of tiny phone books.
So, here's my challenge to anyone who may come across this blog in the next few days and be up for some imagining: I want to hear more exciting reasons that a man would walk into a Macy's with a bag of phone books and deal them out to random cosmetics counters.
Get with the imagining, people.
Characters:
Amanda: A 25 year old who is too overly confident in her cooking skills. She is also drop-dead gorgeous.
Chad: A 30 year old hottie, who happens to be Amanda's live-in boyfriend.
Act I, Scene I
Amanda is at work when the phone rings.
Amanda: It's an outstanding day at Dior, this is Amanda. (there is a lack of enthusiasm in her voice.)
Chad: Hey hun.
(they chat for a few moments)
Amanda: What do you want for dinner?
Chad: Meatballs.
Amanda: Meatballs?
Chad: Spaghetti and meatballs.
Amanda:.....
Act I, Scene II
Amanda drives home on her lunch break, to make herself a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich and look up some simple recipes involving meatballs. She is determined not to make just simple spaghetti and meatballs, because she is full of herself and believes that she is far too good of a cook to stoop to simple meatballs. Her search brings her to a recipe involving baked ziti and turkey meatballs. Simple fare, she thinks.
Act II, Scene II
Amanda is in the kitchen. The phone rings.
Amanda: Hello?
Chad: Hey. I'm at the grocery store. Do you want some beer?
Amanda: H%$L yeah I want some beer!
Act II, Scene II
Amanda is still in the kitchen. There is smoke around her. There is an oily, charred smell in the air. The meatballs are turning dark brown, and her head is starting to feel light because all she ate today was a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich, and has now had beer. She wonders how people can make meatballs that are cooked on the inside and not hard on the outside. Having had too much beer, she throws the rest of her ingedients into a casserole in a slap-dash fashion and exits the kitchen.
Chad: How's dinner coming?
Amanda: Dunno. Go open the oven and check.
Chad: What are you doing?
Amanda: Writing a blog.
Chad: Are you drunk?
Amanda: Slightly.
Chad: But you've only had one beer.
Amanda: That's the way it goes....
...and so ends our scene. How will the ziti turn out? Will Chad get salmonella? Will somebody please get Amanda another beer? Find out tomorrow, or next time Amanda has two beers....
Reasons Why Being at Home Is Better Than Not Being at Home:
1) No one cuts you off at home.
2) You don't have to wait in line.
3) You don't have to explain 16 times to some stupid woman that her $3.00 eyeshadow case was, in fact, already returned to her Macy's card.
4)There is beer at home.
5) They aren't doing any construction at home.
6) You don't have to cover the Clinique counter.
7) There are fewer stupid people.
8) Your part-timer doesn't call in sick and leave you to do all of the counter work in twenty minutes before the regional vice-president comes to visit your counter. In fact, there are no part-time positions at home.
9) You don't have to drive all the way to class, only to find out that class is cancelled for the evening and end up waiting in traffic for thirty minutes just to leave the parking lot.
10) There are cute boys at home.
It's been a very, very, very, very, very bad day. I'm glad to be home.
Seriously, that about sums up my day. I went to a one day training seminar for work, and all I got was a lipstick. Granted, it was the new Rouge Dior that isn't even out yet for sale, but I did have to spend the whole day feeling like a squat troll next to the other diva-esque Dior "beauty specialists". I know that most of the people who read this blog don't live in or around the Los Angeles/Orange Country area, but believe me when I say that the four days I've spent in Costa Mesa this month were just way too many. I mean, it's only fun to hang out in this mall http://www.southcoastplaza.com/ for one day. Anymore than that and you feel like the president of the poor working class. Well, that and you start trying to make up excuses why you shouldn't pay rent or eat for the months to be able to afford these hot Jimmy Choo boots: http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?FOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=282574490523837&PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524446139190&R=717095382873&P_name=Jimmy+Choo&sid=10D1FA037ADF&ASSORTMENT%3C%3East_id=1408474395222441&bmUID=1155876804079
