Meet the Fans

 These are the darlings that will keep me alive during the summer.

BEDROOM CREW OF DOOM

1. Grizzled, Ye Elder Fan
Alignment: Lawful Stubborn
Age: Older than the Berlin Wall coming down
Aesthetic: Beige Industrial Despair (the color of Reagan‑era hopelessness)
Traits:
•  Metal cage bent like it survived a bar fight
•  Duct tape scars that tell a story
•  Four speeds, each with a personality
•  Emits the energy of a Vietnam vet who listens to classic rock and doesn’t talk about the war
•  Will outlive you, me, and the concept of summer itself
This fan is not a machine.
This is a survivor.

2. Philip, StandyUppy Fan
Alignment: Chaotic Useless
Age: Toddler
Aesthetic: “I was $19.99 at Walmart and I know it”
Traits:
•  Buttons that work only when the moon is in Pisces
•  Four speeds, all of which are lies
•  Moves air the way a depressed Victorian child blows out birthday candles
•  Will die in two years, but only after inconveniencing you deeply
Philip is the fan equivalent of a coworker who “tries their best” but should not be in charge of anything.

3. Magnolia the Fair
Alignment: Neutral Murderous
Age: 2008, but spiritually 1888
Aesthetic: Looming Gothic Ceiling Apparition
Traits:
•  Two speeds: High and Also High
•  Whirs like a genteel lady fanning herself on a porch
•  Occasionally makes a noise that suggests she is about to drop from the ceiling and slice your jugular
•  Will absolutely kill you one day, but politely
Magnolia is the Blanche DuBois of ceiling fans.
She depends on the kindness of strangers and the structural integrity of two screws.

4. Taz of Metal
Alignment: Chaotic Exhausted
Age: 5 years but has lived 50
Aesthetic: Industrial Wind Demon
Traits:
•  Three speeds: Wonderful, Not Bad, and Kinda Meh
•  Currently stuck on Kinda Meh like a washed‑up rockstar
•  Held together by paper clips like a middle school science project
•  Vibrates like it’s trying to escape this mortal coil
•  Will die this year, and everyone knows it
Taz is the fan equivalent of a biker with emphysema who still insists on doing one last road trip.


THE LIVING ROOM WIND COURT

1. Jazz from Amazon
Alignment: Chaotic Pretty
Age: 2020, but spiritually a 1920s lounge singer
Aesthetic: Dark bronze, seductive, unreliable
Traits:
•  Looks sturdy but is actually held together by hope and a loose blade
•  Three speeds, all of which blow your hair into your eyes like a dramatic music video
•  Requires constant tightening, like a diva needing her corset adjusted
•  Will die this year, but will do it glamorously
Jazz is the fan who says, “I may not work, but I will look stunning while failing.”

2. Roommate’s Box Fan
Alignment: Lawful Disposable
Age: 0–5 years, but emotionally already retired
Aesthetic: “I was made in a factory that does not believe in quality control”
Traits:
•  Light blue metal body, white plastic face
•  Three speeds, all of which are theoretical
•  Falls forward like a fainting goat
•  Cats treat it like a wrestling opponent
•  Will last two more years out of spite
Rommate doesn’t name things he knows will die, which makes this fan the equivalent of a doomed NPC.

3. Trudy
Alignment: Neutral Sturdy
Age: 2 years
Aesthetic: Walmart Gothic
Traits:
•  Black plastic, metal stand, takes up the space of a small refrigerator
•  Three speeds, all of which blow your hair into your eyes from across the room
•  Annoying, but keeps you alive-ish
•  Will last two more years because she’s too stubborn to quit
Trudy is the dependable but irritating aunt who always brings potato salad you didn’t ask for.

4. Unnamed Window Fan
Alignment: Chaotic Temporary
Age: Installed two nights ago
Aesthetic: “I am new, but I will disappoint you soon”
Traits:
•  White plastic, suspiciously clean
•  Two speeds: Mid and Also Mid
•  No reverse, which defeats the entire purpose of a window fan
•  Exists only because the previous window fan died dramatically
•  Will last two years, tops
This fan is the intern who was hired because the last intern quit mid-shift.

5. Ginevra the Beautiful
Alignment: Lawful Elegant
Age: 1 year
Aesthetic: Angel of Ceiling Breezes
Traits:
•  White metal, white wood blades, tulip shades
•  Gorgeous, refined, polite
•  Three speeds, none of which are allowed to be used
•  Wears long metal pull chains like chandelier earrings
•  Too polite to kill anyone
Ginevra is the debutante who was invited to the ball but told she must not dance because the floorboards are old.

Deep Betrayal Masked as Choices: My June 2026 IPSY EXTRA CHOICE DAY

June arrived with heat, humidity, and the faint hope that my IPSY bag might bring me a little joy. Instead, it delivered a full‑scale beauty betrayal. This month’s curation wasn’t just off; it felt like IPSY spun a wheel labeled “Chaos,” “Disregard,” and “Pink Lip Products She Will Hate,” and then proudly mailed me the results.

The no‑choice items alone were enough to make me sigh into the middle distance. First, they sent me a TYS Beauty Lip Butter in Passionfruit—a sheer vibrant pink, the exact kind of shade I consistently rate low and never request. Do you know what I look like in vibrant pink? A woman in her 50s with stupidly bright lips. This would have been annoying on any month, but this was the month they were offering Tower 28 lip products, which makes the choice feel almost spiteful.

Then, as if to double down, they sent a brow gel right after I literally got a brow tint last month. IPSY, my beloved nemesis, if you had looked at my recent products for even five seconds, you would have known I did not need another brow product. You keep a LIST of recent products. Use it.

The choice items didn’t improve things. The first selection forced me to choose between the Dieux Air Angel Peptide Gel Cream and the Glow Recipe Watermelon Dew Drops—two excellent products that should never have been pitted against each other. It felt like choosing between two kittens. I picked Dieux, but I resented having to choose at all.

Then came the true betrayal: the second choice group. IPSY lumped together the Rare Beauty blush, the Rodial drops, the Tower 28 Lip Jelly, and the Tower 28 LipSoftie. All in one group. This wasn’t a choice; it was psychological warfare. I knew they would put both Tower 28s together, but I didn’t expect them to also throw Rare Beauty into the same pit like a sacrificial lamb. My soul left my body. I ended up choosing the LipSoftie because my lips are a desert wasteland in summer and because I was already being punished with that Passionfruit Lip Butter. I wanted that blush too. I was looking forward to having that blush. 

By the time I reached the final choice group, I was too tired to be angry. My options were a Dew of the Gods cleanser, the Moonslice 1980s drag‑queen palette I refuse to let haunt my home, or face masks. FACE MASKS! REALLY? Really. I chose the cleanser because it was the only item that didn’t feel like a dare. At that point, I was simply trying to survive the experience.

And then, as the final insult, I tried to contact customer service. I normally do not do this. As a middle-aged woman, one is always very hesitant to contact customer services as to not appear a Karen. Ironically, the only ones who don't worry about this are the True Karens.

Once upon a time, IPSY had a simple “Contact Support” button.

Now they have GlamBot—a sparkly pink AI creature with long fake eyelashes who guards the gates like a glitter‑covered Cerberus. You ask for help, and GlamBot smiles, blinks slowly, and offers irrelevant articles. Then asks you for information that should be already accessed as you're doing this from your profile that you are logged into.

Eventually, after enough pleading, it tells you to “submit a ticket,” which is the modern equivalent of tossing a message in a bottle into the ocean. There is no email. There is no direct contact. There is only the Ticket Portal of Mild Desperation. I ended up sending my complaint to both Instagram and Facebook because IPSY has made contacting them a side quest.

So that was June IPSY: poorly curated, profile‑ignorant, choice‑group chaotic, and wrapped in a customer service maze guarded by a sparkly robot. I am tired. I am moisturized (thanks, Dieux). I am lip‑buttered against my will. And I sincerely hope July is kinder.

Though at this point, I'm considering just quitting completely. 

The Six Commandments of the Air Conditioner

 Hey! Welcome to June! As we are headed into the hell months, I thought I would share the hostage situation I happen to be in with my air conditioning. 

The Gospel of the Ancient Window Unit AC

1. “It shall not awaken until the land reaches 90 degrees.”

This is not a temperature threshold.
This is a summoning requirement.
At 89 degrees, you suffer.
At 90, the fridges begin to mutter ancient curses, and only then does the AC stir in its cave.
If it's 88 and the humidity is over 60, your life is basically hell.

2. “Its mercy is not for you.”

You are but a mortal.
Human suffering is a natural state. 
The AC serves only the Cold Boxes, the sacred guardians of milk and leftovers.
Machine suffering is not a good idea.
You are collateral.
Your suffering does not alter the House.

3. “You will feel the lack of mercy.”

This is the part of the scripture written in sweat.
And you do. You know, when it comes to the AC, you're just a dog getting crumbs.
The summer heat is there to humble you.

4. “It is old and may perish at any moment.”

This AC is a war veteran.
It has seen things.
It has fought summers that would break lesser machines.
Every time it turns on, it’s rolling a D20 for survival.
And you know this.

5. “The Cycle: 45 minutes on, 45 minutes off.”

This is not a schedule.
This is a breathing pattern.
When the AC draws in its silent breath, you will suffer.
When the AC exhales, you will find relief.
But only then. And there will be no compromises.
If it runs longer, it screams.
If it rests longer, you scream.
But your screaming doesn't matter.

6. “At 10 PM, the AC sleeps.”

And so begins the Night of Suffering.
The air becomes thick.
The fans become your only allies.
You lie in bed like a Tennessee Williams tragic heroine, praying for a breeze.
You listen to the whining of the fans and pray they don't go out.

Lestat: Why Too Much Polish Does Not Work for Messy Characters

There are bad movies, and then there is Queen of the Damned, a film so spectacularly misguided that it loops back around into being wonderful. It’s a disaster, yes, but it’s a beautiful disaster — the kind that feels like it was made by a group of goth theater kids who were dared to adapt Anne Rice after drinking absinthe in a mall parking lot. The plot barely exists, the acting is chaotic, and the whole thing looks like it was shot through a fog machine someone forgot to turn off. And yet, somehow, it’s sexy. It’s hypnotic. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a glitter covered feral cat hissing at you from a velvet chaise. You know it’s wrong, but you can’t look away.

And the soundtrack? The soundtrack is the reason this movie still has a pulse. Jonathan Davis basically said, “What if Lestat fronted a nu metal band and it actually slapped,” and then delivered exactly that. “Slept So Long” remains one of the most vampirically perfect songs ever recorded — all swagger, menace, seduction, and that immortal boredom that only a centuries old narcissist can pull off. It takes all the love and hate one would have about the vampire that made them and pours it into a growl/snarl of a delivery. So hot. The soundtrack understood Lestat better than the script did. Better than the movie did. Better than the new show does. It captured the hunger, the ego, the theatricality. It captured the too much of him.

Which brings me to the show. The show is… fine. And that’s the problem. It’s beautifully shot, well acted, and emotionally grounded. It is prestige television doing what prestige television does. But Lestat is not prestige television. Lestat is not “fine.” Lestat is a cathedral sized ego in leather pants. He is glam rock arrogance and divine hunger and glittering narcissism wrapped in a French accent. He is a fallen angel with a microphone. He is not meant to be contained by tasteful lighting and careful pacing. He needs excess. He needs spectacle. He needs a medium that can handle a man who would absolutely ruin a band just to make it about him.

Louis, on the other hand, fits perfectly into the prestige TV mold. He is introspective, tortured, morally conflicted, and beautifully miserable. He is the patron saint of sad men staring out of windows. Cable loves that. Streaming loves that. Louis belongs in a slow burn drama where he can monologue about guilt for six episodes straight. He fits the format. Lestat does not. Lestat is bigger than cable, bigger than streaming, bigger than any platform that requires subtlety or restraint. He is a force of nature wearing eyeliner.

And honestly, when Anne Rice sat down to write him as a protagonist, she wasn’t thinking about television at all. She was thinking about glam rock. Spiritually, if not literally, she put on Ziggy Stardust, turned the volume up until the windows shook, and listened to it six hundred times. She wrote “making love to his ego” on a piece of paper, underlined it in red lipstick, and whispered, “Oh yes. This is him.” Because Lestat isn’t a vampire. He’s a glam rock god who happens to drink blood. He was born from glitter, ego, and theatrical excess — not from the quiet, tasteful suffering that prestige TV prefers.

So yes, Queen of the Damned is terrible. And yes, I love it. The soundtrack remains undefeated. The show is fine, which is the worst possible thing to be when dealing with a character who is constitutionally incapable of being fine. Louis belongs on cable. Lestat belongs on a stage made of starlight and bad decisions. Anne Rice summoned him with glam rock and lipstick magic, and no adaptation has ever fully recovered from that.

Anyway. That’s it. I’m tired now.

June Ipsy Extra: The Forced-Choice Hunger Games

June’s Ipsy Extra lineup dropped, and as always, I approached it with equal parts excitement and dread. You know, the emotional cocktail only a subscription box can deliver. It’s the familiar ritual: scroll, squint, whisper “don’t you dare,” and pray the algorithm doesn’t decide I need yet another mascara.

This month’s offerings are actually… good. Suspiciously good. Good enough that I’m already bracing for the two YOU HAVE NO CHOICE, YOU WILL TAKE THIS items Ipsy loves to assign like a chaotic fairy godmother.

But before we get to the predictions, here’s the lineup:

• Dew of the Gods Maui Glaze Oil Cleanser

• Moonslice Beauty eyeshadow & pigment palette

• Pinky B Beauty Hot Commodity bronzer palette

• Tower 28 ShineOn Lip Jelly

• Tower 28 LipSoftie tinted balm

• Lucky Chick eye brush trio

• Tarte Lights Camera Lashes Platinum

• Dieux Air Angel Gel Cream

• Rare Beauty Stay Vulnerable Melting Blush

A surprisingly solid mix of skincare, lips, and the usual “we found this in the warehouse” suspects.

My Ranking: The Joy-to-Utility Index

1. Dieux Air Angel Gel Cream

If Ipsy wants to force something on me, let it be this. Please, beauty gods, please.

It’s lightweight, elegant, and the kind of moisturizer that quietly earns its keep. I have plenty of skincare right now, but this is the kind of “future me will be smug” product I never regret.

2. Tower 28 ShineOn Lip Jelly

A no-brainer. A must-have. A “yes, I will take another” moment. I'm a little obsessed with Tower 28 anyway because they're supposed to be really good for people with sensitive skin. Mostly I've been eyeing their skin products, but Tower 28 lip products are joy in a tube, and this one was already on my mental wishlist.

3. Rare Beauty Melting Blush

Do I have a lot of blush? Yes.

Do I still want this? Also yes.

It’s soft, melty, and natural — the kind of blush that makes you look like you’re lit from within by a gentle secret.

4. Tower 28 LipSoftie Balm

I probably won’t be allowed both Tower 28 items, but if the stars align, this is the one I’ll snag. Getting both would be the score of the month, really. Even if I end up with brushes and mascara because I have no choice.

5. Moonslice Palette

Pretty, fun, and absolutely unnecessary for someone who already has more palettes than eyelids.

6. Tarte Lights Camera Lashes Platinum

NO.

No more mascara.

No more tubes.

No more “but this one is platinum.”

I refuse to build a mascara mausoleum in my drawer.

7. Dew of the Gods Oil Cleanser

Cute name, cute vibe, mid performance.

I don’t need novelty skincare right now.

8. Lucky Chick Brush Trio

Ipsy has been brush-happy lately, and I’m fully stocked.
And while the brush they sent out with Ultimate last month was really great and I love my Iconic London brushes they sent out a few months ago, yeah no. No more brushes. These aren’t special enough to break the streak.

9. Pinky B Bronzer Palette

I have a soft spot for her — I follow her on Instagram and I’m genuinely thrilled she made it into Ipsy Extras.

But I do not need more bronzer.

This is a “support from afar” moment.

The Forced-Choice Fear: What Ipsy Might Do

Every month, Ipsy assigns two items you cannot decline — the Dreaded Duo of Doom.

Worst-case scenario?

They saddle me with:

• the mascara

• the brushes

The Twin Horsemen of the Forced Choice Apocalypse.

But realistically, June’s lineup is too strong for them to waste both forced slots on pure filler. When they have Rare Beauty, Tower 28, Dieux, and a palette in the mix, they usually anchor at least one forced item with something mid-tier but respectable.

Most likely forced combos:

• Moonslice palette + Dieux which I will live with with a contented heart.

• Moonslice palette + Lucky Chick brushes Please no.

• Dieux + Lucky Chick brushes Sigh. Fiiiiine. At least I'd still get the one I want.

Least likely:

• Mascara + brushes Pleasenopleasenopleasenopleaseno.

• Mascara + anything, honestly

Mascara is too polarizing. Too many people have it marked “rarely.” Ipsy knows better than to start a riot.

The Best Possible Outcome

If Dieux is one of my forced items, I’m fine with that.

It’s the only product on the list where a forced slot feels like a gentle nudge instead of a punishment.

If Dieux is locked in, my choice slots become pure joy:

• Tower 28 ShineOn

• Rare Beauty Melting Blush

• maybe LipSoftie if the universe is kind

That’s a perfect June.

Final Prediction

June is shaping up to be one of those rare Ipsy Extra months where the math actually works out. Even if the algorithm wakes up and chooses mild violence (which is mascara, another mascara is violence), I’m still walking away with at least two items I genuinely want.

But if they force that mascara on me?

Just know I’ll be here, icing my foot from the Selena Gomez jar incident, muttering at the universe, and adding yet another tube to the Mascara Drawer of Shame.

The Secret Life of Seconds: A Meditation on Hummus, Medicine, and the Tiny Frictions of Being Human

 Last night I was trying to open a container of hummus.

Not the lid — though that can be its own boss fight — but the inner seal.

That hateful, cling-wrapped, vacuum-fused membrane of plastic that exists “for our protection,” as if chickpeas are a biohazard.

And as I was wrestling with it, I had a thought:

If technology (or aliens, or gods, or even humans) ever wants to truly understand humanity, it needs to start with this.

Not poetry.

Not philosophy.

Not the grand sweep of history.

But the seconds — the tiny, stupid, maddening seconds — we lose to packaging.

Because those seconds add up.

They accumulate into minutes, hours, years.

They shape our moods, our patience, our sense of competence.

They are the invisible tax of modern life.

And they fall into a few very specific categories.

1. The Food Plastics of Doom

The hummus condom.

The yogurt membrane.

The salsa skin.

The peanut butter seal that requires the strength of a minor deity.

These things are designed to be tamper evident, hygienic, and shelf stable.

But they are also designed by someone who has clearly never tried to open them with:

a. wet hands

b. arthritic hands

c. disabled hands

d. tired hands

e. or, you know, even normal human hands

There is no greater test of the human spirit than trying to peel a plastic film without splattering yourself in chickpeas.

2. The Medicine Packaging That Hates Us

If you want to understand suffering, watch a human try to open a blister pack while already in pain.

Or a “childproof” bottle that is also adult proof. And probably, ironically, not childproof.

Or a safety seal that requires tools.

Or the cotton stuffing that feels like a trap.

These are the moments where you can hear the faint whisper of the universe saying: “Hah, yeah, good luck with that, loser.”

3. The Threaded Things That Never Thread

Jars.

Bottles.

Thermos lids.

Anything that requires “just line it up.”

You twist.

It resists.

You twist harder.

It cross threads.

You swear.

You try again.

It’s wrong again.

You swear louder.

This is the human condition.

4. The Alignment Rituals

The “no, not like that, like that” objects:

a. Tupperware lids

b. battery covers

c. shampoo caps

d. USB ports (which famously require so many attempts: wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, right)

e. anything with a hinge

f. anything with a snap (ugghhhh, baby clothes!)

g. anything with a notch

These are the tiny betrayals that define our relationship with technology far more than any grand innovation.

The Deeper Truth

If technology wants to understand humanity, it needs to understand friction.

Not metaphorical friction.

Literal friction.

The micro struggles.

The wasted seconds.

The tiny failures.

The small victories.

The quiet swearing.

The moments where we mutter, “Why is everything designed by someone who has never used their own product.”

This is where the real story of human technology interaction lives.

Not in the big questions about AI ethics or automation or the future of work.

But in the stupid, daily battles that shape our days.

The seal that won’t peel.

The cap that won’t align.

The blister pack that won’t blister.

The lid that won’t thread.

The zipper that won’t catch.

These are the places where humanity actually feels technology.

And if AI ever wants to understand us — really understand us — it should start with the hummus.

White Tea, Deep Yellow Light: A Late May Scent Meditation

Some mornings, the ritual is the point. Not the transformation, not the performance — just the quiet sequence of steps that remind me I have a body, a face, and a moment to myself before the day starts making demands.

Today’s lineup was simple and steady:

SUNDAY RILEY Good Genes, DERMELECT Rapid Repair Radiance Remedy Oil, and MURAD SPF. A trio that gives me that “I drink water and mind my business” finish without trying too hard. My skin looked bright, calm, and a little luminous — the kind of glow that feels earned rather than engineered.

But the real story today was the scent.

I’ve been wearing KORRES White Tea Eau de Toilette more often lately, and I’m realizing it’s becoming one of those quiet keepers — the fragrances that slip into your daily life without fanfare and suddenly feel like they’ve always belonged there.

White Tea isn’t loud. It doesn’t trail behind you or announce your presence. What it does is hum — a soft, steady presence that stays close to the skin and somehow still feels intentional.

The Opening: Neroli in Sunlight

The official top notes are bergamot, neroli, and mandarin, but what hits me hardest is the neroli. It has that green snap I love — fresh, almost leafy — but with a honeyed warmth underneath. It’s not citrus bright. It’s more like the color of late morning sunlight through a kitchen window. A deep, warm yellow that feels lived in rather than sparkling.

The Heart: Peony, My Unexpected Soft Spot

The heart notes list jasmine, peony, white tea, and freesia, but on my skin, the peony steps forward first. I’m not a deeply floral leaning floral person, but peony has always appealed to me instinctively. It’s airy without being sugary, soft without being powdery. It feels like breath, not bouquet.

The white tea keeps everything translucent — a veil rather than a cloud — and the jasmine stays politely in the background. The whole middle of the fragrance feels like a gentle exhale.

The Base: Oak Moss Doing the Heavy Lifting

The base is cedarwood, oak moss, and musk, and this is where the scent gets interesting.

Oak moss is one of those notes I underestimated for years. It’s earthy, a little leathery, a little ambery, a little mineral — never just one thing. And on me, it’s the oak moss that lingers. It’s what gives the whole fragrance that warm, rich, deep yellow impression. Not bright yellow. Not pastel. Something closer to old amber glass or sun warmed resin.

The cedarwood gives it structure.

The musk softens the edges.

But the oak moss gives it color.

Why It Works Right Now

Late May is a strange little liminal space — not quite spring, not quite summer, just a little feral around the edges. White Tea fits that mood perfectly. It’s clean without being sterile, floral without being girly, warm without being heavy. It breathes with the weather and with my skin.

I don’t know how it will behave in the heat of July, but for now, it’s exactly right. A scent that feels like a soft, steady glow — something I can wear without thinking, but still notice every time it catches the air.

And honestly? That’s my favorite kind of fragrance.