Things I Love Thursday: Lasting Lashes

Every time I walk into a makeup store like Sephora, I have this fantasy that I will somehow come out looking completely different…gone will be the under-eye circles and red skin! Nobody will know I ever had a zit in my life and my skin will be as dewy as my baby’s. It’s a fantasy born of FAR too many chick flicks where the girl is magically transformed by contacts, a pair of tweezers, and a curling iron. I want to believe what I see in magazines, despite knowing it’s airbrushed and it’s fairly unlikely Jennifer Lopez wears Cover Girl, like EVER.

I let the makeup artist work their magic, and I sit eagerly awaiting the mirror that will show me MY BEST SELF…that girl who looks like she slept on satin sheets instead of a bed-in-a-bag with dog hair. I’ll look like I get 20 hours of sleep instead of 2! And the results always are…not bad. You know, an improvement, but not the glamorous transition of my dreams.

But I do always leave Sephora feeling renewed somehow. Yes, I spent a small country’s GNP on makeup I didn’t really NEED, but for a few moments when I leave, I feel more put together.

Lately, I’ve been feeling dumpy. Just super “I’m a mom who let herself go.” It doesn’t help that I work at home, either. Hygiene went out the window long before I ever even got pregnant. Usually, I cure this with new makeup. Only now things are different. We’ve been hit by the crappy economy just like everyone else, and I have to do my makeup shopping in a drugstore.

What a different experience! It’s hard to hope for glamour when you’re throwing your makeup on top of a bag of lettuce and toilet paper at Target. And forget trying the makeup out! Of the very few items that actually have testers, the application experience is much less fantasy, much more fear. I’ve yet to see one of the testers that doesn’t make me want a Tetanus shot. Note to drugstores: if you’re going to put testers out, take just a little time to consider sanitation.

On the other hand, if you don’t use the tester, you risk going home and applying some newfangled foundation that turns your skin bright orange or eyeshadow that goes all frosty.

The only beacon of light in drugstore makeup shipping is mascara. I’ve always been a drugstore mascara girl: Maybelline in the green tube to be exact. I’ve tried the fancy ones…the ones that claim to lengthen, thicken, cure world peace. But you can’t beat the cheapo Maybelline.

Recently, I got a coupon to try a new Maybelline mascara product and I decided to give it a whirl. I’m a sucker for buy one, get one free, what can I say?

You can’t beat this $4 Define-a-Lash mascara from Maybelline! What I love most about it is that it’s got this fun rubbery wand that makes sure you get no clumps. You can put several layers on without getting spider eyes (but be careful not to let it dry too long or it gets very stiff…it won’t look bad, but you’ll be picking at it all day).

Also, it’s waterproof! I love this for the summer not only because I can wear it in the water if I forget to take it off, but also because I have a tendency to lose all my makeup when I sweat and this stuff goes NOWHERE.

So now, no matter what, I at least try to put on some mascara. It’s a little thing and it certainly doesn’t make me feel like Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada, but it’s a start, right?

What’s your favorite drugstore makeup product?

Sticking it to the Pregnant Chick

For those of you who don’t know, about halfway through your pregnancy the docs start checking you for gestational Diabetes. I had actually had an even earlier test because I was high-risk, and it was negative. But when it came time for my actual test, I was borderline.

I begged to retake the test, but my regular OB was out on maternity leave and try as I might to explain OVER and OVER that I had just come from 2 weeks in Cape Cod and had not exactly been sticking to a reasonable diet, they sent me in for the fasting glucose test. Which, under normal circumstances, is not fun. You chug this horrible sugar drink and sit there and let it work its magic until you feel like you may pass out and then they draw your blood every hour.

Now, when you factor in that I was 6 months pregnant and not allowed to eat for 8 hours before the test and three hours during, you’ve got one hell of a cranky fat chick on your hands, I’m just saying.

So the people who check me in are SOOOOO nice! They say they’re so sorry I have to suffer, but it will be done soon. They offer me water and show me where to sit to get the best wireless signal (because no way was I taking freaking PTO for this!) and tell me to just go on back when my hour is up.

So I go back for my first blood draw and this woman is sitting there with a sour face. Right off the bat, she’s just kind of unnecessarily put out by the fact that I am going to be plaguing her for the next 3 hours. Like I’m having a damn fiesta here trying not to hurl, thanks.

So conversationally I tell her what I told the doctor: that I ate nothing but junk for two weeks! Dude, I even had a sundae for dinner…and finished the evening off with ice cream cake. I’m positive I’m not Diabetic, I tell her. I’m just a hormonally effed up pig! I had my dad test me three days ago and I was low!

Look, I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a little sympathy? Even just a “we’ll see, just relax.” Instead she sighs and goes “you might as well face it, you’re Diabetic.”

WHAT? You haven’t so much as opened the damn syringe!

So I’m already put out because you know what? You work in a maternity ward, you should be used to hungry whiny pregnant chicks. I’m not the first, I won’t be the last. Have some damn bedside manner if you’re not going to have pity!

Then to further make me LOATHE her with the fire of 1,000 suns, she refuses to listen to me on something I am actually pretty medically accurate on. I don’t know what the official medical term is, but I’ve got sucky veins. I’ve never come out of a blood draw without looking like I’ve gone a few rounds with a prizefighter. The constant misfires and mistakes have made me pretty good at pointing out to the lab techs where they might find a good vein.

And, as I told Little Miss Stormy Cloud, you ain’t gonna find one in my right arm. She sighs at me and says “I can’t very well take 4 blood draws from one arm, I have to do two and two.” I sigh right back at her “you can try, but you’ll be lucky to get one from the right arm.”

She purses her sour little lemon face and proceeds to STAB THE CRAP OUT OF MY RIGHT ARM and then has the guts to say to me “gee, this vein probably won’t even have enough for one draw.” Did I not…I mean, were we having the same conversation????

So as I am cursing her name and about to go total snob and ask for a new lab tech, I happen to glance up at the cabinets above her work space and I see her sour lemon face next to a ruddy-faced kid HOLDING A RIFLE STANDING BY A DEER CARCASS WITH HIS DAD. Oh but it explains so much! And yet, where the hell but in the freaking country is that considered appropriate office décor??

Incidentally, days later after I’d gone through a tube of concealer trying to cover the bruises that bizzo left, she called me to tell me I DIDN’T HAVE DIABETES, AFTER ALL. Suck it, Bambi Killer, tell your story walking!

And then a week later when I was finally cleared to get the swine flu shot, who should walk in but Deer Carcass Mom?? I looked at Scott pleadingly, but there was nothing he could do and I admit I was a teensy bit sarcastic when I said “probably best to do the left side this time,” and mayyyybe I pointed at the still visible bruises on my right? I can’t be sure, those were trying times. But there was no mistaking that shot went in a LOT harder than it had to.

Things I Love Thursday: Peekaru!

Something new and different, yay! Actually, I just realized how many different random e-mails I send out a week with my (totally unsolicited, I’m sad to say) reviews of random things I try. And I saw some other bloggers do a “Things I Love Thursday” and hey, if all the cool kids jumped off a bridge, I’d be awfully wet.

So I bring to you the first in a series of Things I Love. This one happens to be a baby product because I spent half my weekend explaining it to people and I may be single-handedly responsible for about 300 orders. This won’t always be the way, I have lots of ideas for things to tell you about.

I took Wee ‘Burb to a sheep shearing festival this weekend. More on that in another blog entry. But those of you who have kids know what a pain it is to try to weave a stroller in crowds. Or if you don’t have kids, then you know what a pain it is to weave AROUND strollers in crowds. Especially muddy crowds, as it was this past weekend because the weather Gods are having a great laugh at my expense as I try to get my kid out or more than an hour a week.

Anyway, so I use my carrier when I’m taking her anywhere there’s a crowd. She loves it and I quite like having her near my face so I can see what she’s up to. And typically she falls asleep as you can see.

The gadget she is nestled in is called a Peekaru. Greatest…invention…EVER! If your kid likes a carrier, you MUST invest in this! I got one as a present and at first it seemed…well, hippie-ish. There, I said it. Suburban snob sneaking through again. I didn’t even get to use it at first because Wee ‘Burb REFUSED to go into her carrier until about two months ago. Then all of a sudden it was the greatest invention ever. Who knows? Anyway, so a month ago we’re going to walk around and look at garage sales in our area (more about that in another entry, too…see what you have to look forward to?) and it was very windy. So I pulled out the Peekaru to give it a shot.

The idea behind this is that with the carrier, you are limited in how you keep you and the baby warm. You can: a) put the baby in a ton of layers of clothes, which if your kid is anything like mine will only result in squawking and squirming or b) put a huuuuge coat around yourself and hope it zips over the baby (I’m trying to get OUT of my fat clothes, thank you) or c) stick blankets in or around the baby.

This vest is awesome because it’s a soft fleece with (and this is the goofy part) two head holes. So not only are you protected up to your chin, so is the baby! And it being a vest versus a coat means you don’t get overheated (I’m just assuming your baby is as volcanic as mine). It also means it’s versatile in terms of being able to wear it with a t-shirt (like the picture) or with a sweatshirt or jacket in cooler weather. And it even has a little pocket to stick your phone or pacifier or whatever in. I love me some pockets!

The only con from the baby perspective is that their hands are stuck inside the Peekaru. See, for me this ends up being a pro because then Wee ‘Burb can’t steal purses (more on that with my sheep shearing blog) or otherwise molest random passer-bys. But occasionally her hands being trapped in makes her a little squawky. However, as you can see from the picture that doesn’t last long.

The only other con is if you are in a hurry, it can be bothersome to explain to the 200 people who WILL STOP YOU what it is and where you got it.

I highly recommend this! If you don’t have kids of your own, it would make an amazing gift.

http://www.togetherbe.com/productDescriptionPeekaruOriginal.aspx

I Ain't Got No Alibi

The suburbs are just CRAWLING with cops the last few weeks. I can’t figure it out, at first I thought it was my imagination. For, you see, I was one of the first victims of this crackdown. It was a BAD day from the start. Wee ‘Burb had her first cold, the dog had some sort of rash, work was dreadful and I was just exhausted.

Because Cous Cous isn’t exactly the best behaved dog in the car, I had agreed to go with Scott to the vet. 30 minutes and $30 later we were told it was just a rash that all dogs get all the time…despite the fact that I had DESCRIBED this rash IN DETAIL to the vet, I was still told to come in. To be told it was no biggie. Great.

So in a rage and $30 poorer, I just wanted to go home. So I was not, how you say, vigilant. Of either my speed or the fact that there were a bunch of cops hiding out at a mailbox just waiting for sleep-deprived losers like me.

And so the cherries flash and I about throw up. Here’s the thing about me: I have an irrational fear of cops. I say irrational because, in fact, I have many family friends who are cops. I know nothing is going to happen to me. Yes, I might get a ticket. But it’s very unlikely I am going to get taken in under some false arrest warrant so they can frame me for some heinous deed for which I have no alibi. But that changes nothing, I go white as a ghost, shake and start to cry.

I also, like an a-hole, took my seatbelt off to get my (turns out, expired) proof of insurance from my glove compartment. So I’m trying to put it on and the cop says “A little late for the belt, miss.” I stammer out that it was on, I couldn’t reach my compartment, etc. He just nods, takes my (expired) proof of insurance and license and disappears.

I’m sure in reality it was 2 minutes, but you know how that can feel like eternity? I mean, I really thought it was 10 minutes, at least. But he comes back and issues me a ticket for my expired proof of insurance, nicely telling me all I need to do is fax in my proof and the ticket will be erased.

So I thought it was my imagination, born of PTSD from my experience, that the cops were crawling everywhere, but more and more people started commenting. I even overheard strangers conversing about it! You expect this kind of show of force around major holidays. The only major event that happened here was the tragic death of a police officer recently, but I’m not sure it warranted this level of vigilance.

I’ve tried to Google it and look it up in the local paper to no avail. If anyone knows what’s up, I’m dying to know! In the meantime, just call me Stephanie Speed Limit!

Rotating Restaurants

I’ll come out and admit it: I am a food snob. I blame Scott. I barely cared about the difference between Chef Boyardee and Chef Batali before we met, but now I’m obsessed with Food Network and Top Chef.

Our old condo was near many great restaurants, and offered us a 20-minute drive to the cities if we wanted more. We thought moving to the suburbs would cut our access to great food some, but when we asked our neighbors, we were assured there were many culinary delights surrounding us. We should have known this wasn’t exactly the truth when (and I mean no offense to anyone who has uttered the following phrase, I truly do not, I’m just a snob) they told us that they were celebrating 20 years of marriage at the Outback Steakhouse.

Downtown has had about five different restaurants in our short time here in the ‘burbs. And this food turnover has caused a lot of drama in our city. The local paper had pages of letters to the editor for months after a diner closed, which seemed to be a last straw for the neighborhood. I personally never went to the diner because I never had the chance in the brief time it was open. But Scott did and was rather horrified at the $17 lunch he had there. He had simply ordered turkey and meatloaf, which at a neighboring diner would cost about $7.

So we weren’t at all surprised when it closed. We were the only ones, apparently. A myriad of letters to the editor blamed locals for not caring about local food, the Chamber of Commerce for not supporting local business, the local paper for not advertising for them (for free of course…and on a side note, the local paper did a total fluff piece on diners through the ages or some such nonsense which more than once mentioned this new place), and the townsfolk in general for being cheap horrible people. Some of the people who simply offered advice/reasoning for why it didn’t work show how uniquely suburban this area is:

“Not once did anybody from [the diner] come by the office to drop off a menu or some coupons or just to say ‘hi’ and encourage folks to come over for lunch.”

“Well, [suburb residents], you blew it again. It was with much sadness that I read of the closing of [the diner] after a short, but expensive, run...In an endless parade of sub-par restaurants that have come and gone from the area, [the diner] was what we had been waiting for. Excellent food, great atmosphere, and decent prices for an A-tier restaurant. Insert snicker from Stephanie here. This is a business that should have been supported.”

“Face it, [our suburb] is not as upscale as some of its leaders believe. We are ordinary, moderate and fixed income residents. We need a family restaurant with affordable prices, a varied menu and breakfast. Breakfast diners in the area are very limited. This we would support.”

Last year a Mexican restaurant opened across the street from the doomed diner. I was actually pretty excited because to get good Mexican, we have to go a town over. What luck to have one down the street! Yeah, luck does not equal a $14 enchilada. $14…enchilada! Served with…white rice. I almost can’t write it. WHITE RICE…MEXICAN RESTAURANT! Luckily we didn’t have to bear the injustice of this for long, they closed, too.

And once again, letters to the editor poured in. Only now a few of them actually mirrored what we were thinking: do you not do your research, people??!! I feel like our neighbors are fairly representative of a good portion of the population of our city. More than half have been in this neighborhood for more than 20 years and if they think a fancy special night out is the Olive Garden, then so be it. In the short time I’ve lived in this food wasteland, not a single restaurant has made it that doesn’t host a weekly meat raffle or offer amazing happy hour deals. And that’s fine, right? Maybe, just maybe, though, we stop giving loans to people who want to open fancier restaurants here. Maybe we focus on revitalizing downtown some other way.

May I suggest a cheap Mexican place that serves appropriate rice? And if I could add one request: can my entire bill be $14, please?

Thanks muchly. Sincerely, the Suburban Food Snob

R.I.P. Bunny

The circle of life continues its ugly loop. I have no good updates to post, as today was a traumatic day in suburbia. A few days ago, Scott came in and informed me that he found a bunny carcass. Or half a bunny carcass. Then today, while I was on a conference call in my room, I heard a HORRIBLE scream and I just knew in my gut it was a bunny attack. I’m trying to review my week with my boss and meanwhile as I look out the window, I see a black and white cat with a screeching baby bunny in its mouth. I’m trying not to scream and frantically trying to open and close the window and snap my fingers in the hopes that maybe my ridiculously futile attempts at getting the cat’s attention will momentarily allow the baby bunny to run.

No luck. I think the cat gave me the finger. Flipped me some fur? I don’t know, it looked at me like an evil little monster and ran off with the twitching bunny.

I was so traumatized even Cous Cous stopped her morning destruction and came and sat and put her head in my lap. A friend of mine gave me the phone number for a wildlife rehabilitation place and I called. They said if we felt the bunnies were orphaned (and really, what mommy bunny would send her baby out as bait?) then they would take them, but we would have to bring the bunnies to the rehab center an hour or so away.

I went out to try to find the remaining bunnies, assuming there were any. We can’t find them anywhere! We tried watering and digging a little, and nothing! So either they burrowed down really far, or got smart and moved their little bunny hut. Scott says I am going to have to accept that this is how it goes and for every bunny carcass, there’s another litter of bunnies being born elsewhere. I’m not mollified.

Run, Bunny, Run!

This is one of those days where living in suburbia is not all it cracked up to be. A friend of mine was helping me get my garden in shape. I’ve tried so many times since we moved in to make the garden SOMETHING, but I always get overwhelmed and quit. So my friend has stepped in and offered to help.

So as I was starting dinner tonight, she comes running in all shuddering. She said she had dug into a hosta to split it, and out came a bunch of mice. She didn’t know how many; she stopped counting after two and came running in. So we did what any girls would do: we made Scott go out and see what’s going on. He asked if we wanted to kill the mice and we debated. Finally we decided that we should try to move them or something to get them away from the house so they wouldn’t get in.

So Scott and my friend go out and she comes in giggling. Turns out it’s not mice! It’s baby bunnies. I get all excited and screechy until I realize she’s injured one and the others are wiggling around all nutty in the dirt. My friend says they can’t stay in the garden b/c they’re killing the plants. So, Scott takes them and moves them to a nearby pine tree. Which causes me to burst into tears because I’m positive their mommy is NEVER going to find them.

I know all this is irrational and borderline absurd. Rabbits are a dime a dozen out here and Scott only moved them 20 feet away, but I kept crying “they’ll never see their mommy!"

So, Scott finally went over a few hours later and made sure they were still there. They were, including the one who was injured who Scott keeps saying may bounce back. My adorable husband even brought them a t-shirt and some food.

And now we wait, I guess. Scott is convinced the mommy bunny will find the babies because she eats from planters all around our house, and he’s convinced I’ll be cursing the bunnies in no time. Here’s hoping!