Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Shit I Want Wednesdays - Vanity

When I was little, I had an antique vanity in my bedroom - the curvy, swirly kind with lots of drawers and a fancy mirror.  Mostly, I used it to display my bottle of Love's Baby Soft, store toys, and write coded letters to my best friend.  When I grew up and moved out, I attempted to take my beloved vanity that had been mine for almost 20 years.  I didn't think about it really, I just assumed it was mine.  However, my mom said, "NO.  That's MINE."  Why? Because she's kind of a bitch, that's why.

Here is a picture of my mother.  You may recognize her from film.  I also wrote a book about her.
Gasp.  No vanity.  Every girl needs one and I was relegated to balancing my shitty Loreal makeup on a faux-marble bathroom sink like some sort of fucking plebeian (typing that made me laugh.) Without a vanity, reproducing my dreamy 1930's Hollywood Starlet boudoir was kind of impossible.  I could always buy a new one but it requires the perfect storm of finding one I like and having the wad of cash to buy it.  (Translation:  I'm lazy.)

Anyway, I'm kind of tired of my surroundings:  beige walls, ivory matelasse bedspread and a buckling computer desk from Target that's warped because of beer condensation and coffee spills.  Being in a house filled with men has made me put anything girly and feminine away.  I want a vanity so I can be pretty and put on makeup and play dress-up for at least a couple minutes a day.  But I know fantasy is not reality.

This is what I'm imagining:

But this is probably closer to reality:

I'm 2 prescriptions and 3 cats away from being THAT lady.

But let's pretend for a second that I'm more of the Jean Harlow type and my kids don't break everything they touch.  This is what I want:

Mirrored Vanity.

Lady Buxton Jewelry Box.

Jean Harlow's Vanity Set.

A pink princess phone.  So people can call me while I'm sitting at my mirrored vanity and I can say, "Hi.  No I'm not too busy.  Just putting some fake eyelashes on and getting ready for bed."
Fifi Chachnil Marabou Slippers.  Something tells me that these are glamorous in theory, but after clacking a couple steps on my wood floor, these will be kicked off tout de suite.
Annick Goutal's Grand Amour.  

And when I get tired of staring at myself in the mirror, I want a pink typewriter nearby so I can write my novel/screenplay. 

Did you get all that?  My birthday is in October.  Merci in advance.