Consumption

I, Too, Sing ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBAW

I've gone extremely girly for the last two weeks, and that's fine. I am in fact a female, and therefore enjoy all the privileges of dousing myself in liquid honeysuckle and behaving like Belle Watling on a bender. However, the siren song of Footbaw is beginning to echo in my ears, and it must be obeyed.

Although Brett Favre is giving his all for ruining the preseason today, there is a ray of hope. A ray with piercing cornflower eyes, tumbling locks of purest gold, and a demented, godless smile on his Viking face. A ray named Jeremy Shockey.

Shockey (28; I had no idea! He's timeless) is a four-time Pro Bowler and is the sole reason the New York Giants made it to the playoffs. His off-field activities include drinking, whoring, Americaning (it's a word! He went to the U, BABY!), and poking Tom Coughlin with a stick until he cries. He used to shoot his older friends with a BB gun to make them pay attention to him (FACT!). Under normal circumstances, the utilization of a gay slur would make my eyes swell with furious tears; when Shockey calls Bill Parcells a homo, the tears are of unmitigated adoration. Does this make me a bad person? Yes. Do I care? No. I AM WOMAN.

The point of all this is to say that Jeremy Shockey--volatile, mentally unbalanced, gleefully anarchic Jeremy Shockey--has been traded to the New Orleans Saints. He is now playing football in the most corrupt city in the world, where he can rampage through the French Quarter with hand grenades and hurricanes in his clenched fists, demanding that every woman he sees immediately disrobes before him, snorting uncontrollably while he shovels fried dough into his gaping maw. If you can think of a better scenario for the National Football League or humanity, please let me know immediately.

Buy this jersey, belt it, and wear it with some gold lame underwear. Then take a casual stroll through the Quarter at three in the morning. If you feel you must, spritz yourself lightly with HGH and tiger musk. The pieces should fall into place from there.

FREEDOM ISN'T FREE WHERE'S MY DRINK

Like a margarita. But for your face.

Normally when I mix vodka, lime, coconut, avocado, seaweed, and sea salt, it means I'm at Jay's beach house, watching The Birdcage and weeping while wrapped in a shark towel and shoveling clam dip down my gullet. When LUSH mixes those things, they come up with a product that achieves a similar catharsis without the hangover: Ocean Salt Facial Scrub. For those of us whose skin is so delicate and fair that it makes Scarlett O'Hara look like a leathery peasant, it can be difficult to find a cleanser that doesn't irritate and inflame. This is that cleanser.

The salt and vodka extracts exfoliate without grating your face like delicious parmesan, and the violet and avocado leave you feeling moisturized, not oily. The ingredients revitalize your face without stinging. Also, it smells like happiness (by which I mean it smells like the ocean if the ocean were made of vodka). It's a little on the pricey side ($18.55 for a 4.2 oz tub), but it lasts; you use less than a teaspoonful per scrub, and I recommend using it only ever other day. Wet your face, rub it in gently and let the exfoliants work their magic. This is also brilliant on the elbows and knees, hobbit feetsies, and any other rough patches you may have. My notoriously problematic skin was soft and clear within about a week.

One note: it may smell like a margarita and look like a Sonic Slushie, but don't let it get in your mouth when you're washing; the salty taste is overpowering.

Happy Salt Funtimes

 

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow/ Hid in this silent, dull retreat

     Take a minute and imagine the scents of your youthful summers. If you're anything like me, you just smelled freshly mown grass, chlorine, grape popsicles, the salty tears of furious tantrums, entitlement, and honeysuckle. Unfortunately, cosmetic companies have yet to catch up to my dreams of lightly misting myself with the salty tears of furious tantrums; however, Boss Lady has made my fantasies of smelling exactly like a honeysuckle plant into delectable reality.

 

     Scientific fact: honeysuckle contains nepetalactone, otherwise known as the primary ingredient of catnip. Unscientific fact: catnips makes cats go donkey-ass crazy in a frenzy of rubbing, licking, and general sluttery. I bet you didn't know that honeysuckle has this exact same effect on boys...BUT IT DOES. The sweet nectar is simultaneously nostalgic and alluring, the best possible combination for making someone want to take their pants off. "This reminds me of the happy times I had before I went to law school and watched a lot of anime...[joyous tear]...I'M LIKE A HUMMINGBIRD [nosedive into cleavage]".

     As if this weren't incentive enough, the honeysuckle scent of Boss Lady is light and subtle enough to be tantalizing without being completely overpowering. It's feminine and summery. Bottom line: it just plain makes me happy.

     You can find Boss Lady at eclectic locations such as Earth to the Old City in Knoxville, or you can buy it online (I recommend just googling to find the provider of your choice). The honeysuckle scent is available in several incarnations, but the Spray is by far the best purchase; the cream is just too oily, whilst the spray is very light.

     Warning: Product may cause frequent vicious hummingbird attacks.