Hair Today. Gone Tomorrow.

Last week during the Breaking News Team's (damn near) daily trip to Fresh Market, we were dealt an incredible blow.

The News Readin' Husband having just left the comfortable, herb-y smelling confines of the Aveda Salon, was perfectly coiffed but looking a little glum. Usually his post-snip self preens around and says things like, "My girl said that I should let it grow a little up top for texture."

Uh-huh...you read right, "his girl."

After milling about the prepared food section disinterested in even macaroni and cheese, he finally offered up:

"Nicole might be leaving."

Quickly I ran through mental images of reporters or producers at his station. But, then I remembered - he cares little for his co-workers. No, dear reader, this was much worse.

"Her husband just got his MBA and can't find a job - so, they might leave City K."

Gasp. His girl aka hair stylist could be vacating her station at the salon - leaving our favorite news reader without someone to tame his locks.

Having just cemented his relationship with Nicole with his 12th visit, I knew this would take some consoling. After all - it was just over six months ago that he had to experience the dread "cut and run" from his stalker/ex-hair stylist.

Me: "Maybe you could start seeing my girl." (I know...but it's language he can relate to...not a time to get technical with hair stylist or actually use her name.)

Mr. NR: *Big sigh* "I guess, but Nicole knows exactly how to cut my hair. I just don't feel like starting over."

The Inside Voice: I hear ya' buddy and so do millions of American women who are dating mediocre men - but sometimes we just need to move on...

Mr. NR: "And besides your girl isn't a Master Stylist. I saw the list."

Me: "Is that why your haircut costs just $10 less than mine?!"

Mr. NR: "You get what you pay for..."

Hmph.

I've said it once - and I'll say it again...sometimes it's tough being married to a man who would look better in my Old Navy lounge pants, knows what concealer is, garners more interest from inmates than I do, and now added to that list...uses the term Master Stylist and references some secret list shared with him by the girls at the salon check-in desk. Seriously.


Stay tuned for more on this late breaking story.

DIY: Ladyscaping

Attention to any boys who read this blog: this may be a post to skip, as my never ending obsession with ladyscaping is the topic.

Ok? So, run along now - basketball to be watched, wings to devoured, beers to be consumed - and if you can find the time to fit in some mulch spreading or mowing...by all means - contribute to the maintaining of the abode in which you inhabit. (Someone has a touch of holdover resentment from last weekend's lacking outdoor productivity by a certain husband who reads the news.) But, I digress...

As the bearing more than less season approaches, it's timely to launch a new product for the purpose of maintaining - specifically - Your Flower Bed. The genius minds (or their ad agency) at Schick have bestowed upon us ladies this little piece of equipment just in time:


The Schick Quattro for Women Trimstyle Razor & Bikini Trimmer

The apparatus itself doesn't offend me nearly me as much as the ad campaign that is bombarding the female consumer.

Print ads appearing in major magazines feature a lush garden with statuary amidst strategically placed topiaries in the shapes of inverted triangles and landing strips. The television commercial is even more laughable. Women strolling, jogging, meeting up with other women passing by overgrown greenery that transform magically into stripper enviable ladyscapes. Don't believe me? Check out the ridiculousness here:



Seriously, Ad Guy? Really? You sat around your agency war room throwing out ideas to market these bad boys and you came up with shaped shrubs? Are you also the geniuses that developed the Levitra commercial with the man throwing the football through the tire swing or the spurting kitchen faucet? Subtle, reeally subtle.

If you think for a second a man didn't come up with campaign, well - you're kidding yourself. Working in the advertising world has taught me that 9 out of 10 creatives are men and I watch Mad Men. My official backup data. So there.

I'm not some femi-nazi who believes a man created this tool to perpetuate the pressures of society to maintain a tidy Flower Bed. On the contrary, I am a woman who firmly believes in keeping things beach-in-Rio ready (should the occasion arise) for myself. And I appreciate the help.

Just in case my new waxer extraordinaire, Heather, is reading - it will never replace you. Our bond is much stronger. You have gone places no one has ever gone (with the lights on) other than my Lady Bits Doctor, and never once have you asked me to scoot down. Love ya', Girl!

Will I fall victim to the wily ways of Schick's advertising brilliance? Perhaps. Compared to the scouring pad/sanding system these jokers are touting - it certainly seems like the better home maintenance option.


Stay tuned. More at 11.

My name is...and I'm addicted to...

I ran out of lip balm yesterday. I know, I know. You are thinking no big deal.
For me it is a Big Deal. Pucci shift dress at Off Saks for $39.99 - big deal. (True story to be told at a later date.)

So, there I was in Sephora - lips parched from moisture deprivation - in the checkout line, gripping the last two in the store. Glory be.

Cashier: "How old is your baby?"
Me: "Errr...I don't have any children."
(head swiveling around like an owl, making sure there were no mini stragglers about...)
Cashier: "Oh, this is baby stuff."
Me: "Right. But, I use this as lip balm."
Cashier: (rather loudly) "Reeaallyyy?? Isn't it for a baby's bottom."
Me: "No, not specifically."
Cashier: "That's wild. How did you know to put it on your lips??!!"
Me: "Because it says you can on the tube."

Seriously?
Swipe my rewards card and give me my damn balm before I have a meth-head freak out.

Warning: Once you go down this road, you can never go back.
Mustela Hydra-Stick, the crack-cocaine of lip balm.

If using it on my lips is wrong, then I don't wanna be right.

Tan-tastic

Ahhh...winter. Nothing we love more than the shroud of darkness falling before Jeopardy airs and being so pale we could glow in the dark. Throw in dry skin and it's a damn party.

In as much as I would love to trot over to the local Electric Maldives (tanning salon) for a little color, I would prefer to not look like the alligator bag I am desperate for by the ripe old age of 35.

The alternatives, by and large, leave you orange-y and oompa loompa looking. Unless you are working in a magical chocolate factory - or are the corporate face for said magical chocolate factory, orange-y skin - not so much.

Imagine my joy when after courting many a bronzer (Guerlain, Trish McEvoy, Benefit, Aveda...you get the picture) I found one that is ...gasp...natural looking.

Because I am kind and generous - or at least today - I'll share my weapon of choice to banish winter pastiness:

(image courtesy of Sephora.com)

LORAC TANtalizer Baked Bronzer

Word to the wise...it can be a little sparkly. Which for a girl with gypsy blood - like yours truly - is a plus. It also means the other member of the News Readin' household, who is equally concerned with pastiness, is less likely to swipe it while I'm not looking for a "Special Assignment."

From the bronzed trenches,

Mrs. News Readin'

Cleaning up

The search for a good cleanser can be frustrating and costly. (The graveyard of cleansers underneath my bathroom sink and crazy amount of Sephora beauty rewards are a testament to that...)

Being a glutton for punishment, I rolled the dice and purchased this:

MD SKINCARE All-in-one Facial Cleanser with Toner

All-in-one? Sign me up.

Love it.

Shhh...don't tell Mr. News Readin' or else he'll start complaining about his Clinique makeup remover not being up to par.

Sometimes it's tough being married to a man who has a working knowledge of skincare.

Waxing on...

There are people that you have such a deep connection with that you simply cannot imagine life without them. For me those people are Mr. News Readin', my BFF Hilary and Anka - my waxer extraordinaire. Oh, and Tim Gunn.

WARNING: If you are of the male persuasion the following post will cause heavy wincing, groaning, sucking of air through clenched teeth and down right TMI overload. So, quit reading if lady-scaping is not a subject of interest.

If Mr. News Readin' is persnickety about his hair, I am downright Black Panther fanatical about who waxes me.

Being a New York girl and a Catholic schoolgirl to boot - I didn't waste any time learning the art of lady maintenance. I've been getting my eyebrows waxed since I was 16. (Thank God I had the good sense to get these squirrels under control at an early age.) The natural progression for those who wax their eyebrows is to tend to their nether region in a similar fashion. First bikini wax - 17.

I know...it sounds like I was massive tramp. Well, I was.
JUST KIDDING. I just like keeping it all tidy.

Back in the day I would go into any old nail or hair salon to get waxed. Until, I met Anka, a lovely Czech woman at BLISS 57 in NY. I was there for a facial, standard eyebrow and bikini wax. When it got to be that time to clean out the Flower Bed - she wanted to know if I wanted a landing strip.

Ummm...could you just make it that if I have an emergency trip to St. Bart's - we're all good?

Before I knew it, I had agreed to a landing strip and my first brazilian. I went onto become a fan of the inverted triangle, but you gotta start somewhere.

Brazilians are one of those things that if you knew how excruciating the first one was going to be, you would NEVER-EVER agree to get one or the very least let them do both sides.

Half-naked, on all fours, allowing them to slather hot wax reeeeaallly close to your Flower. Oh, and you are going to pay them to do it. Once you go there with a waxer - you're as close as you can get to someone without a hangover and the hope of avoiding them at next year's sales conference.

When I married Mr. News Readin' and left New York, I think I cried more about leaving Anka than my family and friends. I had no idea how I was going to deal. Solution: my garden would have to be maintained on a bi-monthly basis by taking the JetBlue red-eye from Denver to JFK. It was the only option.

Mr. News Readin', although appreciative of the maintenance plan, did not think going to New York to tidy things up was cost effective. He told me to find a spa in Denver that does brazilians. So, I drove three hours to have wax poured on me by a perfect stranger.

There I am, in a stupid paper thong and some teenager walks in carrying a pot of wax.
Our girl, then proceeds to tell me she has never had a bikini wax. Wait? What? Never had a brazilian? Nope. Never had a BIKINI wax.

Peace Out. Seriously. I hopped off the table and told her she could do my eyebrows while I watch like a hawk in a handheld mirror. But, I'll be damned if I was going to let her ruin what my Eastern Block angel had created down there.

It took a few trips back to New York and a visit to a trannie/stripper/aesthetician in some effed up looking salon in Denver to keep me "in order" that first year. When we moved to the City in Two States, I found a Canadian who had worked in Vegas, and did a decent job. Her skills still paled in comparison to Anka's. She did however introduce me to this:




No Scream Cream. It's kind of messy, but if you are a massive baby (like yours truly) it takes the edge off. Vitamin Xanax and a glass of Pinot Noir has a similar effect - but we don't want them to have to break out the smelling salts to get us off the table. So, go with the cream.

It's time though, to find someone in City K who will never measure up to Anka.

I've canvased a few Junior Leaguers to see if anyone had any recommendations. The looks of shock I received were amusing.

"You get a brazilian?"
"Yep."
"Doesn't it hurt?"
"It sure doesn't tickle."

Needless to say, fruitless. So, I'm going to drive to a city about 2 hours away, to visit the waxer to that fair city's finest strippers. (They obviously know what the hell they're doing...) And don't ask me how I found this waxer. I'm the wife of a newsman. I've got sources.

Speaking of the Mr. News Readin'...if he's lucky maybe I'll get a heart-shape for our anniversary...

Stay tuned.