Unpaid Spokeswomen #2

Welcome to Unpaid Spokeswomen, a column where we log what we’ve been into this week. Behind the wigs, makeup, costumes, and several layers of irony, we are two humans who genuinely enjoy doing things. Here is a weekly roundup of our unfiltered expert recommendations.

This week’s recommendations include recreational THC candy, and emotions (If you don’t want to make your own, store-bought is fine.)

Trixie:

Sonder Space Crystals 

Hello, you. Yes, you, the girl with the pigtails and the freckles idling in the doorway to bliss. Welcome home from me and the Sonders family. This product is basically Pop Rocks that send you to the moon. They come in little packets of 10mg and they crackle so fiercely in your mouth that the sensation verges on pain. Sublingual technology makes the little crystals dissolve under your tongue and deliver slowly starting at 15 minutes. It’s kind of fabulous because instead of going from “this edible ain’t shit” to “I am part of the floor,” you get a nice gradual ascension to Jupiter that will leave you watching RHONY and believing you are truly sitting across the table from Ramona.

Nike Air Force Ones

Listen America, I’m Gay™. My speaking voice sounds like two men doing booty bumps on a rooftop at Market Days Chicago. I have fully a woman’s hands. But when I put on my white AF1’s, you would never think that I am not a regulation pussy bandit. I wear them to set on Netflix with black joggers and since my face has no discernible softness, I look exactly like every other regular guy in production. They are crisp, comfortable, and not even that expensive at $90. Men’s Health Magazine told me to buy AF1’s, a pair of loafers, and gym shoes and throw away the rest and honestly I considered it.

Katya: 

Window Frosting

Let me paint you a very pornographic picture. I’m in my ground floor apartment, perched seductively on my antique chaise, clutching a warm mug of Diet Pepsi. It’s about 11am, so I’m winding down and getting ready to catch some beauty sleep. I take a long thoughtful gulp and dribble a little soda on my breasts. I look down and notice, oh my god, I’m totally naked. Not one stitch of clothing on my nude, vulnerable body and then an even more shocking revelation stuns me silent and frozen, with my tiddies exposed. There are no curtains covering the 6 large windows that look onto the courtyard of my apartment building, and there is a growing mob of large men and women gawking at my soda streaked jugs as I sit motionless in shame and horror. That was a long time ago, but I discovered that I didn’t have to spend my days naked, incessantly ogled by an endless parade of lurid passersby and lascivious peeping neighbors, all thanks to the magic of Frosted Window Film. 

It comes in a variety of dimensions to accommodate even the most unconventionally sized stupid fucking ugly ass windows built by some cheap tasteless asshole in the 70’s. They are so easy to apply I actually did it myself. Let me repeat that. I did it myself.  You just measure the window, thoroughly windex and remove any blemishes, generously mist with water, peel that film and the best part of all: smooth it down with a squeegee. A what? I don’t know what that is either, and since I don’t own a car wash, I used a pack of unopened cigarettes and that worked great. I chose the frosted finish, but there are a ton of patterned possibilities if you want that corny country wallpaper look or an ascetic stained glass martyr motif. Now I enjoy my late morning indoor promenades sans vêtements et sans peur.. That’s french for naked and unafraid. Bonjour!

Crying

I am very fortunate to live an extremely charmed life. Of course I didn’t always feel this way, and I most certainly was not born into some decadent corporate dynasty, so I have the gift of perspective when it comes to gratitude and hardship. But generally, most days I love what I do, adore who I am, and cherish those around me. Because of this surplus of joy and good feelings, it’s not often that I find myself crying. Which ironically makes me sad, because I really love to cry. So I’ve begun to incorporate crying into my life without the hassle of having to authentically experience something truly depressing. It’s healthy to experience a wide range of emotions, so even if nothing bad or horrible happens to you, crying on purpose can prevent you from spontaneously bursting into tears at an inappropriate time like in the middle of sex or at the circus.  

The easiest access point to one’s personal well of sadness is through films or television but it can also be as simple as imagining the person you love most dying, perhaps right after leaving your apartment after a terrible argument, and they die without having heard you say “I’m sorry, my darling, I love you”  A quick mental image of a beloved pet being run over or euthanized is often a straight shot to flooding the face with a well of tears, but be careful not to drift away into morbid contemplation as it is may lead to less desirable prolonged states of catatonic depression. Good luck, and I’m sorry.