Monday, December 30, 2013

My Quest for the Fountain of Youth

My Quest for the Fountain of Youth

My birthday is approaching, and I’m researching beauty treatments to (make myself think) I look like I did ten years ago. 

Asking around, I was amazed at how many women are getting lasered, botoxed, injected, and microdermed and spending fortunes doing it.

I called “Chateau d’ Shangra OOOH-LA-LA” yesterday to check the price of getting my underarms lasered so I’d never have to shave again. 

By the way, I really do buy expensive razors on account of I’m worth it.  However, I use them approximately 23 more times than Bic’s recommendation and I cut myself every time—just like last night.  I had to wait twenty minutes to stop bleeding before I got dressed for bunco so I wouldn’t mess up my new Mossimo faux raccoon fur vest. (A virtual Fountain of Youth itself). 

Anyway, I quickly found out that my budget only permitted me to laser half my chin, which was unacceptable.  

So, then I turned my attention to a plethora of cosmetic miracle cures.

First, I researched “BerryActif” a product containing raspberry plant stem-cell technology with 300,000 raspberry stem-cells in every jar. 

After four weeks’ use, 83% of panelists* using the anti-aging cream showed improvement but had to set their thermostats below 58 degrees to prevent becoming moldy at room temperature.

Next, “Fifty Shades of Clay” Cosmetics boasts a potion called Accelerated Retinol Serum.  Why would I want the Regular Serum?  More is better!  I mean, this is still America last time I checked.  I could teach those Marketing guys, with their framed Latin cosmetology diplomas just like Charlene’s down at the Glamour Nails, a thing or two about selling stuff.  Where did they go to college anyway?  LSU?  (Woo hoo!  Ole Miss fan.) 

Anyway, the cream claims to reduce wrinkles and revive bounce.  But I don’t need more bounce.  Lately when I walk in high heels, the skin on my cheeks vibrates, which is quite enough bounce for me. 

Next I learned “Brassy & Sassy” Cosmetics sells a miracle cream made from the rare purple raspberry variety Lavendéra L’Shawnda.  The rare strain was identified in the ruins of Pompeii in 1999 at the foot of Mount Vesuvius.

One lone plant possessed the determination and the immunity to free-radicals to push through the thick layer of hardened lava to photokinetically produce one purple raspberry.  The exclusive formula uses a specific strain of rare barnacle growing on that robust raspberry, which is rare. 

The secret behind “Meaningful Beauty” Anti-aging System lies in a remote region in France, named Jean Valjean d’ Cosette where scientists have cultivated an uncommon melon containing a powerful super-antioxidant, that obviously worked on Cindy Crawford, called Super Hydroxide Amino Mylflavanoid (SHAM)—and if you’re the third caller on QVC, they’ll throw in two more tubes.  Just pay separate shipping and handling. 

Female Baby Boomers are willing to spend their kids’ college funds and sometimes even part of their wine budget to stave off the aging process.

I know one lady who spent $300 on a cream made from cat placentas.  Her skin looks great, but she goes bat-crazy when the vacuum cleaner is turned on.

*30 random people they found on the internet.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Tired of All Those Christmas Brag Letters?

Tired of All Those Christmas Brag Letters?

December 7, 2013
I really admire the families who include letters with their Christmas cards.  They send perfect pictures of their well-behaved children in the beautiful places they’ve visited this year.
However, I don’t have time for perfect on account of I’m too busy watching Dr. Phil and that medical talk show with all those hot doctors.  And I’m always plagued by some important task hanging over my head.  It’s too bad I can’t remember what it is.
And why can’t I go to those beautiful places?  Because I’m home editing a five-page paper on why Zeus and Medusa wound up inside the Trojan Horse or some crap like that.  The next day I’m scraping burnt french fries off my rusty cookie sheet, and my friend is over there in Italy telling Edwardo, her hot masseuse, “A little more warm oil, please.”
Don’t get me wrong.  I love my friends who send letters.  I want to know about their exciting lives.  A part of me wants to slip it down the garbage disposal, but the sender may ask me later what I thought about their Alaskan cruise.  But a part of me is glad they are thoroughly enjoying their lives.
Why am I jealous sometimes, though?  I have everything I want.  I have plenty of time to ponder my blessings when I’m driving back at 9 p.m. from a wrestling match an hour away.  Thank God I usually remember to buy granola bars for my other two kids for dinner.  I also ruminate on my blessings, shivering, at 7 a.m. and again at 7 p.m. at soccer games in a tournament seven hours away.  Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed with thankfulness that I want to get on my knees right there on the sideline but my butt is stuck to the bleachers.
But the thing is—there’s no where I’d rather be.  I’ll never have these days back, but Turks and Caicos will always be there.  I’d rather watch my daughter play point guard for the very first time than visit some Paradise Point.  I’d rather see her perfect her rise ball than watch a sunrise in Oahu.  And most of all, seeing my daughter’s embarrassment when I volunteer to have her Bible study at my house is priceless.
One day I might make it to an exotic location, but right now I’m enjoying watching my beautiful children put their home-made (well, school-made) ornaments on our Christmas tree.    When I do make it to Italy, I wonder if Edwardo will still be there.