When Gothamista asks you to purrrsonally take her shopping, you don’t say no. In fact, you say yes while trying hard to play it cool and fake-flipping through your planner.
So on one cold day in New York, Renée met up Renee (no relation) and me for a day in Chinatown exploring some of the best places in the city to swatch ‘n’ sniff Korean, Japanese, Taiwanese, and Chinese beauty stuphs (plus some select Western ones).
If you got the pun-tastic title of this post, you have a “thoreau” understanding of my terrible existential pun and we need to be best friends. But who needs relationships anyway when you’re eternally basking in your cosmic aloneness?
In case you can’t tell from the tone of this post, it’s Renee returning after a long period of absence. By absence I mean laziness and sinking into existential despair over the meaning of life and why does my skin continue to do what I don’t want until one day it will slip off my skeleton?
But on to a more cheerful subject which is my LA visit recently, where I ONLY managed to blow $150 on cosmetics. This AB stuff has gotten exponentially expensive over the years wtf.
Behold my acquisition, to soothe my angst. YES I partially got it because of the name, but it doesn’t contain any real pieces of Camus
Fast forward 2 years, and 2catsinjapan raves again about it. My interest piqued–and determined to try MOAR sunscreens so I can make the best sunscreen balls possible–I ordered it off of Amazon. Surprisingly, it was very close to Japanese retail price at “only” $46 US. (Note: This is Super Sunshield EX even though “EX” doesn’t show up on the front of the bottle or box.)
Unfortunately, this turned out to be an expensive failed experiment.
Hey remember when air travel wasn’t such a fking nightmare (where you’re dragged shrieking out of your paid seat in front of the elderly and children) and people actually thought it was glamorous and appealing? No? Well me neither, because it was in the 1950s. Despite bathing in virgin blood to keep my youth and appearance, I can assure you I’m not old enough to remember the 1950s.
While air travel has NEVER been glamorous or appealing, I can attest that first class is well…better than the cattle class. I’m full of insight, I am. Look at this amenity kit they give out in the ANA first cabin:
Angela (to Renee and Indya): LADIES!!! I have a very speshul present for you.
Indya: Does it involve cutting out lolcat talk?
Angela: Me haz no idea what zis hooman is talking about. Ahem–*whips out package*–feast your eyes on this.
Renee (eyes widening): Ooh, aaah. It’s so big! It’s so firm! It’s so…pineappley?! OMG it’s the heartthrob Pikotaro. Sooooo much better than your girly male Korean pop star masks!
Angela: I’m going to pretend you didn’t just wound the deepest part of my soul. Anyhoo, I got each of us a Pen-Pineapple-Apple-Pen (PPAP) sheet mask. You get a PPAP smear, you get a PPAP smear, EVERYONE gets a PPAP smear!
I just came back from my annual snowboarding trip in Whistler. Beside the bazillion foot elevation and vertical drop, and jaw-dropping, audible-gasping sights of this mountain, this & the surrounding Vancouver area has among my (Renee’s) FAVORITE duty free shopping because it’s a huge port for Cathay Pacific routes to Asia. Behold:
Duty-Free Mini Haul at YVR Terminal and Cathay Pacific inflight catalogue
A lot of bad shit happened in 2016. Like, furrreal. But a lot of good shit happened too. As we bid adieu to 2016 and its poopoo platter, please remember more strongly the things that brought us happiness. Such as:
This catman who gives a cat a bath WHILE rapping. Is he a wizard? A rapper? A w-rapper?