Category: what price beauty

I’m a bit…nervous

There is a big change coming.

Huge.

It’s a good change.

But…it’s just…difficult for someone like me.

Okay, men, here’s the part where you can go ahead and tune out.

May I suggest a click here (how ’bout that NFL draft?) or here (how about that swine flu?)?

Okay ladies….now that it’s just us girls………

See, this weekend, I bought a new purse.

Sure, for you ladies who swap around purse-to-purse depending on mood or outfit, this isn’t a big deal.

For a steady, stubborn Taurus like me…I like to buy a *nice* all occasion purse. And then I Wear. It. The Heck. Out.

Seriously. I am carrying a Kenneth Cole black leather hobo bag right now (smoking sale at Macy’s) and have been for a while. That thing is scuffed to death!

It is time to let it rest.

But it’s *so* hard for me to switch purses. The pockets won’t be in the same spots. The cute little side zippy place for my keys will go away!

Will I know intuitively how to go in there to get my phone when it rings? No! Not for a while.

And my old wallet doesn’t match…so I need a new one. UGH! More change!

Then there is the inevitable clean out of the old purse as the switch is made. I have to let go of the used chewing gum crammed into the mangled business card from my doctor’s office with an old appointment on there.

I’ll have to trash the tired mints rattling around in the bottom.

And I’ll have to actually go through all the stuff I’m carrying around and determine if it is worthy of the new purse!

This is just so difficult for a girl like me!

I have anxiety!

Thanks for listening.

Saving the best one for last

Why do we do this? Why do *I* do this?

A Singapore counterpart from work gave me a set of reeeeally nice hand lotions on her last visit to the US. I went through and sniffed them all, picked my favorites, then put them in order, thus allowing myself to use the least faves *first* before using the ones I like.

Why? Why would I do that? Why not use the ones I like best first? Life is short!

Today, my admin was kind enough to bring me a sample plate of desserts from a conference room downstairs. I ate the yucky ones first and the nicest one last. Why didn’t I just eat the good ones and leave the yucky ones? Nope. Ate ’em all.

I’m not proud of it, either.

Suppose this is a hazard of being born to Depression Era parents? The propensity to “save” things for later was strong with them both.

Or is it a hazard of my severe obsessive, overly anal personality?

Or could it be just a facet of human nature? Especially as a woman. “Oh no,” : hand to head : “I’ll take the burned toast….”

Whatever.

I just pulled out the jar of *good* lotion and slathered it on. I smell pretty!

Life is too short to dance with short men. Life is too short to drink cheap beer wine. Life is too important to be taken seriously. And life is too dull to not use the “good soap” in the guest bath.

Time, she is a cruel mistress…

Was listening to the radio on the way to work yesterday and the two deejays, one man, one woman, were discussing the work holiday party they had just attended.

The man told the woman how nice she looked. He said it with a bit of surprise. This was chalked up to the fact that since they work the morning show and go to work so early in the morning, she rarely “does it up”, opting for easy and comfortable.

The female deejay, who is teetering on the edge of forty, launched into a hilarious diatribe about everything it takes for a woman to get it together to go out to a nice event.

She said something to all the ladies listening about “remember how back in the day all you needed was a bottle of Love’s Baby Soft and a Bonnie Bell lip smacker to get started on your day. Oh, and maybe some mascara.”

And this, of course, hit a nerve with me.

Hit a nerve hard, actually, as yesterday evening I had a way overdue appointment with my hairdresser to get all the grays covered. And they are many.

I remember when a box of color had never touched this head.

I remember when I never even had to wash my face at the end of the day. Zits? They were not a problem.

How is it that I have more acne in my late thirties than I did in my teens? Does that seem right to you? Don’t answer that.

The lady dj went on to talk about how in order to go out to the party, she had to spackle over all the skin issues, then cover up the cover up cream.

And the hair, oh the hair is a whole other project.

I remember back in the day when I would brush my hair, and it would lay nice. I put no spray, gel, mousse, shaping wax, pomade, or anything else into it.

And I rarely ever wore makeup. I didn’t need it. My dewy fresh skin and peaches and cream cheeks were enough.

When, exactly, did the skin around my eyes get…crepe-ish? This I do not enjoy.

Ah well, I won’t go silently into that good night.

I’ll fight with the help of my color goddess of a hairdresser, a wand of cover up crème, skin renewing lotion and the help of darn good lighting!

I won’t begin to talk about the “foundation” garments I have to sling shot into to be able to put on a nice dress. It isn’t pretty.

That’s another post for another day. Or was another post on another day.

Meanwhile, wishing all out there a Happy Turkey Day! I’m going to attend a pot luck at work, get fattened up like a Butterball, and leave work early.

All in, not a bad day.

Oh HELL no!

Just proving I am still shallow despite deep thinking earlier this week…:)

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BRIDGEPORT, Conn. – A Connecticut judge has given the brush-off to a blonde woman’s lawsuit claiming L’Oreal Inc. ruined her social life when she accidentally dyed her hair brunette with one of its products.

Charlotte Feeney of Stratford says she can never return to her natural blonde hue, a shock that left her so traumatized she needed anti-depressants.

She says she suffered headaches and anxiety, missed the attention that blondes receive and had to stay home and wear hats most of the time.

A Superior Court judge dismissed Feeney’s 2005 lawsuit Monday, saying she never proved her allegation that L’Oreal put brown hair dye in a box labeled as blonde. The company also had disputed the claim.

Feeney referred questions on Wednesday to her attorney, David Laudano, who has declined to comment.

Source
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Um…she can “never return” to her, um, “natural” blond color?

Cuz, uh, it doesn’t grow out of her head that way? Naturally?

(bwa hahahaha!)

Me thinks bimbo tried to carve out some dollars by doing an ‘at home’ dye job and jacked it up!

And home-squirrel had to wear hats most of the time? Wha? Because her widdle hairs were brown?

Oh please.

My naturally brown locks have scored me plenty of attention.

Miss Feeney, if you can’t work it being a brunette, then you’re doing it wrong.

By contrast

Wednesday night, at Sears Fine Food, in the great city of San Francisco…

Over kick ass eats, starting with an avocado and crab salad, while discussing the day, life, so on, I say to my fiancée, “I think I’m a little bit in love with my new handbag.” I pick it up and show it to him.

He replies, “Yeah, you seem to be happy with it,” and turns back to the Giants baseball game playing over the bar.

Thursday afternoon, at Wahoo’s Fish Tacos, deep in the heart of Silicon Valley…

Over taquitos and spicy beans, I say to one of my closest girlfriends, “I think I’m a little bit in love with my new handbag.” I pick it up and show it to her.

She stretches out her arms and makes a “gimme gimme” gesture with her hands.

I hand it to her. “Kenneth Cole,” I say, “on *major* sale at Macy’s.”

She plunges her face into the supple leather and inhales deeply. “God, I love that smell,” she says.

And as she hands it back to me, she says, “THAT is a great bag.”

Moral of the story?

Know your audience.