I have a confession to make. I’m addicted to beauty products. Seriously, they’re like my crack. I love the smells, the feel, the yummy lotions, potions, and serums, each nestled in beautiful, wildly overpriced glass jars with sparkling lids, all promising to turn back the unforgiving hands of time and bring back a tiny hint of the natural beauty we had simply by being young. My bathroom looks like a Nordstrom Cosmetic Department trunk show, and I have enough products to lift, tone, lighten, brighten, soften, smooth, exfoliate, and plump the skin of roughly half the State of New York. One of my favorite activities (neither shared nor understood by Hubs) is simply to cruise Nordstrom, Sephora, or Ulta for anything new or fabulous that I haven’t tried. I can spend hours reading labels, trying samples, smelling fragrances, opening jars, and happily stacking the checkout counter with yet another product proclaiming the newly discovered secret to eternal youth. Do I believe … Continue Laughing….
The Internet is abuzz with the recent scientific findings that report that men and women are (wait for it), well, not the same. Apparently our differences are greater than his and hers bodily attachments and the necessity of a team effort towards the reproductive process. Scientists tell us that our differences also include the way we think and behave. It turns out that many long-held beliefs and clichés about men and women are actually true. Wow. I can only conclude that this is the same group that discovered water is wet and red wine is good for you. I’m not sure how much the scientific community spent to reach this conclusion, but if they’d have sent me a survey form, I could have redirected their federal grant money towards something less obvious with personal experiences that brought me to the same conclusion years ago. Three older brothers, 2 1/2 husbands (One in my early 20s, … Continue Laughing….
In an earlier conversation with Hubs: Me: “Does this bra make my boobs look perkier?” Hubs: “Perkier than what?” Me: “Perkier than before.” Hubs: “Before what?” Me: “This isn’t a trick question.” Hubs: “Okay. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think you should worry about it. We’re all getting older, you know, and I think you look great no matter what your boobs look like.” Me: “What a horrible, mean thing to say!” Hubs: “I was trying to give you a compliment!” Me: “Well, you suck at it.” Hubs: “For the love of God, woman, next time give me cue cards.” I can do that. Dashing down to my computer, I quickly typed up Hubs’ Guide for Complimenting His Wife. Assuming we’ve moved past the construction site approach, including the juvenile (“Nice rack, baby”) or the cheesy (“You have eyes a man could drown in”), neither of which is particularly effective on girls … Continue Laughing….
Hubs hates clothes shopping. Hates. It. His entire closet is full of “gently worn” t-shirts he buys in bulk 3-4 times a year off eBay, preferably with college sports team logos emblazoned across the front and free shipping. Jeans are purchased during random shopping trips to the local Wal-Mart, simply by looking at the size tag (34 x 34? Yeah, they fit) and unceremoniously tossing three pair into the cart, on top of the milk, Comet cleaning powder, and an econo-sized container of shampoo/body wash. Some days, I’m actually jealous. So when I told him I was headed out of town to buy some new clothes and he replied, “I’ll go with you,” I swear the earth actually stopped turning on its axis, for just a brief moment, as it registered this aberration in the natural order of things. “This is shopping,” I said, speaking slowly. “You did get that, right? And it’s girl shopping. … Continue Laughing….
With baby boomers making up a significant percentage of the national population and now reaching their 60s and beyond, much has been written about the joys and pains of growing older. On one hand, we tend to be more at peace with ourselves and our lives, whether from cumulative decades of meditation or from slowing down the frenetic pace of our youth, trying to have it all and do it all simultaneously. Our marriages are either solid, having weathered storms and shared triumphs, or we’ve worked up the courage to pack up our wheelie cart and announce, “I’m out of here. I refuse to live with your loser ass one more day,” finally understanding that sometimes we’re happiest alone. Our kids are grown and launched, free to succeed or fail from their own choices, enabling us to finally let go of the feeling that every mistake they make is somehow our fault. (“Little … Continue Laughing….
Sitting at our favorite restaurant, a girlfriend and I were happily sharing an embarrassingly large plate of nachos while we toasted everything that came to mind with our second round of margaritas, when a middle-aged woman came up to our table and said, with a bright smile, “Excuse me. I don’t mean to be rude,” (immediately clarifying that she was about to be) “but do you have Parkinson’s?” Say what?? As I sat there in frozen silence, mentally tallying the staggering number of social and political boundaries she just exploded through, I finally nodded and choked out, “Yes, I do. Thank you for asking.” “I thought so,” she went on, “I was describing Parkinson’s to my friend over there at our table, when I saw your arm shaking, and I told her that’s what it looked like. Anyway,” she chirped, as she walked away ”You have a nice day, okay?” Oh. My. God. GF and I looked at … Continue Laughing….
Whenever a new baby comes into a family, the first year or so is all about how “his ears are huge, just like Uncle Elmo’s” or “her smile looks just like Aunt Trixie’s.” By the second year, we start looking for positive personality traits, hopefully handed down from beloved relatives. He may have Uncle Dumbo’s ears, but he also has his off-the-chart IQ and has already moved on from Mommy & Me classes to baby cello lessons, while Aunt Trixie’s mini-me has never met a stranger she didn’t like, just like Auntie, who’s a wildly popular stripper at the local gentlemen’s club. Sometimes the personality and talents of our children remain a gene-pool mystery that just simply is. My sister is a fabulous cook. As in valedictorian-of-her-culinary-school, people-photograph-her-meals-before-they-eat-them cook. I can’t cook. At all. Zero kitchen skills. And not in a cute, “Oh my goodness, my freshly grated coconut needs a touch more browning” way. More of a “Sorry about breaking … Continue Laughing….
Kenny has an unwavering philosophy about my handbag. He doesn’t go in there. Ever. He’ll stand right next to my purse and announce “I need the checkbook,” and no amount of cajoling, stated permission, or exasperated replies on my part to “just get in there and get it” will persuade him to stick his hand in there. He feels the same way about my closet. Women’s closets, he informs me, are personal, with everything organized “just so,” the way a woman wants it, and a man would have to be fundamentally insane to go in there and start handling stuff or moving it around. So last weekend, when I asked him to add an additional shelf inside my closet, he replied, “Only if you move your clothes out of the way. And all your shoes.” I tried every argument I could think of to convince him that this task was unnecessary, but he wasn’t budging. Fine. Out it all came. As I … Continue Laughing….
A friend recently called me, upset because she got a $350 ticket for talking on her cell phone while driving. “It was important,” she wailed. But it seemed no amount of explaining would convince Officer DoRight that the need to move her massage appointment from 2:00 to 4:00 constituted an emergency. Cell phones have changed the way we communicate with family, friends, co-workers, and even spouses. 20-something newlyweds text each other while in the same room. Couples have proposed or divorced via text messages. But of all the changes we see cell phones making in our culture (including the apocalyptic demise of grammar and spelling), one of the most significant is that we’ve somehow come to expect 24-hour availability from anyone on our speed dial list. In the old days (yeah, anything before 2005), people would leave messages on answering machines and wait patiently for a return call that evening, or even the next day. We understood that people had lives and were … Continue Laughing….
As Valentine’s Day looms closer, retailers are blanketing the shopping universe with cut-out hearts and chalky sugar treats emblazoned with “Be My Baby,” designed to get us opening our wallets to share romantic, gift-laden evenings with our special someone. Valentine’s Day is the great romantic do-over for those who dropped the ball at Christmas, sending couples scrambling to find the elusive perfect gift for Baby Cakes. Valentine’s Day gifts can be silly and sentimental, or they can show up as white limo rides with a dozen red roses, a la The Bachelor. Whatever the actual gift might be, a little music can help set the mood. Whether it’s used as background while exchanging coy I-love-you-No-I-love-you-more smiles over dinner for two, or as a dance to “our song,” the music you choose can make or break the evening. To help you narrow your search, I’m offering a list of what NOT to choose for your special Valentine’s Day playlist. In no particular order of horribleness: 1. Don’t … Continue Laughing….