For Jeanna

One more post.

A photo from the retro collection. I adore this set and, fortunately, it continues to grow.

What's goin' on...

I loved arranging these gerber daisies (that is what they are, right? the larger flowers, I mean?) in this vintage retro dish.

Lots of stuff happening around here. At this point I have more than one job and full-time school. I have lots of thoughts, as usual, about posting, but little or no time to execute them.

I'm planning another camping trip this weekend, have plans Thursday, and may or may not be up to posting tomorrow.

I'll make it up to you.

I think.

How Not to Look Old

[Updated to Add: Umm....I think Charla Krupp herself may have commented on this post!?!? Could it be? Check the comments. Her profile is disabled--Hey Charla! Unlock your profile! (Because I need to know whether to plotz from the excitement of it all or not.)]

Honestly, is that not a title that pretty much sums it up?

Basically, once a girl gets to a certain age, the rest is just a battle against the inevitable. Against cuffed sweatpants with Reebok's. Against the elastic waist pant with matching embellished holiday themed tee-shirt. [The message: Don't look at me, I look like hell, look at the glittery Christmas tree plastered on my sagging rack! Wee!] We could write a (really depressing) book about it. Called "How Not to Get Laid. Ever."

These days, with all the products, procedures and advice at our fingertips not looking old isn't as hopeless as it used to be. Janice is Dickinson is 53. Glenn Close is sixty-one. Here she is last year:

Helen Mirren anyone?

Sixty-three. Yep, there's a sister looking like a million bucks while she cashes her social security check.

Wondering how they do it? Well, wonder no more. Charla Krupp has written the book on it. How Not to Look Old: Fast and effortless ways to look 10 years younger, 10 pounds lighter, 10 times better, is chock full of tips, advice, how-to's, and perhaps, mostly importantly, instructions on what NEVER to do (i.e., the micro-mini at your age--for god's sake STOP IT).

How this gem of a book passed me by on release date is truly a mystery.

Fortunately, that's what friends are for. Mine showed up at my house on Saturday, told me about the book, and then drove me to Books-a-Million and bought me one. Thanks, Jill! (And, no, it wasn't an intervention. There really is something in there for everyone.)

I've been mostly unable to put the book down since I got it.

Because I love you guys, I'm going to give you the basic outline:

1. Cut Some bangs.


2. Lighten your hair.


3. Tame those brows. (And stop over-plucking. I beg you.)


4. Chic Up your eyewear


5. Lose the heavy liner. (The thinner line is the up-to-date line.)


6. Unmask your foundation.


7. Manage your wrinkles.


8. Put on pink lipstick. (Sounds familiar.)


9. Whiten your teeth.


10. Wear your own nails.


11. Unmatch your wardrobe.


12. Shorten your skirts (To just above matronly.)


13. Slip into the perfect pair of jeans. (Gap Long and Leans per me and William Sledd.)


14. Follow the three-bling rule when dressing for evening. (Super fun. The book explains.)


15. Learn to love shapewear. (Oy vey.)


16. Show some leg.


17. Step into sexy heels.

And that's just the beginning. There is, literally, something of interest to be found on every page--even if you're fairly hip yourself, you'll find tons of additional helpful tid-bits.

The book differentiates between the "OL" old lady and "Y&H" the young and hip way. Charla makes a pretty good case for cream blush, for instance, and gives us the new SIX step method of applying foundation:

1. Cleanse


2. Exfoliate (with a gentle mini-peel.)


3. Restore (with a serum). I'm recommending mine on Tuesday--stay tuned.


4. Moisturize (of course!)


5. Prime. (Gee. Where have we heard that before?)


6. Apply foundation.

We never said it was easy to beat back time, just that it's somewhat possible, right?

The book is available locally as stated above and the library has one (instead of the hundred they should have) copy that's (surprise!) overdue. And of course there's always Amazon.

I'd let you borrow mine.

But you'd have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.

Five Quick Things

1. I’m very, very busy and tired. I worry that I’m neglecting this site. There’s always something else to do these days.

2. I got another job. It all happened rather fast. My temporary position ends in November and, worried that waiting until the last minute to search for a replacement gig was really unwise, I began looking around. Had an interview Monday and made the decision by Tuesday afternoon. September will find me doing both jobs and by early October I will have transitioned to the new position exclusively.

3. I started school. After all the dithering and debating (and bitching and moaning) I’ve done about school, the actual business of going was nothing so much as a huge relief. Sure, homework is a bitch, but not as much of a bitch as worrying about the possibility of homework.


[WARNING: MAJOR POOP TALK AHEAD. CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK.]

4. Isabelle got sick. As in really sick. While I was busy chasing the poopy puppy (who is now alternating between soft serve and solid poo’s), poor FurGirl was nursing a bad infection of her own likely caught from the junior petri dish. By the time I realized what was happening (FurGirl was producing her own special brand of soft serve), the big dog was very poorly. I whisked her off to the vet who recommended she enter the canine hospital for a night.

I felt HORRIBLE. My poor, faithful, long suffering FurGirl.

She is okay now , though. A round of antibiotics and some special food made for pooches with stomach upset has turned the situation all around. FurGirl is home and seems back to normal.

5. Tallulah. Oy. She has trouble, um, cutting off her poo stream at an opportune moment. Somehow, the last of it (way too much of it) always ends up stuck to her back butt. It’s too horrifyingly bad to ignore (and I’m really sort of a champion at ignoring unpleasant stuff—look how long I stayed married). So, yah, I am, literally, wiping her ass on occasion. I was explaining this to someone at a party over the weekend—how I had to get a warm wet paper towel after Tallulah’s backside on an all too regular basis—when this person got a faraway look in his eye. And then allowed as to how that all sounds so enjoyable, he might just have to come over for the weekend if that’s the kind of treatment one can expect at my house.

ELFin Magic

As you know Suz, I love to have dozens of different eye shadows* just in case I get crazy and want to step out into something beyond my daily two shades.

This website allows me to do just that for a DOLLAR!

My favorite quad is Butternut.

I also love their Luscious Liquid Lipstick in Pink Lemonade.

It’s part lipstick part gloss with a sponge tip applicator. It goes on smoothly and looks incredibly natural. Plus, it doesn’t create that “stained” appearance like a lot of lipsticks can, so you can change your mind without getting out a Brillo pad.
WARNING: Do NOT buy their eye makeup remover pads. They hurt! I only use L’Oreal oil free eye makeup remover. I've found that using any type of makeup remover containing oil makes my eyes puffy the next morning.

---

*I can, indeed, verify the incredible extent of the shadow collection. Monet would be jealous.

Case Clothed

I was delighted to discover Case Clothed, the blog of Laura Bennett, a Season 3 contestant on Project Runway.

Laura was a stand-out to me not only because of her personal fabulousness (porcelain skin, trademark bright red lipstick and oodles of personal style) and designing ability, but if that isn't enough, the woman is a fortysomething-aged mother of SIX children.

And I don't mean six grown-up children, either. During her stint on Runway, at least one of her children was an actual toddler. Bennett was pregnant with her sixth child during the taping of her season on the show. Only Laura's eldest child is a girl.

Right. That's five boys to date.

When competing on Runway, the rapidly expanding Bennett ultimately made it to the final three at Olympus Fashion week, but didn't win it all. I sort of think she should have won just becase...damn. You know?

Don't get me wrong, Laura is a bit different than you and me, she employs not one but two "mannies" (the male version of a nanny), enjoys an incredible apartment in Manhattan (she can see the Empire State Building from her window), and escapes to a 14-acre Massachusetts country house on the weekends.

Still, she's passed on numerous offers for her own reality show in favor of quality family time according to this piece in the Boston Globe published late last year. Instead, like Season 1 winner Jay McCarroll and Season 2 winner Chloe Dao, she's opted to sell a version of her designs on QVC , has launched a line of maternity wear, and is working with Runway's sainted Tim Gunn to develop a game show based on fashion.

Laura's blog focuses on the challenges of looking fabulous while child wrangling--a subject in which she is obviously personally well-versed. Her posts also feature delightful custom illustrations by artist Robert Best.

A great little mommy blog from a truly inspiring fashionista.

Weekend Update

I've signed up for school. Yep.

Not only that? But an accellerated version of it so prepare youselves for whining.

I'm a little dubious about how I'm going to sandwich my studies in with my job, Olympic viewing schedule, binge drinking (and the inevitable nursing home stays that often follow), blogging, shopping, and poopy little puppy, but I'm committed, so here goes.

Unfortunately, my school schedule conflicts with Tallulah's (obedience) class at Petsmart, so ironically, my enrollment makes a drop-out of my little girl, but I'm hoping to be able to work that out.

As for her intestinal issues, I'm happy to report that they seem to be largely resolved. The antibiotics finally kicked in and between that and switching her to a new, high quality and (of COURSE) high dollar puppy food, her pooty, while still sometimes improperly deposited, is now in the form of solid, reasonably sized turds that make clean-up a breeze.

Comparatively speaking.

Be There or Be Square

Jump to the schedule.

Luckily...

I nearly went slap out of my mind last night when I got turned on to the Lucky Brand's sixties inspired jewelry collection.

I don't know if you're like me, but peace sign retro jewelry in general makes me all light headed and faint and I generally buy it in a trance-like state (because I'm unable to control myself). It's cool and it makes me happy to wear and profess it.

This stuff from Lucky is so chunky and funky and hip and fun that I had the urge to throw myself in front of the glass case and screech,

"Okay, so NOBODY MOVES until I pick my pieces!"

But I didn't.

Mainly because there was no one else around at that moment.

Available locally at Dillard's (but the sales girl said it was flying out the door) and peace-meal (heh) on the Internet here and here and probably other places if you Google it. The collection includes a HUGE number of groovy watches and Dylan and Beatles inspired pieces.

One note of caution: These peace sign earrings, while to die for, were too heavy for my taste, but then again I'm really sensitive about preserving the shape of my lobes at this point.

Pooperville, Kentucky (Just around the corner from piece of mind.)

With the addition of a new puppy in the house, things have been a little chaotic. A new schedule, new responsibilities, the whole getting-to-know-you thing.

And it was going pretty well, except for the constant sideways glances and eye-rolling from FurGirl, and her continued reluctance to go anywhere near the new addition. At least she was tolerant.

For a while there, I really thought we were going to be okay. For a blissful moment, I even began to think the exorbitant (at least by my ragged little budget’s standards) price I paid for my little Polly Pure-bred, was starting to seem like a wise choice. An excellent investment in my little family’s future, if you will.

And then.

And then?

Well, there’s no nice way to put it, then came the diarrhea.

What one day was a bit of innocuous non-solid poo, rapidly turned into days and days of nothing but fetid chocolate soft-serve out the patoot.

In short order, Tallulah was diagnosed by the vet with some sort of intestinal bacteria and duly place on antibiotics.

Still, the situation quickly descended into a Tsunami of semi-solid stank that included in-house accidents on my area rug and a dried crap encrusted puppy butt so revolting that I had to actually at times resort to wiping it myself (I should probably post about that experience individually).

This all went on to culminate with—big finish--pooty in the crate.

That’s right pooty in the crate.

Ya’ll that aren’t dog people won’t understand the significance of this, but let me assure you, well-tended dogs just don’t pooty in their crates.

It isn’t done.

Dogs are biologically programmed against soiling their den and, properly toileted, even puppies generally do not violate this particular canine paradigm.

FurGirl, for instance, has soiled her crate exactly never in her whole entire life. A fact the look on her face silently screamed at me that fateful, chaotic morning when we awoke to a stench so powerful it brought tears to my eyes and rapidly led to the discovery of the horror that awaited me in Tallulah’s capsule.

Thereafter ensued a frantic crate washing and scrubbing in the driveway with the hose and the Dreft, more manual butt-wiping (the puppy’s), a whole entire puppy bath, and the hosing and subsequent Shouting out of a favorite tee-shirt I’d been letting Tallulah sleep with. And FurGirl watching this fiasco from a safe distance, a distinct “Lady, you are so screwed” look on her face.

And all this pre-8:00 a.m. on a Saturday.

I would go on to develop olfactory hallucinations. Irrationally smelling phantom poo’s at work or in the car. Compulsively checking the bottoms of my (often really cute) shoes for sh!t that wasn’t actually there.

I was becoming sleep deprived and twitchy.

The worst of it was the poo on the rug. Everything else could be cleaned, but poo on the rug? Is forever, I don’t care how many carpet cleaning machines are rented or how diligently stains are scrubbed. And I had become a hell of a scrubber by this time, my super economy-sized “Hot Shot” spot spray always at the ready.

I will spare you more details, but Monday morning was a sad replay of some of the previously described situations.

Visions of high-powered rifles began to dance at the edges of my consciousness. Once while palming a particularly horrific paper towel full of poo, I contemplated a trip to (and I wouldn't admit this to anyone but you) (whisper) Gander Mountain.

Eventually, I got a hold of myself. Tallulah is, after all, a mere baby of 10 weeks. Potty training doesn’t happen over night and one cannot exaggerate the significance of throwing a bad case of diarrhea into the mix for one so young.

What Tallulah needed, I reasoned, was an alternative between crating (too restrictive for waking/day time for the most part) and the run of the house while I’m home (too much freedom for a mere infant, especially one with intestinal issues).




Which is how Tallulah got her playpen. Big enough for her and all her toys and a bit of romping around room. Soft enough to comfortably nap in. Secure enough to prevent her escape to the irresistible pooping field of the grass-like area rug. See-through enough to make Tallulah feel a part of the action.

And, most importantly, covered in plastic for easy clean-up.

It’s working so far.

And maybe it’s just my imagination, but the last few poo’s have not only taken place outside, but have looked almost…strangely…well, solid.

Could it be—dare I hope—that it is all downhill from here?

(Shut-up, FurGirl.)

Tipster Tuesday: Additionally Primed and Ready

Today's reader tip comes to us from self-admitted Neurotic Grad student, Dominique:

I took this beauty secret as a challenge and thought about it all evening. I tried to come up with something that was life altering. And here's my story. One trip to the Benefit counter at my local Macy's store and I was hooked on f.y...eye! primer. (I'm noticing a theme. Primer love!)

Okay, here's the deal. You put eyeshadow on in the morning, but if you live anywhere like I live, around this time of year, the humidity is insane and you find yourself sweating, er, glistening in a rather unattractive way. By early afternoon, all the shadow has flaked off. Or, worse, it has settled into the oily creases of your eyelids. The shame. The horror.* A base of f.y...eye! and your eyeshadow does not flake off and it doesn't settle into the creases. Your shadow stays ALL DAY. I'm not exaggerating the benefits (no pun intended) of this product. Another plus is that it's an investment, but it allows you to buy less expensive eyeshadow. No need for the fancy stuff when you have a primer on! Plus, if you are lazy, just a nice coat of f.y...eye! can serve as a perfectly acceptable evening out of your eyelids and you don't need to apply eyeshadow.

I can't believe I just wrote a glowing review of a makeup product.

***
I must admit, I am intrigued at the thought of a lid primer. I used to prime mine with concealer back in the days when I was a bit more patient and even that helped make my shadow color go on more "true" and stay put longer. "Benefit" is yet another great line not available locally. Thank heaven for interweb shopping. Get it here for $22 plus shipping.

Also, some follow-ups on previous tips:

From LauraK (currently finding her way):

[Hempz Lotion is] Also available at Green Turtle Bay Health and Fitness Center. This stuff is environmentally friendly and smells a-maz-ing! I love it.

Also, a road test of the Smashbox Primer from reader Christa (who is soon, we hope, to reactivate her blog):

Update. I got my new Smashbox primer yesterday. I put it on under my makeup today, and there is a noticeable difference in the smoothness of my skin. It also feels very soft and non-greasy. There is very little difference, however, in the size of my pores. (They’re still enormous.) Just thought you’d like to have my quasi-professional opinion on such matters.

Incidentally, they were out of the regular size, and I was only able to order the purse size. It was $17. The good thing is it only takes a pea sized drop for your entire face.

I give it 4/5 stars.

***

A Bizzyville supersnap to all of you've who have thus far submitted tips, suggestions and reviews. Please let me know if you have additional input on suggestions you see here or road test something based on my recommendation--I want your feedback be it good or bad. Find my e-mail address under my profile.

***

*[Editor's Note: Sing it, sister!]

My Latest Good Reads Review

American Legacy: The Triumphs and Tragedies of John and Caroline Kennedy by C. David Heymann

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
An especially juicy, uncommonly unbiased, exhaustive and imminently readable look at the lives of, arguably, the two most famous spawn in America, John FK, Jr. and Caroline Kennedy.

I couldn't put this one down. Many additional tidbits on the death of JFK jr., i.e. the autopsy that was not widely reported, the why's of Jackie's marriage to Ari Onassis, and a look at the marriage of Caroline to Ed Schlossberg (likely a fairly happy coupling).

Unlike many books I've read on the Kennedys, this one often gives a mix of opinions on a given person or incident, thus leaving at least me with the impression that the author is really just trying to get to the truth rather than sensationalize it or sway the reader one way or the other.

View all my reviews.

Another great recommend from my Mom.

Project Runway Season 5 E-4: An Olympic Challenge

Since so many of you tell me the only Project Runway you enjoy is what I post in my blog, I'm starting to feel responsible (blame the only/eldest child syndrome) for keeping you posted.

So, here's a four minute video re-cap and a better look at the winning and losing designs. For the life of me, I can't get the composite photo of all the looks to post (weird), but you can click through and see all of them here.

The challenge was to design a look for the female athletes to wear for the opening ceremonies of the 2008 Olympics in Bejing. I thought this was an excellent concept and made for a very interesting competition. The celebrity judge was Olympic gold medal winner, speed skater Apolo Ohno. Not sure what he knows about women's fashion, but he looks good in a onsie.

The challenge winner:

This is a great design, although the fabric is a little translucent for my taste. But, overall, very wearable and fairly athletic no matter your body type (and I'm thinking here of the heavily muscled girl). It does bother me that these slacks are improperly hemmed giving the illusion that the model has no feet.

The loser:

I don't know where this girl is going, but certainly not to the Olympic medal podium. Maybe a junior league garden party. The look gives me the feeling that that, if her skirt blew up, one would glimpse a pair of granny panties and a Kotex maxi-pad. This designer earned her audting.

Again, my opinions differed slightly with those of the judges. I placed their winner second and this one first:

The tailored jacket is to die for and I love the sophisticated take and mix of the red white and blue through pattern. The outfit says USA in a very retro and identifiable way, but is fabulous in and of itself. Sort of an Amelia Earhart power suit. Which is, to me, the perfect kind of vibe for a female Olympian.

You might be a shop-a-holic if....

...you leave work for a minute to grab a burger and come back with these:



I can't even believe they are Clarks, normally a brand that not only doesn't fit me well (too narrow), but that I also consider very boring-old-lady. These Mary Janes are from the Artisan collection which, while not across-the-board hip or anything, does offer some fairly fresh alternatives that are pretty darn cute.

Best of all, one can walk in them as in actually cover some serious ground without developing a major foot bleed.

I wore mine out of the store, back to work, and then out all night. SO comfortable.

Get them twenty percent off from the super nice folks at the Ground Floor. Also available there in a shade somewhere between brown and oxblood (along with the basic black color that I bought).

***

On an entirely different note, it seems good old John Edwards has finally admitted his affair with Rielle Hunter.

Gee. That's a shock.

The indiscretion between Edwards and Hunter has been the worst kept secret on the interweb for upwards of eight months now.

I guess I forgot to mention in my post urging him to come clean back in mid-December that he should admit it like, uh...NOW...rather than waiting until he is photographed holding what may or may not be his child in a hotel after midnight (oh no, not suspicious at all), and then chased down and treed in the hotel bathroom by bloodthirsty National Enquirer reporters who, as everybody knows, are actually genetically half blood hound to begin with. They don't get tired. They get the story.

Maybe he thought for a while he could wait until his member was actually photographed INSIDE HER FRONT BUTT before the situation actually warranted a confession.

Whatever his rationalizations, they are all now officially beside the point.

His confession is by now is just another comma in a very long run-on sentence of doom for Edwards.

If it is true that he confessed the (supposedly already concluded) affair to wife, Elizabeth, (currently in the midst of a relapse of her breast cancer for God's sake) back in 2006, why then did he keep up the rapidly unraveling charade of innocence with the press to the point of complete and utter ridiculousness?

Ambition, for one thing. I suspect he held out some hope for selection as Obama's running mate. As if that camp is going anywhere near a guy who practically had a visible cloud of philandering guilt gas billowing about him, ala Pig Pen, for the better part of a year (all the while continuing to emphatically deny).

Or maybe? It wasn't really over with Hunter back on '06.

My money is on a combination of the two. To me the whole story about someone else in the Edwards camp (a married someone else at that) taking responsibility for the Hunter pregnancy whiffs of the seriously unlikely.

Edwards' admission in perhaps the ultimate case of too little too late.

Strike One: The affair. Bad, but not necessarily deadly.

Strike Two: The sick wife. Very bad.

Strike Three: Denial to the point of lunacy.

(The spawn.)

(But wait.....I CONFESS!!!! And, uh, the baby is, uh, someone else's!!! Yah, that's it!)

As a good friend of mine is fond of intoning at time such as these:

Game over. Drive home safe.

Tallulah's Day Out

Today was a very big day. I had to go to the vet's for my first check-up. For a while I waited on the big silver table by myself.

It was lonely.

Then my friend, Dash, showed up. He is a mess. He makes bad pooties. Like, constantly.

My Mommy is not Dash's Mommy. She told some people she was, though. She thinks that is funny.

The vet lady came in and she gave me a "puppy check". I had to do all kinds of strange things like this you see here. Sometimes she made me hop on one foot.

I didn't cry, though.

I'm a brave girl.

The she looked in my eyeballs in the dark.

I'm not scared of the dark.

The vet lady told Mommy I'm okay.

Then I went to Mommy's work and peed on the City Clerk's carpet. It made me think of Dash when I did it. But, the City Clerk said she didn't mind. She just cleaned it up.

Then I came back to Mommy's office and went to sleep on her work sweater.

Then this guy came to see me. He scooped me up and talked about something called the "Quilt Shoe". Mommy lets me sleep on her quilt sometimes. His shirt smelled good. And he didn't care that I chewed up his pen.

Then I hadda go home.

###

[Editor's note: I'm fairly certain this will be my last post of this type. I'm at least fifty point five percent sure this blog will not go to the dogs entirely. I can't be completely certain, however. Being as I'm the Mommy of the cutest puppy on earth.

(Oh, and FurGirl).]

Psssst......

Hey. It’s me, here. The one She calls “FurGirl”.

Guess who took that picture? Can you guess?

That's right, me.

Know why?

Because, trust me, nobody else around here is interested in taking my photo.
There was a time that all the photos were about me. I used to be the subject of EVERY photo.

Until this.
Yah. The teensy furry ball of stank.

Now it’s “Coochee-Coochee-Coo” 24/7 around here.

And I gotta sit around and listen to it.

Oh and as if that isn’t bad enough, She expects me to like It, too.

She’s been all, “Look, Isabelle, it’s your little sister!!” for a flippin’ week now.

Dude, I don’t have a sister. And if I did? It would not look like something a cat barfed up with feet.

Jeez.

She feeds It constantly. It eats, like, twelve times a day.

And me?

Oh, I’m lucky if She remembers to feed me every OTHER day. But, really who am I? I’m only the fearless guard dog who defended Her against that strange man who accosted her on Broadway that one time. Not to mention the thousand times I stared down the barrel of death for Her before the Evil Man finally took a hike.

Gah. Don’t even get me started on THAT subject.

Oh, and potty time. You would not believe. Every time the Hairball pinches the loaf you’d think it cured global warming.

It’s all, “What a good GIIIIRL,”and squealing and clucking and treats for, like, half an hour.

Meanwhile, I could be crapping nickels and never even get a glance.

Yesterday? After about the thousandth potty praising session, we FINALLY get to come back in the house (it takes FOREVER for the hairball to get it over with), and fifteen minutes later She’s all,

“Oh no, Tallulah! You’ve got a pooty hanging out of your butt!”

A “pooty”for God’s sake! And She wasn’t even PISSED about it!

I’m telling you, the first time I roll up in here with a turd hanging outta my ass? I guarantee you I won’t see a Milk Bone for a MONTH Maybe more

Cripes.

And don’t even get me started on the nights around here. Ohmygod…it’s in and out and up and down and in and out all freakin’ night long night after night!

I’m exhausted.

Last night? I’m just thinking f**k it, I’m sleeping in the guest room. And, wouldn’t you know it, she notices me for the first time in a week. She’s all,

“What’s the matter, Isabelle, why are you in the guest room at bedtime?”

Oh, gee, Lady, I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to live though another Night of the Sh!tting Hairball. What’s my problem? Gosh, I dunno.

Sure enough, I gotta haul my ass into her bedroom and suck up another night.

And then? She’s all,

“Hop up here and sleep with Mommy and Tallulah!”

Oh, absolutely, it’s my dream to snuggle up with the incontinent Hairball.

You know, I might not have control over much around here, but I sure as hell can stay in the floor if I want to.

That’s okay, because sooner or later? She’s gonna need me. There’s gonna be a bump in the night or some intruder or something, and then She’ll be all,

"Save me, Isabelle!”

And I might just rise to the occasion.

Then again, I might just not be available.

Due to a pooty hanging outta my butt.

Tipster Tuesday

That's right, I'm all about sharing the beauty product and techinque love up in here.

Our second tip comes from reader Rhonda:

You know I’m a bit germ phobic and wash my hands A LOT. They are dry, dry, dry most of the year and snake-like in the winter. Hempz lotion is the best. They have a lotion in a bottle that is not too greasy so you can keep on typing after applying. And, they have a pot of cream for nighttime greasing. Cucumber and Jasmine is the best scent. The white scent (whatever it is) is too much. I’ve recently learned they have an age-defying variety as well. Can’t wait to check it out.

Available locally from Dee at Details or Trade Secret at KY Oaks Mall.

***

On a more personal note...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!!!

Talullah Wakes from her Nap

Homecoming

It seems to me as though I've got a lot going on right now. I did lots of shopping and running around and eating of pizza this weekend and, to my horror, totally forgot about a social engagement I had earlier tonight. I have no excuse for myself.

Definitely the high point of the weekend was Tallulah's homecoming. I wasn't scheduled to pick her up until next Wednesday, her 8-week birthday, but I called the breeder Saturday, and she agreed that it would be preferable for me take her home a few days early at a time (the weekend) when I could spend some uninterrupted days with her.

The picture I post here absolutely does not do her cuteness justice. And I mean not at all. Talullah is a darling puppy with a temperament as sweet as her little face. Or so far it is, anyway. I realize, as a terrier, she will likely morph into a demanding little hellion diva at any moment, but so far, she shows absolutely no sign of such a tendency.

The puppy spends much of her time curled up napping on the back of the couch behind my head. She spent her first night huddled in the bed and neither toileted or woke me once. She likes to be carried everywhere and will content herself for long periods of time gnawing on a chewy. She isn't eating much, but she does eat. I can only imagine how big and strange this new world seems to her. Still, she only cries when she needs to potty or sometimes when she feels abandoned.

And she isn't abandoned very often. I'm not sure I can bear to leave her to go to work in the morning and am not absolutely certain I'll be able to resist the urge to just scoop her up and take her with me. She is a tiny little thing, after all, and could potentially be stowed in a small crate under my desk (I tell myself).

FurGirl is not a "puppy" kind of a dog, but she does show some interest in Talullah (especially when she thinks no one is looking). FurGirl has so far given the puppy some experimental sniffs and I've caught her watching Talullah play with more than a passing interest.

FurGirl in general tends to shy away from small dogs and will go to great pains to avoid them all together. It all just makes her nervous. But I still do think there is some hope for a more than a toleration relationship to develop between the two. Earlier tonight, as Tallulah slept on the couch back, she began whimpering in her sleep and FurGirl jumped up and stared at the baby with a look of total concern.

I think they will eventually become very good friends.