Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Honestly, is that not a title that pretty much sums it up?
- Cut Some bangs.
- Lighten your hair.
- Tame those brows. (And stop over-plucking. I beg you.)
- Chic Up your eyewear
- Lose the heavy liner. (The thinner line is the up-to-date line.)
- Unmask your foundation.
- Manage your wrinkles.
- Put on pink lipstick. (Sounds familiar.)
- Whiten your teeth.
- Wear your own nails.
- Unmatch your wardrobe.
- Shorten your skirts (To just above matronly.)
- Slip into the perfect pair of jeans. (Gap Long and Leans per me and William Sledd.)
- Follow the three-bling rule when dressing for evening. (Super fun. The book explains.)
- Learn to love shapewear. (Oy vey.)
- Show some leg.
- 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:
- Exfoliate (with a gentle mini-peel.)
- Restore (with a serum). I'm recommending mine on Tuesday--stay tuned.
- Moisturize (of course!)
- Prime. (Gee. Where have we heard that before?)
- Apply foundation.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
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.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
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.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
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.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
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.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
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.
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?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
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.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Friday, August 08, 2008
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.
(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.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
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.
[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).]
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
There was a time that all the photos were about me. I used to be the subject of EVERY photo.
Yah. The teensy furry ball of stank.
Now it’s “Coochee-Coochee-Coo” 24/7 around here.
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.
She feeds It constantly. It eats, like, twelve times a day.
Oh, and potty time. You would not believe. Every time the Hairball pinches the loaf you’d think it cured global warming.
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,
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!
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.
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,
And I might just rise to the occasion.
Then again, I might just not be available.
Due to a pooty hanging outta my butt.