2001-03-30 - 1:05 p.m.

I had plans after work to have dinner & see the "Bridget Jones's's's Diary" preview screening with Andrew & Jim. I got downtown early & stopped into Marshall Fields to use some free makeup at their counters. I was so determined to just do my eyebrows & leave with no hassle, & this dude totally bullied me into a complete makeover. It was so long of him convincing me he should put just one more product on me. Powder? Ok. Concealer? Definitely yes. Cranberry colored cream mascara? Um....if you say so. On & on, while he told me about his spiritual connection with Billy Corrigan. I asked if he usually liked things that live under rocks. He pretended not to know what I meant. I guess B.C. had been at the makeup counter earlier that day, & it was really exciting. Anyway, the dude who did my makeup was really nice & ignoring a bunch of angry customers even though I'd told him straightaway I'd be buying nothing. His co-worker kept saying he'd better go help some people & they were all glaring at both me & him & he'd say loud enough for them to hear "OR WHAT'LL HAPPEN? THEY CAN WAIT." Yeah! He really wanted me to have a fake mole. Um, how about no. But the lines of consent are so blurry at this point.... he gave me a fake mole. I told him I was only going to the movies and he explained "movies are FANTASY!" Upon looking in the mirror at the mole, I commented "Crazy." He wiped it off. Anyway, after all this I was late to meet A & J, but they were so mesmerized the awesome new glamourous me, that it was just not a prob.

I feel like the makeup counter dude will read this. He will do a search for B.C., & he will read this. Hi! I liked the eyeshadow a lot! I would so buy every bit of all of it if I were rich! Steal it for me?

Um, Bridget Jones was no good. Renee did well, & I'm sure Andrew will be happy to tell you all about how hot she looked, but I hate what they did to the book. The group of her friends were nothing in the movie. The music BLEEEEWWWWWW. And, yeah. It was too bad.

Pooptime, looptime.

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