Tuesday, March 5, 2013


I'm obsessed with beauty. I love anything and everything that promises to transform me from fugly to fab, and I fall for pretty much any gimmick I see.

It's not a problem though, loveys. I love that I walk into Sephora and they know me by name; kinda like Norm on "Cheers," except my name's mispronounced 9 out of 10 times.

Sure, I had to get a 2nd job to afford my frivolous Sephora sprees. But who doesn't want to spend all their free time in cosmetic paradise? Even the employees are gorgeous. It's pretty much the law there.
Being paid to be hot.
By the way, it's totally socially acceptable to photograph complete strangers while they're working, yes? I don't think he minded me taking his picture though. I mean, at first, I was a little unsure. But then he even called Security and asked them to make sure I made it out to my car okay. So we're cool.

I truly do appreciate the artist's touch when it comes to makeup. The patience and expert application that goes into all the shading, blending, brushing, plucking, swiping, wiping and dusting is beyond fascinating to me.

Makeup, when done correctly, is an incredibly powerful artform. One that I haven't by any means mastered, but I remain hopeful. I love watching YouTube tutorials on contouring facial features. I have no fewer than 6 books by geniuses such as Scott Barnes and my personal all-time fave, Kevyn Aucoin (R.I.P., lovey).

I find myself staring at photographs of techniques I admire, but could never pull off myself, like this:

"Two snaps and twist around the world!"
 I'm infatuated with the color blue right now. I think it makes my brown eyes stand out even more, but I just can't seem to get it quite right. I've tried 4 different eye shadow palettes, 2 blue liquid eyeliners and 3 pencil eyeliners. I know I just don't have the talent to make it work the way I'd like, but that's just one of my mistakes. The biggest problem is that I fell in love with the look on one of the hottest chicks in existence:
That's beauty defined.
I get it that Rihanna is an 11 on a scale of 1 to 10, while I'm probably at the higher end of a solid 3. Fine. But I've seen the miracles the right makeup artist can do, so I refuse to give up on myself.

I have to believe that I too can rock this insanely gorgeous, eye-popping look. If I can't create it by my own hand, then I'll just ask the right artist to help me. I already tried asking my boyfriend beauty expert at Sephora, but the security guard keeps interrupting me every time I'm there begging him to do me.

Finally my daughter offered her services. She's young, but I'm all about girl-power, and I highly encourage support of our girls' dreams. Not to mention, she's a pretty kick-ass artist in her own right. She's mature for her age, in the gifted program, and has a super-steady hand.

"Fine," I told her. "Make me look like Rihanna."

She took the photo I'd torn from my magazine and carefully studied it. She noted the blend of blue on the top lid and gray on the bottom, and complemented the way they intensified her eye color. I knew in that moment that I'd found my artist.

I plopped down on the couch, closed my eyes, and sat in silence while she thoughtfully chose shades and expertly blended them with the variety of brushes on hand. And in no time, loveys, no time at all, I was transformed:
Behold the swan!
Remember what I said, loveys. Support our nation's children! They are our future!

So if anyone else wants to look like this on purpose, my 6 year-old is giving makeovers for 25 cents. The line forms on the left. And feel free to tip generously. 'Cause we're headed to Sephora!

Monday, March 4, 2013


Hello, and happy March, loveys! I do hope the last half of February treated you well. Please do pardon my absence. I sometimes struggle to balance work, family and blogging while still finding time to eat, sleep and breathe.

I was thinking of you guys, however, today when I miscalculated a step and nearly broke my butt bone in two. I've come to realize there is an ever-widening distance between me and that jackass called Gravity. It's not even because I'm old; nor because I'm probably legally blind.

Typically I'm just walking along, minding my own biz, when out of nowhere, the freaking floor jumps up and bitch-slaps me in the face! It happens to the best of us, though. Same thing happened to Nicole Richie recently.

That ground came out of nowhere!
The only thing you can do when it's your turn, besties, is laugh. You may as well laugh, because if I'm around, I'm sure as hell going to. (Unless you're legit injured. In that case, I'll likely have already started laughing before I realize you're hurt, but I swear I'll stop ASAP. Or at the very least, I'll walk away and not laugh where you can see me.)

I mean, even Justin Bieber can laugh at himself:

Who the hell put see-through glass on this door?!

It's all good if the hair's still okay.
 So I guess I'm not the only one who has floors and doors coming out of nowhere. It seems none of us are immune, loveys. Please do use extreme caution when going about your daily routine. I realize there are times that no amount of vigilance will protect us from the evils of gravitational pull though. Even royalty can succumb.

I mean, just look at Lady Gaga; Minding her own biz, swaggin' it through the airport and rocking a super-sensible and appropriate travel look,

Same look you or I might rock to the laundromat. No biggie.
 when out of nowhere the freaking floor gets all up in her face:

It's funny, and it's entertaining. I get that. But loveys, when is enough going to be enough?

Leave our national treasures alone!
*shakes fist at gravity*
I don't go down without a fight though, loveys. Believe that. Just like you see in the above fists of Bieber, and the smack of Gaga's palm, and the karate-chop of Snooki's tiny li'l hand, I always do my best to fight back. Like all the cool kids do:

"Hi-yah! Take that, concrete!"

And I don't know about you, but I personally like to windmill my arms on the way down, for maximum embarrassment. Like this chick:

In case your fall was too discreet, flail
your arms like you're on fire, like we do.
Even supermodels have been known to momentarily ditch being better than everyone else, in order to eat the ground.
"Oh, bollocks-pish-posh-and-fiddlesticks!"
(That's how I imagine an English model cursing.)
We're all in this together, loveys. Don't let your guard down and keep your eyes open for poles, doors and floors that come out of nowhere. Because as ridiculous as these people look, chances are we'll still manage to look even worse. Vigilance is key!

Yours in clumsiness,