she's got bette davis ????
how should i preface this?
i'm a lazy girl. i'm a vain girl. i'm a lazy, vain girl. but i'm also, dare i say..... cheap?
let me explain.
it's not my nature to fork over my hard-earned cash for someone to wash my feet and hands every week, when i can paint my toes for free.i do see a professional every month or so for cuticle overhaul and {let's be honest} THE foot rub, but my nail haunts are of the drop-in type; never the same place twice, the kind where the technician always asks my ethnicity, and then debates my answer, convinced my japanese father is really a vietnamese liar.
tissue-paper thin nail beds {a result of the gel craze}, and a nasty nick to my thumb, has only compounded my at-home polishing skills and conviction to save money .
another area where i find it difficult to spend whence i can do it at home for free is my eyebrows:
pluck, pluck, trim, trim, pluck, trim, pluck.
easy.
it's tedious, a little time-consuming, but come on? if i can brew my own coffee, i can groom my own, silly eyebrows.
yet, of late, i'll admit, the brows haven't been getting the attention they've needed.
unruly is an understatement. try disorderly and drunken. my eyebrows have been violating city ordinances left and right.
the thing is, tweezers involve dexterity, and like i stated earlier: i'm a lazy girl!
at the end of the day flossing feels like brain surgery. add tweezers? aaaaaaaah!!
early saturday evening i was driving home to my darling, most handsome husband. my hands at ten and two, i glanced down at what looked like an episode of intervention: my nails were riddled with chips and cracks, as if i, myself, had been smoking the crack. not wanting to look ugly betty for hunkiest, i u-turned polly into the first nail salon i saw: "Top of Nails Salon."
i swear to god that's what the sign says. the grammar alone should have been my first clue warning.
all i wanted was a polish change. my intentions were good. no wash, no massage, no flower. i even had my own polish. but, no i couldn't leave well enough alone. inspired by the sharpie drawn eyebrows of my nail tech, i casually asked if "top of nails" also offered eyebrow waxing. her hesitation should have been my second clue warning.
palms in the air as my top coat dried, i shuffled into a back room where another sharpie-browed lass slathered molten lava wax on my baby brows, after which she left the room to watch her version of a telanovela. at least that's how long it felt. i was tempted to pull the lava strips off myself, but seeing as she was the "professional" i kept them there and waited.
and waited, and waited.
when she finally returned the heat had subsided as did any feeling in my face. but upon ripping the wax off, along with three layers of skin, the feeling came back, as did my fluency in profanity.
thinking/hoping the scalding was more just a feeling rather than an actual look, although i WAS suspicious when medusa didn't offer me a mirror to show me her finished product, i paid the lousy $6 bucks, and hightailed it out of the fancy "sah-lohn".
much to my sadness, although 100% deserving, it looked just as bad as it felt. actually worse. where there was one set of brows, there are now two: one black, one cherry red. kind of like licorice.
i officially hate licorice.
i look RIDICULOUS!!! and it's all my fault. i am lazy, i am vain, i am cheap.
i am also in a ton of pain. these are deep burns. i am in a constant state of aloe vera application. i've researched, and aloe vera seems to be the call for the quickest, safest, no-scar healing antidote.
how excited will the director of this week's commercial be when he sees this hot mess walk on to set? not exactly the zen vision he hired. thank god for concealer.
any other beauty horror stories out there you care to share?
i think we can all agree this one's pretty awesome!!!
monday happy to you m'loves!
soaking in every last drop
sun is shining. weather is sweet. make you wanna move your dancing feet.
~bob marley
summer is winding down her sultry, breathe-easy visit. i will be sad to see her go.are you savoring each sunny moment like i am?
share with me how you're squeezing the last of summer's sweet juice into your cup?
wednesday happy m'loves.
we are now boarding.....
last week as i waited for my plane back to california, i was wide-eyed and open- mouth as i watched the various tents of the circus they call ‘terminal 3’.
for the most part when i travel, i trek happy, my skies are almost always friendly. following in the shiny-shoed footsteps of my parents, i always dress for traveling: a frock fit for sunday best. or rather, in my case, saturday night close second.
more often than not i’m in a skirt or dress. public restrooms are phobias of mine, and the thought of a long-legged trouser skimming a bathroom floor sends me screaming to pharmacist for beta-blockers.
with hunkiest’s delta status of late, we’ve been getting bumped into fancy class quite frequently. i would hate to feel schlumpy in sweat pants and tennis shoes while downing my sixth, hot from the easy bake oven, chocolate chip cookie...although the elastic waistband is nice.
summer airports feel different from their colder, more bundled, rushed siblings of fall and winter. less coats, more visors and hats of straw, t-shirts of states and cities visited. there are more families which can mean more childhood meltdowns {and one father}, more lil’ ones to watch for underfoot, and less politesse when boarding the plane.
the gate line up seems to always produce a giggle fit from me. there's something about getting onto that plane for some people that completely erases every manner learned or awareness of self, and turns them into hogs gone wild. suddenly their ticketed, undersold plane to orange county becomes the last flight out of saigon, with only three seats left open, and 300 caged fighters clamoring for spots.
one grown woman {in age, not maturity} told the flight attendant she was filing a complaint for the incompetency of the pre-flight boarding: she had to wait too long in the jetway, she was getting hot, hungry and her legs were tired. mind you, this was after she had already cut in line, knocking into a woman holding a baby, and bag-rolled over an open toed sandal without so much as an acknowledgement, let alone an "i'm sorry." within earshot i told the same flight attendant i, too, was filing a complaint about said complainer's ugly pants......making friends wherever i go.
the pre-boarding show wasn't as infuriating, mostly just families in various stages of energy levels:
there were the sun-burnt kiddies at gate 67, buzzing around like meth’d up bumblebees, sword fighting each other with their day-glo mini roller bags, knocking over fellow travelers’ laptop cases and starbucks trays. their mom, neck-deep in the latest issue of us magazine, starting the, i assume at one time threatening, count down of “1......2......3......” and then quickly losing count and interest upon turning the page to details of the upcoming kardashian wedding.
meanwhile dad, sitting two rows behind, practically at a different gate, alternating between a furious game of angry birds on his iphone and napping; oblivious to both his wife and precious baby bees.
in the northeast tent {gate 63} i watched the sweetest, young, first-time parents from tempe, travel, for the first time, with their darling bundle of gooey yum. taking their shifts on bucket duty, both dying a slow, little death over every cry and gurgle-still in disbelief noises could be so adorable. dying another slow, little death over those same cries and gurgles, worrying that fellow passengers won’t share their same affinity. baby, oblivious in his happy, fat-thighed, baby world, cooing back at his parental stress monkeys, flashing a tooth-less, gummy grin melting the tension and hearts of all of us fellow travelers. cry all you want baby boy you’ve just endeared 41 more for bucket duty.
but the family who took center ring took my heart as well. on a layover back to ohio from disneyland, emma cinderella still sporting her gown from the ball, danced charmingly and happily upon dad prince charming's toes as he fought off the urge to yelp and wince. exhausted from a week of non-stop disney intervals, dad, sprawled out in his terminal chair, let his cinderella stomp dance to her heart's content as momma sleepily looked on, and clapped to the imaginary orchestra who had been playing for the last two hours of their wait time. sucked dry on princesses and pool time, these dear parents nevertheless quietly continued the magic for their angel girl.
a fitting grand finale.
wednesday happy m'loves.
weekend happy
this weekend i'm making an effort to change where and how i look at my world. i will try to un-fix my stubborn lenses so that i don't miss out on all the beauty to be had, even when just walking to the mailbox. i tend to cartwheel and spark over the shiny and grand, rather than the dim and wee. i have a feeling there are micro moments of lovely passing by, right under my nose, capable of inducing the deepest of belly laughs, the widest of smiles and the kind of tears which reaffirm my capacity to love fierce and unyielding. there's a magical dance party of experience and emotion going on, and i am outside, circling the block in my car.
this weekend i'm going to shimmy.
see you on the other side of sunday m'loves.
stop and stare
a poor life this if, full of care,
we have no time to stand and stare.
~william henry davies
bellicose beguiles me
so here it is, after a hilarious and rife response to words that give us the ick, i give you:
~words that make me capsize with happy~
words when uttered or heard, wrap me 'round like a soft blanket of baby, mewing kittens.
like my earlier post, these words aren't necessarily about what they denote or depict.
for instance, as delicious as the confection is, fudge and brownie aren't terribly ambrosial words.
and, as pretty as it looks in a bouquet, an aster, feels rather artless rolling off the tongue.
fortunately our language pot brims full and redolent.
for example, i'm not a giant fan of popcorn, but i'll order it just for the opportunity to say it.
i'm not exactly sure what an apothecary is, but i love to work it into conversation:
"your honor, i believe the weapon was purchased at THE a-poth-e-ca-ree."
not certain we do it properly, but the beast and i prefer to frolic rather than promenade when out on our evening walks.
balls. love the word balls. always have, always will. a great replacement to my too oft' used f-word.
and just like sneezing with your eyes open, it's impossible to say fancy without smiling.
try it.
meadow, cotton, dulcet*, scamp, tomfoolery, noose, rabbit, bush, vestment, bandage, bongo, piglet, all words i wish i could bake a potpie {another favorite} out of and scarf down, no sharing.
and dap. dap is an all-timer for me. so cool. so classic. stand alone--no accessories needed; often the subject of scott schuman's shutter.
so here's your turn. tell me your favorite words....again, doesn't matter what they connote or define. they just feel good to say.
and don't you know how much i love hearing from you? maybe just tell me "hello".
monday happy m'loves.
*love that mrs burns uses this too.
one or the other
car?
or hair?
they both are filthy, both are in dire need of a washing.
i only have time for one, and yes my hair takes just as much time as a trip to the car wash.
which should get the bath today?
where do you weigh in m'loves?
it's getting hot in here....
it finally happened.
last night, summer cast her spell of hot fever over our house.
ceiling fan on cyclone, every window open wide, and my bedroom still felt like a sticky, humid louisiana swamp.
how are y'all keeping cool?
weekend happy
i have been in a constant state of giggles for the last 2 days. i had no idea how much conversation safe word would spark. along with the comments, friends and family have been, emailing, texting, calling, and face-booking with their ick words; so many of them which i say on a daily basis. it's baffling what words drive y'all to drink.
here's a partial list of some of them:
fruitcake
doily
rally {as in to get up and go}
party {as a verb}
pork
soften
caramel {but only when pronounced “care-ah-mel”}
authentic {used as a describing someone}
pop-up store
freckles
mozzarella {but only when giada de laurentiis utters it; my friend this as ammunition to NOT learn how to cook}
jiggle
clog
encrusted
dollop
panties {especially when said by a man}
enjoy {when food is served}
golden
mastication
donzo
chill-alxin
ointment
oriental
scaly
now these aren't technically words, but there were big problems with the sayings: "it is what it is," and: "bring it in for the real thing," which apparently means "give me a hug".
then there were the more bodily ick words:
phlegm, pus, mucous, secretions, john boehner, and of course: vagina.
on that note, weekend happy to you m'loves. wishing you an ick free 48 hours.
see you on the other side of sunday.
safe word: cute
do you have some words that give you the ick? i don't mean profanity or bodily functioning words. i'm talking about completely acceptable words {to some} that for some reason, when you read, hear or say them, your body becomes a histamine releasing, shoulder shimmying, un-hostess-like vessel, sending you into bonkers-ville.
i do.
for example, i have a friend who cringes over “bev-nap”. we both share a disdain for “moist”.
i have recently launched an offensive against the use of “sunnies”, an absurd term seeming to have swept through the fashion blogosphere whence referring to one's sunglasses. i cannot control my own bile when i read this word.
face. i’m not a fan of the word face. it’s just so...... facial. although, for a word i dislike so much i will say i use it often.
trough. i detest this word. but more because of my incapacity to remember how to properly pronounce it. when read out loud i want to say “trou” as in rhymes with “cow”…as in “drop trou”. or i want to rhyme it with “tough”. if i see it up ahead in a sentence….even if i'm just quietly reading to myself, i'll start jonesing for ativan just to quell the rising anxiety of getting through the silly passage. i mean, come one? do we really need this word any more? when was the last time you actually saw an actual trough? lemme guess? were there pigs? can’t we just call it a feeding bin?
but the end all, banned from the house, say it and you’re sleeping in the car word is: sexy.
hate it! hate it! hate it!
always have. i’d rather hunkiest tell me i have an ass-face then tell me i am or look sexy.
just typing this, my hair follicles {ew…another non-fave} are starting to prickle, and my shoulders are trying to dodge right and left away from the discomfort i’m feeling writing said banned word.
i have others: soda, sneaker, preserves {more of a husband thing…he won’t have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, it has to be peanut butter & preserves wtf??}, guac {as in guacamole}, nudity.
not to worry m'loves. i see a psychiatrist regularly. two of my favorite words are: " i see."
do you have words?
wednesday happy to you.
joy is
a grilled cheese sandwich.
hide nap and seek.
finally scratching that itchy lust to wander.
popsicles.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRUGvArWXLk]
this song over, and over, and over, and over again. and again.
dreamier live version with johnny depp here {oh! my! god!}
first bites.
laundry fresh.
dates with deliverance.
what's making you happy m'loves?
do you smell that?
i did not follow the caylee anthony trial.
from the little i had heard of the case it seemed pretty open and shut. but who am i to deem innocence and guilt?
haven't we all faced false accusations?
i have.
it's a hands triple-tied behind your back, cat hair in your eye, trapped in a door-less, vent-less dark room kind of feeling.
all you have is your teeth and your voice.
in these circumstances i choose my voice. an inside voice. sometimes one that only i can hear.
but it speaks the truth and it prefers singing lullabies of peaceful resolution and understanding, rather than spitting spite.
baring teeth, taking bites...those are someone else's strappy sandals.
i can't even kill the cricket under the nightstand.
and. i. HATE. crickets.
but back to yesterday's verdict, i'm a bit perplexed.
from the snippets i saw casey anthony confuses me.
when i lose my car keys i meltdown to epic proportions: alarms are sound, tears are publicly shed, sirens sound, streets are closed.
when casey anthony lost her precious baby caylee......she went dancing.
i am not a mother. the closest i've come to that kind of love are my beloved beasts.
just thinking of my girl lost, taken or harmed by someone and i suddenly understand the word bloodthirsty.
if such event actually were to horrifically occur the above, lullaby, serenading pacifist would not only grow teeth, she'd grow neck ripping fangs, eye gouging claws and all bets would be off.
....someone comes after my child and yes, you may have to lock me up.
something stinks in florida.
i plead guilty.
i admit to it.
i am guilty of glut.
yesterday i was a complete beast.
i did things to a thousand island jar, only the likes of coney island hot dog eaters have attempted.
hopefully my fellow partygoers don't remember my caramel corn grand finale.
i'm off to pay my penance.
{head hung in heavy shame}
and the world will live as one...
i see london, i see france,
i see moonbeams disco dance.
some hear sea and waves.
but for me, my friends, the seashells, spin tales and sagas on par with atwood and irving.
on any day a magazine moose becomes my afternoon confident.
how is he the only one so far who understands?
we later go for a bike ride in the andes.
each morning my lushy, warm backyard awakens like a wave unfurls:
piece by piece its heartbeat rouses and grows stronger; the beast and i make our rounds to our pals, the flowers, bugs and trees, offering them coffee and croissants.
my tub, my fortress in the forest of fairies, conceals me from the dragons and ogres wanted me to drink the local witch's kool-aid brew.
hidden and safe, i stop up leaks of doubt and floods of fear. my hoover dam is a conscience clear and an open heart.
beast by my side, petals lapping in rosy unison round the basin, candles flickering in time to the peaceful ballet of the nighttime nymphs who prepare the house for sleep.
fairy tales do come true.
my evening crew takes watch. keeping vigil over a bedtime that is all too often elusive and full of fret.
drowsy drunk on the night jasmine piping up through the bedroom window, my bumble bee brain begins to slow down.
i can hear the footsteps of mr. sandman. off to dreamland i go....let the true fantasies begin.
you may say i'm a dreamer....i hope someday you'll join me.
carry on my wayward soldier
you ever just know you're going to have one of those days?
those days where you just know you're going to find yourself face down in the bottom of a bag of kettle corn, licking the last remnants of salt, sugar and the wounds of the day.
the kind of the day where all you want to do is put your flannel lanz nightgown back on, hide under your laura ashley sheets, watch ally mcbeal reruns until you too, along with portia, courtney and calista, develop an eating disorder; and then afterward, get all "ironic" and emo with old alanis c.d's.
that kind of day?
tis the day i'm about to have. i can smell its prelude. but instead of black flying my chardonnay, i'm strapping on my boots, and facing this mutha head on. there will be no unisex bathroom in my future today.
tuesday happy m'loves.