Where's the Sex Machine?

I am recently employed ... and they want me to fly out to California on business trip on my first day. Holy shit! I haven't even had time to write all my deep thoughts about being unemployed and how it started my blog. It was going to be beautiful. In fact, I was actually surrendered to being unemployed long enough to document it.

Then ... whoa! wait! I'm hired?

I'm so grateful and happy ... and this brings me to my being-a-woman-can-make-you-batshit-crazy-regardless-of-your-best-intentions kind of feeling. For men, a last minute business trip means a trip to the dry cleaners and a shave kit. For women, that means

• Going through your entire closet looking for outfits
• SHOES!
• Brows
• Makeup
• Manicure/Pedicure
• And ... I am forgetting something. Crap!

This brings me to the sex machine. Sex Machine by Nars is the perfect lip ... solution ...in a pencil ... or a wand ... or whatever they call the lip stuff in a comically large pencil. I have no effing idea why it's in a pencil (or why it costs $25!). 

For years, I have been looking for a good ... lip solution and, years ago, I found it in Sex Machine. Me. All 300 pounds of awkward, geeky, angel-loving, Joss Whedon fan, couldn't get arrested on a speed date with the policeman's union me ... wears the Sex Machine.

My dilemma is that I hate glossy gloss and I CANNOT tolerate lipstick. Gloss feels like I just varnished my lips with lacquer that won't dry. I have even had a hard time talking because my lips tried to glue themselves together every time they touched. The gloss that isn't like that tends to have no color at all. We tell ourselves that it has great color because we need to but it doesn't. That organic, all-natural lip gloss you paid through the nose for doesn't show up at all. I'm your best friend. The friend that tells you when you make bad makeup choices. Speaking of which, you might want to check your teeth for lettuce.

To me, lipstick smells like a crayola crayon. Also, not to be too morbid here, but that crayola wax/heavy makeup smell reminds me of my mom in the open-casket we had during her wake. My mom died from complications related to diabetes. By the time she died ... something had happened that made the flesh of her face sink back into the bones. The mortician caked on the makeup to try and make her look normal. I could smell the makeup about 10 feet from the casket. Why we didn't just go with a closed casket ... would probably take years of therapy to explain. Regardless, ever since then, I cannot tolerate that heavy makeup smell ... and not right under my nose. Also, lipstick feels like tile grout on your lips. You know it's true.

As a result, I have been looking for an alternative that looks good for years, but never more diligently than in the past week. I have lip stains that are really moisturizing! (according to QVC) Of course, they are neither moisturizing nor do they show up. The worst of both worlds. And glosses that claim to not be sticky ... they're all sticky.

The thing that seems to work best for me is a lip pencil with a great lip balm. The quest for the perfect lip balm is ... a whole other blog. Well, not really. It's Neosporin Lip Health.

I discovered the Sex Machine through what I think was another late-night purchase from the Q far too long ago. Anyway, the color? Perfect! The perfect pink. The feel? Perfect! No crayola smell and I can barely feel it. Me when I first tried it ...

OMG! This is perfect. What is it... wait, is that name for real? No seriously, What?!

And it came with a blush named ... wait for it  ... "Orgasm." Apparently, Nars is famous for their racy names. Why? I don't know. It's not funny, cute, or amusing ... well, it is amusing, but not in the way they think. If you are going to make the perfect color, name it 1.239 or how about "Perfect Pink?" Something vague and innocuous that would never cause anyone to write a blog about it.

Wellll, despite the name, I have worn this lip color out ... to the point where I could have injured myself. I found the nub I could not part with on a frantic search through all my makeup last week.

I think George Bush was president when I bought this. Despite how gross this nub is, I actually tried to put it on for the interview and almost split my lip open on the wood from the pencil.

I had to buy a new one. It's a  new job!

When I found the nub ... as you can see, I could not see the name of the color and had forgotten all about the drama of the name. I was freaking out because I had to have it. I need to talk in an interview which means my lips need to separate.

I was running errands a few days ago and suddenly remembered and then, being me, said out loud wherever the hell I was

SEX MACHINE!!

So, I looked it up online and yes that is the name of the color.

All of this sent me to the mall on Monday - I loathe the mall! - to find the Sex Machine. You know life just got interesting when you're prowling the makeup counter at Nordstrom's thinking,

Sex Machine. Sex Machine. Where's the Sex Machine? I need the Sex Machine!

I made it so Sephora and actually asked one of those black lab-coated Valkyries who prowl the store looking for a commission...

Ummmm... where's the ... umm Nars?

Because why would it be easy to find?

She showed me to the aisle and ... No Sex Machine! I almost had to ask for it. Really! The sweaty panic. The hysterical giggles...

I (giggle) just (breathe) need the (giggle) Sex Machine.

Finally, I found it ... and it's just as perfect as I remember ... and no lip splinters!

(I refused to even look at the Orgasm blushes. Because, you know, my dignity....)

So now, all I need is my Sex Machine and some .... Neosporin.

Oh no!