I've got 16 layers of chanel makeup on...

for allison........

Being poor in LA is a major drag. Didn't I just read something somewhere about how there is no middle-class in LA but somehow it works for the city? Either you're a millionaire or you're starving while working 60 hours a week. I, unfortunately, am on the high-end of the latter.

But there's always Bloomingdales

they have all these groovy parties and send special invites to you if you have an account with them.

Today was a benefit party. I'm done with my job by 3:30pm, so I walked over to the store to enjoy their late-afternoon events.

I got a free manicure while sipping champagne delivered to me on a silver tray and munching on gourmet treats (also delivered to me). Then I got a back/neck massage, then a hand massage (we did the back/neck first to let the manicure set, natch). Plus a stack of 20% off coupons for a killer spa. Plus the contact info of the woman who runs the same spa in Chicago so I can treat my mother when I'm home. Then a champagne cocktail was delivered to me - The Chanel. I had chatted briefly with the Kama Sutra woman before the manicure, so during my hand massage, she came over to me and told me to come back for a free gift (that's my boyfriend's favorite part of this story). Then I nibbled some more.

Did I mention the fat-free ice-cream sandwich when I stopped by during my lunch break?

Back to the evening cause that was more delecadent.......

Then I got a cappucino to kill the buzz from The Chanel

But there was a woman with me who told me the blue martinis were yummy

so I asked the drink guy if I could taste a little taste of the blue martini.

He was making more champagne cocktails for some woman, so rather than make a sampler of the martini, he surprised me by pushing a glass to me and saying "this is YOUR drink.....that Blonde Parisian you mentioned earlier?"

yum

ok, so I walk to the makeup department and get a facial. Then Blu at Jo Malone teaches me how to layer my fragrances. He gives me a wee bottle of the nectarine fragrance thinking I'm a fruity-flowery girl. But during his tutorial he's shocked to hear me say "wow I LOVE that one!" when he handed me a paper sliver sprayed with Pomegranate Noir. Blu's delighted to hear me say it smells like Christmas becuase one of his co-workers started wearing the scent and has been upset that Blu chides him for smelling like holiday potpourri. So he gives me a wee sample bottle of the Pomegranate Noir. Did I mention I successfully smelled the middle note of clove? If I were to go into frangrance layering as a new career, do I need to change my name to a colour and speak in a British accent?

Post manicure, massage, sex-toy, cappucino, champagne, facial - I opt for a makeover to prep me for my weekly meeting with Alison and Jana and, later my shift here at the station.

Chanel seems fitting for my upcoming Beverly Hills dinner--

There is, of course, 3 layers of special hydrating gels, primers, etc. which must be liberally applied before any makeup action begins.

My GOD who wears this much foundation?!?!? Oh wait, I see. The woman doing my face and the other artist across the way. The blush turns out very red on my cheeks. The solution, it seems, is to put more foundation on to cover it up. The second blush is too pink. More foundation natch. Ah! a winner! A peachy colour, then the winter-limited-edition-soon-to-be-sold-out-so-I-better-buy-it-tonight frosty pink dusted on top.

I learned as much as I love the colour Vamp, the lipstick is frighteningly pink on my lips. Second hue she tries is a scary peach. Shit! I was supposed to be at Alison's 10 minutes ago! I give up and put a light gloss on. yay me!

My skin can't breathe, but I look amazing. And I'm walking out the store with more than $1000 worth of crap brushed, smudged, layered, lined on my face.

I raced from Century City to Beverly Hills to meet the ladies for some guilty pleasures.

They exclaim "wow! yuuuuuuuuuuuuu look beauuuuutiful!"

"thanks, I've got 16 layers of Chanel makeup on"

as I excuse myself to come here, Alison, in all seriousness orders me to write something titled "I've got 16 layers of Chanel makeup on" during my radio shift.

Raul is shocked at how beautiful I look. He's used to seeing me show up in pjs and ponytails and cheap, worn-out makeup.

He's thanking me on air for my assistance and telling his listeners how gorgeous I look all smothered in Chanel.

My income for this job is $0.

If I scraped this off and put it in a bottle, I could pay my rent + car insurance with it-