You guys! Joe Mauer is on the Disabled List, which means that his legs are covered in owies and boo-boos and he is totally not playing. That means a couple of things: 1) Justin Morneau (i.e., Canadian) is now the only reason to watch the Twins (which means there is no real reason to watch the Twins) and 2) It is time to pull out that sexy nurse costume you bought when you were 19 and get to work. Joe Mauer needs us now more than ever. Where are my Ace bandages? Anyone got any Kama Sutra brand massage oil?
Anyway, I've got two more product reviews that, yes, will allow you to live out your wildest fantasies with Joe Mauer. In fact, I talked to him this morning, and he was all like, "Hey girl. Get your tube of lip balm and your fashion tape and meet me at that Hilton down by the airport and we'll go over some video. And by "go over some video" I mean, reenact a lot of those Cinemax movies we all watched growing up. And by "growing up," I mean two weeks ago."
Burt's Bees Tinted Lip Balm in Rose Allie at Wardrobe Oxygen wrote about this stuff a couple of weeks ago, and I'll just say that her review is thorough and good and tells you what you need to know about this stuff. Basically, all I'm doing here by reviewing it again is telling you TO NOT PASS GO. TO NOT COLLECT $200. TO GO BUY THIS STUFF NOW. Really. It is that good. No, I'm not playing with you--quit looking at me like that. If you don't buy this stuff, you are an idiot. Why? Because it is the perfect lip color. PERFECT. I feel like I've been searching my whole life for this stuff, and now that we are together, it is like we are in a bad romantic comedy. There are trips to the park where we lay on the ground and it lays on my stomach and reads Pride and Prejudice and I play dreamily with its hair. There are Sunday mornings in bed with picturesque French toast and a crossword puzzle. You get the idea. We are in love, and I don't care who knows it.
I will change two things about Allie's review and say that I feel like it smells like this cherry lipbalm my grandmother used to make me wear as a kid. Like exactly. I think it was Chapstick brand, but I don't really remember. Also, she mentions wearing it on weekends. Honey, I am rockin' this EVERY DAMN DAY. I find myself reaching for it all the time, even on days when I had started out in something else. It is so easy to apply--at one's desk, shopping, at a little league game--that you can just do it all easy breezy like. And I love the look, even when it is a bit messy. Today, I am wearing full-on business stuff--oxford shirt, black pencil, need peep toes, simple silver jewelry. I did my eyes a bit darker and smudged the stuff on as I was driving down the road. And I adore it--a bit of whimsy, a bit of spring with the reserved oxford and black skirt.
My only issue with it is that I wish it were in a fancier tube. Like a gold gilded one with my initials spelled out in pave diamonds or something. Because the packaging doesn't even hint about how awesome it is. I was raving incoherently about it one day, and Matt picked it up, and was like, "Um, this? This is what you said you wanted to have babies with?" And I had to say yes. And that is when I think he realized that he really needs to get that patent for the Divorce App we've been planning.
Mauer verdict? Joe Mauer would fucking love this. You see, I see him as a guy who likes the natural, girl-next-door look (and with that, I'll get about 15 emails from strippers in the greater Minneapolis area who can tell me just the opposite). Joe Mauer likes the smell of soap, I think. So yeah, you put this on, and there is a 98% chance that you'll be seeing what's behind the gear. Give or take about 97%.
Hollywood Fashion Tape I've been reading for years about this stuff and how every woman should keep it in her bag, her desk drawer, etc. And I thought I'd buy it, and then I didn't, and well, I've survived this long. You know? I'd rather spend my money on non-fat-extra-hot-one-and-a-half-pump-caramel-macchiatos-with-extra-caramel. But one day I was out buying false eyelashes (more on that later), and I saw this at the register, and I thought, "Well, I wouldn't be myself if I didn't indulge my horrible ways with money," and I bought it. That same day, I was wearing this black dress with a cardigan over it and my Frye Harnesses. I actually love the fit on this dress (especially since I bought it straight from the ON rack and haven't tailored it at all), but at that point in my long day, my cleavage was starting to show more than normal. This is no knock on the dress. Ya'll, I could show cleavage in a crewneck t-shirt. I am totally THAT girl--just one millimeter away from total and complete inappropriateness at all times. So I pulled out the tape, and yes, taped the dress to my boobs. Ya'll, I'm not joshing you here--it made my dress look more expensive. Just that little extra oomph, a bit more...taste...it did something for it. And it didn't hurt or feel weird. I forgot it was there until I went to Target and wanted to try on something and saw it on my chest. I will say that trying on stuff made the tape...give a little, spurring this conversation with my cousin later on:
Me: It was really good meeting your boyfriend.
Cousin: Yeah, he's great. I have something important to ask you though....
Me: Yes, I really do think he's totally great! You guys are awesome! Give him a chance! Ignore what your parents say! Let him stay here and live in sin! Who cares what the world says! You deserve to be happy!
Cousin: Um, well, that's not what I meant....um, do you have tape on your boob?
Me: Oh. Yeah. I do. Like fashion tape. To hold my dress on.
Cousin: You need help keeping your dress on? Speaking of living in sin!
And I won't say exactly how we got to the next part of this conversation, but we ended up deciding that if we ran out of scrapbooking supplies for my grandmother's picture board at her funeral, we would use my boob tape to affix the pictures. (Note: It didn't come to that, but if it had, my grandmother would have approved.)
Fast forward to this morning. I wanted to wear my black pencil skirt. I shaved and moisturized and all of that. I put it on. WTF? The hem had fallen! Now, fallen hems are proof that there is a Satan, and he is not a cool Miltonic anti-hero Satan, but rather, a very, very bad guy. Especially since my favorite tailor (ahem, my 86 year old maternal grandmother) is out of town visiting her OTHER grandchildren who totally don't need her like I need her. What to do? I remembered the fashion tape, and ladies, I taped that shit up. And at first, I really didn't think it would work. It felt kind of weird on my legs, and I really thought it was falling over and over again. But it hasn't. It is fine. So, fashion tape, ya'll! The working woman's duct tape.
What say you, Mauer? Oh, it's a total necessity, he says. You're going to need it for all that bodice ripping at that airport Hilton later on. Wonder if it works on Twins jerseys?
Well played, Mauer, indeed.