After a recent disappointing visit to the medi-spa, I’m over spending big bucks for subpar beauty treatments. The aesthetician performed an unacceptably splotchy dermaplaning. In response, I ordered a box of 10 surgical scalpels from Amazon for $14.50. I’m going to dermaplane myself and save the $60-80 a month. How hard can it be? While I was trolling Amazon for beauty products inappropriate for self-administration, I stumbled on some “eyelash tint.” They can’t technically market the product as eyelash tint, but it’s understood that everybody uses this particular product off-label for eyelash tint ($13.50). At my last sorry-ass appointment at the medi-spa, not only was my dermaplaning sloppy, so was the eyelash tinting. This messy Martha allowed the dye to bleed under my eyes. When it was time to remove the dye, she had me turn my head and eyewash the dye off, but she forgot to remove the mask she applied so it all just ran into my eyes causing a searingly painful mess. When I said the mentholated mask was running into my eyes, she just cackled maniacally. Truly sinister. No more mean, messy Martha. I’m on my own.
Monique Lhuiller. Fall 2015 (above and below)Badgely Mischka. Fall 2015Carolina Herrera. Fall 2015Naeem Khan. Fall 2015Reem Acra. Fall 2015 (above and below)
In a last ditch effort to save the franchise, Bravo dug deep into their pockets to lure Bethenny Frankel back to the NYC Housewives next season. Ugh. Too little, too late, Bravo. I have layered distaste for this desperate decision. Yes, I do believe this stunt casting will temporarily spike the ratings, but after last season’s toilet ratings it would be hard to do worse. Ramona’s implausible deniablility regarding the implosion of her marriage paired with that new basic blonde bitch made for a dud of a season.
When it comes to Bethenny, what haven’t we seen her do? We’ve watched her destroy friendships for fame, strike it rich, birth her daughter, exploit her marriage for ratings, divorce, and engage in a protracted nasty custody battle. What do we have to look forward to? Bethenny and her once-accused-rapist boyfriend walking hand and hand with little Bryn? That should go over well.
The main difference between the old Bethenny and new Bethenny is net worth. Bethenny recounts that when she began with RHNY she was teetering towards broke. Now she sitting on a pile of money looking down at everyone else. This should create the most interesting shift in the dynamics among the women. Filthy rich Bethenny has no reason to give a fuck about offending anyone. I expect a deluge of snide criticism. She doesn’t need the approval or allegiance of her castmates. Her wealth keeps her good company.
Rejoining an ensemble cast after a failed talkshow isn’t exactly a propulsive career move. This is a woman who clearly wants her mug on the blogs whatever the cost to her dignity. Apparently, it’s gotta be fame and fortune for Mizz Frankel. It’s rumored one of the contingencies of Frankel agreeing to return was a no-Zarin clause which is unfortunate since Jill’s the only Housewife that could prove a worthy adversary to her former friend.
Ines Di Santo Collection
Oscar de la Renta
Back in the glory of the 80’s, my family had a Dustbuster. The hand-held vacuum was as revolutionary as the VCR. When confronted with a dry spill, my spic-n-span mother would first gasp, then clutch her pearls, and then order me to fetch the Dustbuster! It was my family’s version of Joan Crawford’s “Tina, bring me the ax” rant. Eventually, the Dustbuster caught an unshakable funky smell, so we had to bid adieu. Maybe these repressed mini-vac memories explain why it took me 25 years to buy my own hand-held. Neat-freak that I am, I don’t understand how I went so long without the handy cleaning companion. I hate vacuuming with the big vacuum so much. Not only is it cumbersome and loud, but it doesn’t fit into every nook. I love running the hand-held along, in the corners, and underneath. I even employed it to suck the crumbs out of the bottom of the oven (when the heat was off, duh). The little device tidies up a room quickly and efficiently without entering the weight-lifting portion of the competition with a hefty full-size vac. I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to cheap appliances, so I bought the best Wal-mart had to offer: the Black & Decker 16v Dustbuster. It sucks hard and brings me several satisfying intermittent cleaning moments everyday.
I spent nearly a decade in an unfulfilling relationship I knew two weeks in had no real meaningful future. I can give you justifications and excuses for not leaving – my parents died; I got laid off; I enjoyed the financial security of the union. That’s all just weak bullshit though. My therapist likes to say that the universe doesn’t belabor situations, we do. He’s right. Recently, I’ve been kicking it with an extremely attractive man. He possesses exceptional qualities. He showed me upfront that he’s a man of principle. Unfortunately, we are both too damaged to ever make it work. A decade ago, I would have clung to our magic for dear life, hoping to stoke the flames of compatibility and extinguish the discord. Now, I know better. Even though it was hard to let such a pretty thing go, I said goodbye. I should have said goodbye a month ago when I knew for sure that we couldn’t truly partner, so I guess I still have something to learn with regard to belaboring situations. That said, progress is progress, and I am proud that instead of squandering a decade, I cut my losses after two months before deeply entangling my heart. I’m just not going to do it, try so hard to make it work. Rumpelstiltskin was always one of my favorite children’s stories, but I would rather go solo than waste anymore time spinning straw into gold.
I confess to the grossest habit. I love to burn off my body hair. I know it’s weird. I know it smells. I know it’s potentially dangerous. I’ll burn my arm hair, leg hair, pubes, whatever. I’ve never burned myself badly. It’s not like I flame all the way down to the skin. It thins out the hair without in-growns. Frankly, I’m not sure why singeing hasn’t caught on as a more popular technique. Though apparently it’s a common method of ear hair removal in Turkey?! Even though singeing is totally freaky and disgusting, it satisfies my inner pyro. Don’t judge me; it’s not like I’m collecting farts in jar. Jeez.
Obviously, I bought Lena Dunham’s book Not That Kind of Girl because I’m a voracious consumer of all of Dunham’s creative output. It doesn’t disappoint. Girls fans will enjoy retreading source material in what I guess you would call her first book of essays. What I like most is her intelligent use of rarely used four letter words – example “ford the river.”I sat through a matinee of Gone Girl with the AARP set today. In case you haven’t heard, there’s Affleck and NPH peen involved. It’s a totally serviceable adaptation; true to the novel and stylish, but the movie lacks the urgency I felt while reading the book. At well over 2 dragging-ass hours, the movie could have benefited from an little edit to accelerate the overall pacing. In reflecting back, the best part of the cinema experience was listening to the grayhairs chuckle at the preceding Fifty Shades of Grey trailer.Did you hear that Wendy Williams is doing another couple shows at the Venetian for their Lipshtick series? With the exception of the Veggie House, I don’t love Las Vegas, but I do love Wendy Williams. Snag a ticket and I’ll meet you there. We’ll make it cute.