My eyes almost fell out today....

I accidentally went to the Eaton Centre last week. I shouldn't have done it, but I needed to at least SEE if the Apple Store would help me clean up the exterior of my laptop (it was white, now it's grey. I get sympathy stares on the subway and I'm pretty sure it's because my macbook appears to have been through a fire).

They were too busy to help me, or rather, I noticed the 'back-to-school' shitshow in the back of the store and RAN OUT OF THERE. I decided instead to buy some thick, black, liquid eyeliner to make me feel better.

After painstakingly examining products and prices for about 45 minutes, I decided on a relatively cheaper eyeliner than what I was used to wearing. Looking back, I think I looked for a cheaper brand to diffuse my guilt. My grandma would be so proud! Look at me, being frugal and actually comparing prices. (The last time I did this was when I found out that good ice cream costs like $8 a tub nowadays, not $2, like I expected).

This particular brand of eyeliner is called Urban Decay. While they do not test on animals, there were some pretty disturbing things going on inside the package.

I have to regrettably admit now that I did not read the list of ingredients until I was safely on the subway, and after throwing my receipt into a recycling bin...


Some of the more choice items are: shellac, methylparaben, propylparaben, and my favourite, CHROMIUM OXIDES.

I have officially failed as a responsible consumer! I know those chemicals up there are all linked with reproductive toxicity, cancer, and allergies, yet I still bought the effing eyeliner. I put my trust in this relatively unknown company to NOT sell me a product linked with unhappiness and death. Stupid me!

The next time I attempt to quench my overall malaise with unnecessary cosmetics, I will definitely go here first:

fun website that evaluates how bad your make-up is for you

And if you really feel like dwelling in the bile of consumer guilt:

this movie is really good, but short cause she talks so fast

Have a great day!!

Last night I had a dream that a good friend had successfully convinced me to join an indoor soccer league. I was initially quite skeptical, because I don't play soccer, and it was the middle of summer - why indoors, then?? I don't know. Instead of playing soccer, we were actually playing American football. We were throwing, punting, catching, instead of all the usual soccer-y stuff (like fake-chasing the ball, which I was looking forward to). Instead of using a regular football, we played with a bag of Cool Ranch flavored Doritos. I was really concerned, not so much that the bag would break, but that the delicious pieces inside would be embarrassingly too tiny to eat in front of my team once the game concluded. I like a large, stable chip for a more dainty ingestion.

As I looked down the gymnasium's field, with a disgruntled look in order to feign concern, a member of my team looked me in the eye and mouthed "go long." I recognized him right away as Mark Wahlberg:



He threw the bag of Cool Ranch Doritos; I caught it, and jumped into a purple hula-hoop with some guidance from my team. I woke up WHILE making this awesome leap, barely preventing my feet from going through a full-length mirror.

The message in this dream? Don't trust a Wahlberg! Any of them... even if they're holding goods you might want to eat someday...

I found this on my desk this morning. I think maybe it's a sign I should clean up a bit, considering at least 10 years have passed since Leo has resembled a Russian supermodel.

Before I moved away to attend University, I cut out pretty much every picture that I could find of both Leonardo DiCaprio and Ewan McGregor. It's so weird, imagining myself sitting on the floor of my gothy teenaged bedroom, listening to Nine Inch Nails, and cutting out photos of pretty boys with the sole intention of putting them up on display in my residence room. Or in the case of Leo, my front door. Some asshole down the hall performed a drunken stumbly thing outside the door one night and ripped off the upper left hand corner, forever ruining Leo's perfect 90's silhouette.

I am often embarrassed when I think of the magazine photos that were unleashed on the walls of my room while living in residence. I was desperately trying, quite unsuccessfully, to prove my coolness amidst a sea of other people who were all trying to do the same thing. I was such a super loser, in the literal sense of the word. I was lost. Someone actually asked me why I had photos of Leonardo on my wall, in a very questionable tone. I replied that he had been in countless quality films. He was like, which ones? And I was all, you know, like, "what's eating Johnny Depp?" Unfortunately, fact checking before the aggressive spread of high-speed internet access was a bitch. We were all victims of our own hippocampi, and my brain wasn't exactly in pristine condition at the end of high school.

After looking at this Details cover, I have no stinking idea how I could have possibly found Leonardo hot. For godsakes, the word "nard" is in the middle of his name. At the time, he wasn't even shaving his face. He sported a male-bob (or "mob") which every girl in their 30's can now add to her hair resume. The only respectable thing I had seen him in was Growing Pains, and I only watched that show to satisfy my secret actual crush on Alan Thicke.

The Ewan McGregor fascination still remains obvious to me now. It all boils down to Trainspotting. At the time, I thought it was the coolest movie ever made: this was probably because I had no connection with about 95% of what was happening on screen. I had not experienced ecstasy-fueled underage sex, nor had I experienced extremely realistic toilet hallucinations after undergoing heroin withdrawal. Nope. Ewan McGregor was so fucking cool in 1996, with his shaved head and tight pants and accent, that he rightly deserved a spot on my wall. No regrets there.

Do young people still do this? I haven't seen the inside of a high school student's locker in at least 4 years... it seems like now, teenagers who sit on the "edgy" side, and need to obsess over someone other than typical choices such as Zac Efron, probably do it to the tune of a little Kevin Bacon, Ricky Martin, Judd Nelson, Jon Cryer, etc. just to catch a few confused and repulsive glances from their peers. Somewhere in this country, there is probably even a young girl with the handsome, burly face of Alan Thicke looking back at her when she opens her locker every morning. And you know what she says before opening that wonderful locker? Show me that smile again. Just show me that smile.