At least I'm thinking of words and roots of words and sometimes in Latin.

Thanks so much to Alex for this fantastic link to Locher's: sweet and dirty shirts for women. The above is easily my favorite. (And obviously my gorgeous nieces are the exception. In fact I need another fix here pretty soon...) Now if only these shirts were a little more in my price range...and I would SO wear these to work knowing full well no one would ever in a million years actually read the embroidery. (I'd bring a sweater just in case the big wigs came that day, which they so would).

I got to feel only mildly stupid today when we made the electrician come back out because the lights in the kitchen weren't working again. However, this time it was the bulbs. Having grown up with (stupid) flourescent lighting in the bathroom, I'm quite used to how they act when they are about to go out. These weren't doing that. Luckily he didn't charge me. There is still a chance it's the ballast, not the bulb. And there's even less of a chance I know what a ballast is or what to do with it or if I'm even using the right word, let alone spelling it correctly but either way, it's not covered. Let's hope it's not the ballast.

But that's ok, because then I turned around and went to the grocery store, where they don't have flourescent bulbs. So I remembered I need lipstick and wandered into that aisle. I have a certain type of lipstick I like because it actually stays on. I don't wear makeup but do feel the need to occasionally wear lipstick so people can tell where my face stops and my mouth starts (I'm a little pale). I can't seem to wear lipstick for more than five minutes, I really don't know, it just goes away. So this stuff stays on--you could eat everything off the menu at Jack In the Box and Taco Bell and that shit would stay on. I don't care what carcinogenic chemicals or mouse scrotums have gone into it because by god, I don't have to apply it eight times a day.

The funny thing is that none of their colors really suit me, but I'm still trying. And while staring at their rainbow of inhuman colors, a sixteen year old male employee wandered over and said, "Uh, like, I work here, but do you know where this might go?" and he showed me some sort of Max Factor foundation. I laughed, as surely that was a little embarrassing for him, though probably not as embrassing as my having to admit that I probably found myself in the makeup aisle as often as he. The territory is about as familiar to me as the automotive aisle. At least I know what kind of oil my car takes. I think.

However, if retail has taught me anything, (thank you, Express), it's how to look at nearly-identical pieces of crap merchandise and spot the minute differences, thereby being able to stock it properly. Clothes, makeup, same shit. And sure enough I found it. Don't feel intimidated, I was the stock room manager at Express. Yeah, I know, pretty cool. (Wow, all that time spent trying to translate fucking Julius Caesar and Cicero and all this time I should have been focusing on my kindergarten skills).

And because my weird lipsticks were buy one get one free I have two to experiment with. The one I'm wearing now is called cabernet satin (don't get me started on the lipstick names), but judging by how it looks on ME and NOT on the box, I think Barbie Gets Date Raped might have been a more suitable choice.

Oh, and I have red hair now but no one has noticed. Not even a chick at work I trained with! I'll grant you it's not outrageous but it's fairly drastic if you saw me every day. I'm letting D slide, as our schedules have been opposite and I've either been in bed or it's been on the dark side in the house when we're both here. He's pretty decent about that sort of thing, especially for a boy. (Not so much noticing the kitchen sink going from scummy to pristine, but I'll take it where I can get it).