Drugstore Pushers

Drugstores like CVS and Rite Aid are funny places. I wonder who came up with the little compartments for lipsticks and polish, the ones that push the next product in line forward when you pull one out to look at it more closely. And then if you don't like it and try to push it back in, it's an almost impossible act. So the inventers---or marketing geniuses---figured, the potential buyer will go "oh, I cannot get this lip gloss back into its slot. I guess I'm STUCK with it and I need to now BUY it. Because if someone sees me trying to push it back in, and pushing the whole back row back, they'll think I'm putting back a USED product that is technically now MINE, simply because I pulled it OUT. So I just have to bite the bullet and buy it. Shit." Maybe that worked 20 years ago. These days, people just drop stuff on the floor or shelve it somewhere else, like in the diaper or hair accessories section. Too funny, these trickster marketing drugstore pushers!

Fish Lips

After seeing a picture of myself from Friday's mom's night out, I've decided to toss all (merely topical, no injections!!! I swear) lip plumpers. I've developed a Meg-Ryan/Lisa-Rinna/Jessica Simpson trout mouth. Egads!

Jonesing for Joe

Sometimes I feel compelled to state the obvious, such as that I'm addicted to coffee and the painfully reasonable reasons for knowing this:

1. First thought in morning: coffee. Second thought: Milan needs milk. Third thought: Shit, but I need coffee first. Fourth thought: but poor Milan! Guilty conscience ensues...

2. Fifth thought after first latte with lots of foam and cinnamon made by loving husband and which is so substantial, one ought to think it would suffice for a week: Man, I feel like this didn't even have caffeine in it. Asks: Are you sure you put coffee in mine or did you hog it all for yours? Hubby insists there was lots of coffee in latte. Grumpily makes a pot of coffee. 2 Cups.

3. Buys coffee con leche at daycare.

4. Gets to work and makes coffee.

5. 2 p.m. doubes over with stomachache, coffee-induced.

6. Has another sip.

Logan Aqua Freedom Brush

This must be SPAM, given that the press release was not only written in ALL CAPS but also in bold, two major no-no's in PR writing 101. But here it goes: Lindsey Logan's Mom has released a toothbrush, the so-called LOHAN FREEDOM BRUSH. The person who wrote this SPAM is a genius, because I actually clicked on the mail piece and opened it, probably downloading oodles of destructive viruses. But I couldn't resist the siren call of the train wreck called La Lohan.

Abundance

I have a thought and it materializes, completely mania free. How cool is that? I must be tapped into the source, the eternal well spring, the spice of life, the holy grail. Seek and ye shall find. Straight is the gate and yet those worthy shall enter. Visions of Hironymous Bosch and Breughel torture the inner landscape, then angelic light like a death and moving real fast trough the past to the inner witness, glowing with silent, immobile wisdom from the beginning of time. Prawns and jellyfish and baby sharks inside their eggs. Fantasia. The making of the glorious world. The second coming is near.

We Do It All for the Snooki

Just to clarify: Having grown up in an intellectual, leftist upper middle-class household with ballet and music lessons and trips to Italy (or Greece, or Spain...) in the summer and winter sojourns to the Alps, I'm in no way biased toward those who grew up in a trailer park and try to rise above it buy buying fake Prada and Chanel off the back of a van or whatever to better themselves. People are people and we're all just trying to make it, n’est-ce pas? I mean it. I love all people deeply, including hillbillies in the Ozarks (i.e. my dear husband's nearest kin) and loud Harley-driving Snooki types across the street. I don't discriminate at all! Cross my bleeding heart! Just thinking about it gives me stigmata!

Heels Over Heads

People who shouldn't wear 5-inch plus heels:

1. people with really large heads (like the red queen)
2. people with anterior head carriage (like most people)
3. really short people (not midgets, midgets are cool)
4. fat people (like me, but I wear them anyway)
5. people who can't strut their stuff
6. people who wear the wrong season's heel, like circa 2005 pointy toes (though they're coming back in turqoise soon. stay tuned!)
7. people who wear stripper heels shoes (unless they're made of this season's hot lucite and are platforms by a major designer; Fredericks of Hollywood is not a major designer)

There you have it.

Chanel for Sheneneh

There's really no point in looking me up and down witha sneer in the elevator when you carry a huge screamingly fake Chanel bag and have ginormous acrylic nails with black tips and giant white Chanel logos. It doesn't say you're money, well-traveled and sophisticated. It says you grew up poor, that you really really like Chanel but can't afford it. And likely have a smallish brain. Coco would have turned in her grave. So who's the sad bitch, white girl? Heidi Montag fan or something? Truth is, I'm oddly jealous. I think I need to go vomit.

Time Flies like a Banana

I write in a rush, with the furies riding in the crook of my neck, because any moment there will be a small pitter patter and a cry for milk. So I cannot censor and craft and edit and shape. Everthing must fall from my fingertips like ripe fruit. If they are not ready, they shall continue hanging, In the meantime, thoughts tumble and drop and rot on the ground. Ah, these toddler years are precious.

Exposed

J. forwarded me a blog with some kid's hook-up page where she writes about being f...ngered and boo...ie-f...d and other such acts. And I was thinking of how much we expose ourselves today. In our blogs, our social networking sites, the terrible tabloids. It's like shaving your pubic hairs in public or masturbating in the marketplace (old term, I know, figuratively, mes amis!). What kind of world will this become where there is no privacy? There will be no mystery, no glamour. What good is it if all of your friends know all of your weaknesses? We think that's honest, you know, to have no secrets. And we think it's somehow cool, to be exposé, which means at least that we exist. If we don't expose, if we have no fame, even if just on a small FB page, then we might as well be dead. It saddens me.

Psycho House!

Novel Aborted Part XVII: Yet another attempt to write "a novel" (not THE novel) has failed in its bud. They move into a rented house on a sunny day. The journalist in me goes crazy: What kind of house? A Craftsmen. Are Craftsmen two stories? Can they be? Or is it California bungalows that only have one story? Can it be Victorian? How likely is that? There are hardly any Victorians in LA, or are there? And I want it to be painted brown. And I want there to be an extra shutter, a fake shutter, with no window behind it. But do Victorians even have shutters? Do Craftsmen? Fuck it, I give up on page one.

Je ne regrette rien

Karl Lagerfeld says the Sword of Damocles should be hanging over every friendship. And when there's a faux pas, a trespass, a betrayal, a f-up, it comes down like an Iron Curtain and there's no looking back. He's not interested in forgiveness. He said he has no time for it, he didn't grow up Catholic, he will not turn the other cheek. He lives in the eternal now; he doesn't look back, regret. To quote Edith Piaf: non, je ne regrette rien!