If You Were Here

Every once in a while I get a new book (well…okay…that’s a big fat lie because I buy new books all the time)…but every once in a while I fall in L-O-V-E love with a book.  

My latest worship-worthy book is Jen Lancaster’s latest, If You Were Here.  

(Thank you for the cover shot, bn.com)

(And *yes* the title is snitched from that certain song, in that certain movie, that ends with them sitting on top of the dining room table with a birthday cake in the center.  “Make a wish,” he says.  Oh, Jake Ryan, you silly, extremely hot boy...“But it already came true.”)

Now I’ve been a fan of Jen’s non-fiction books for a while.  They are the kind of laugh-out-loud books that make me feel like I’m chatting with one of my very cool best friends (preferably over a bunch of cocktails). I had zero doubt that her fiction debut would be great, but have to say it’s *beyond*.  It’s still the same chatting-and-busting-a-gut-with-your-bestie-over-drinks just with a buttload of 80s references, pop culture nods and John Hughes on top.  And if for some insane reason, you are reading this and scratching your head and saying Jen-Lancaster-who, then after you read this post, go here.  Then go out and pick up her books.  ("Get" as in buy the physical book.  Please!  Save our bookstores...don't go all Nook on me!)

The short version of the story line (or at least this is what I can recap so far) is it’s the story of Mia and Mac, a married couple living in Chicago who decide it’s time to get out of their townhouse rental, in a slighty very sketchy part of town and head for the ‘burbs.   They sort of accidentally get into a prank war with a not-as-badass-as-he-thinks-he-is kid in their neighborhood.  (Vanilla Ice pops to my mind.  Or maybe AJ from Backstreet.)  Hijinks ensue. 

Case in point…Mac hangs a giant sheet sign (think Greek Week banner or the “I assure you, we’re open” sheet Dante hangs outside the convenience store in Clerks, if you will) that claims this kid wears girl’s underpants.  (In all fairness, out of context of this book I trust anyone reading this is thinking…”WTF?  This isn’t hysterical”.  Trust me.  It is.)  Moving on, you can take one guess on how well this panties-banner goes over with the wannabe.  (“Can I borrow you underpants for ten minutes?”) 

So first Ice Ice AJ attempts a drive-by shooting.  Didn’t go so well. Then he tries to throw a fire-ball bottle at their house.  Essentially I.I.A.J. couldn’t hit water if he fell out of an effing boat. (Thank you, Crash Davis.)  The prank-war keeps Mac and Mia crying tears of laughter for a while, but they also know it’s time to go.  After weeks and weeks of touring the suburbs with a Realtor (specifically the town of Abington Cambs where all John Hughes movies are based), Mia finds the holy grail of dream houses – Jake Ryan’s house. 

Well, fancy seeing you here...

Now I waxed on in an earlier post about my love for Jake Ryan, aka The Most Perfectest Guy To Have a First and Forever Crush On Ever.  I love that he’s frozen in time (and in my mind), standing next to his Porsche, waving.  Swoon!  In the book, Jake’s house is also pretty much frozen in time, an eighties nightmare of unrenovated, termite-infested, horribly decorated disaster.  Mia and Mac face a ton of renovations after sinking a ton of money into Mia’s teenage fantasy.  (She too is a Jake Ryan/John Hughes obsessed kind of gal.)  Let more hijinks ensue. 

And that’s as far as I’ve gotten.

Now I realize I haven’t done the pitch-perfect humor and sarcasm of the book an ounce of justice.  But I swear it’s in there.  Plus any author who can find a way to work in references to Charles in Charge, Vince Vaughn, The Jeffersons, Alanis and every life-altering John Hughes movie, find a reason to have to explain why even a maxi pad stuffed in a Gatorade bottle wouldn’t have helped the wannabe thug make a successful fire bomb, while simultaneously completely relaying the emotionally and physically draining drudgery of looking for a place to live, packing and moving, in a pee-in-my-pants hysterical way is ahh-may-zing to me. 

Add in that Jen Lancaster’s main character openly bashes the crap out of Twilight and Stephanie Meyer and also affectionately refers to herself as “the second coming of Hasselhoff” and, well, she will forever be on my bookshelf and have a place in my book-loving heart.  Love.  Love.  Love.

Now I have to say that the John Hughes references alone were enough to make me happy.  Any excuse to relive the movies that completely defined my teen years is fine by me.  (I also, maybe, might have totally watched some old Dawson’s Creek eps this weekend.  You know the rule.  Don’t judge my TV watching habits.)  But everything in those movies…from to the characters to the music to the clothes to the very hope for the happy ending left such a mark on my little black heart.  Those movies gave me the hope that the happily ever after could be a reality.  More specifically, *my* reality.

Sixteen Candles made me believe that hot, cool guys did fall for the shy, not genetically perfect girls.  It also made me wish I had an amazing attic bedroom.

Pretty In Pink gave me the Rave-Ups. (When they played at the 90210 prom many years later I was the only one of my friends who knew them.  This is one of the songs from that ep, though I resisted using the actual 90210 clip.  But I still love you Brenda, and your dress with the giant bow that I may have possibly, totally tried to mimic for a college formal.)  

Pretty In Pink also gave me a short-lived feeling that maybe I could make my own clothes like Andie, made me long for a cool friend like Iona (love her pre-Terrence style), kind of made me want to work in a record store and once again, gave the very awkward teen (*me*) the hope that the girl got the supposedly ungettable guy.  (Though in hindsight I’m disappointed that Blane didn’t stand up to Steff.  The Andrew McCarthy who showed up in Lipstick Jungle as the ruthless bazillionaire businessman who was so cold and focused on his own success would’ve manned up for sure.   I’m also pretty sure Andrew M. played some kind of perv in SVU at some point and that guy definitely would’ve put Steff in his place.  And maybe locked him in his basement or in a secret room or something creepy.  Just saying.  Though James Spader did uber-asshole so very very well!) 

(Courtesy of IMDB.com)

The Breakfast Club made me long for a life-altering day in detention (I know…I was a nerd) and for the dreamy jock to see something in me that no one else saw.  I also really just wanted to rock out to Karla DeVito’s “We Are Not Alone” and then get a full-on makeover.  I must confess I stole some of Molly Ringwald’s dance moves and busted them out at many a junior high dances.  (Man, I thought I was the cat’s ass.) And I seriously lusted her outfit and tried to recreate it for many years to come.  (Still trying.  I mean such great boots!  And that skirt.  And the leather jacket.  And her hair.  LOVE.)

But I have to say, Some Kind of Wonderful blew me away. I’m sure part of it was timing, in that I was old enough to “get it”.  (A lot of Breakfast Club went over my head when I first saw it.  The whole smoking pot thing was so lost on me it’s not even funny.) Part of the SKOW lure was the feeling that I was always the *friend* and never the Amanda Jones.  I wished I could be as cool as Watts when I grew up - go to clubs to see bands like Flesh for LuLu and play the drums.  I had my hair quasi-cut like Watts (except mine was brown and I still had braces and a lot of baby fat going on) and I wished, hoped, prayed for a Keith (never really was into Eric Stoltz though, which I can probably blame on Mask)…but rather my own boy-BFF that I would fall in love with, to tell me that I looked good wearing his future.  Cue the soundtrack.

Best.  Version.  Ever.  And this entire album played endlessly in my teenage bedroom. (It took turns with Pretty In Pink.)  Sigh!  Listening to it now takes me right back.

So that’s my story.   Remembering that every once in a while, if you’re really lucky, you see a movie or hear a song or read a book that leaves a mark on you.  That defines a moment or helps remind you of a defining moment. 

I’m going to get back to reading, slowly, because I really, really don’t want this book to end.  The good news is I can always reread it.  Which I will.  Because just like the movie soundtracks it’s that damn good. 

And for my final trick...I just can't resist....such an amazing song.  Thank you, Rave-Ups! 

Hot Child In the City

Cole Porter said it best, it’s too darn hot.

It’s actually bordering on oppressive.  Which make me cranky.  And my brain can’t quite compute. 

There’s nothing remotely redeemable about a heat wave.  Maybe if I was a kid, with the summer off, splashing around in the pool with no worries then I’d be fine with it.  (Or, for that matter, if I was playing in my grandparents' backyard holding an unidentifiable toy that I found totally amusing….)  

I don’t remember caring much, when I was little, if my hair was a total fro or if I was red-faced and sweaty.  But now that I’m (ahem) older, I try to pin the curls into submission, to even out the redness and to ignore the sweat that seems to “glisten” (as in drip, pour, pool) all over my skin while I’m standing on a nasty, hot subway platform.  Could I be any grosser?

Maybe it’s just me, but everything seems like that much more of a chore on days like these.  And I feel like just giving up.

Ah, summer.  How I’m hating you right now.  And while I do heart the Heat Miser’s song, I’m even kind of hating him right now too.  (I lie.  I still heart you and your mini-Misers and their attempt at a kickline.  Never stops being funny.)  

I know…bitch, moan, bitch, whine a little, moan.  I'm being a ginormous brat.  I just have zero in the motivation department thanks to crazy work, restless sleep (I'm now resorting to drugs), nasty heat and oh, a little my-mind-is-foggy-because-of-the-my-life-is-at-a-crossroads-crisis.  I keep reminding myself that it’ll get better.  The heat (and the fog) will lift.  Eventually. 

In fact, things are about to get a hell of a lot better.  At least for a little while.

Because in less than three weeks I’ll be back here…

Cascais, Portugal

Drinking lots of this…

Hello, lover!

And while I will care that my hair will be a curly fro (because that's just who I am) I'm going to try to just go with the flow.  (When in Portugal, right?).  And what I'll try really hard not to do is make bad rhymes.  WTF was that?  Did I just go back in time and become one of the guys in LFO singing that horrendous  Abercrombie and Fitch song...

"Like the color purple, macaroni and cheese.  

Ruby red slippers and a bunch of trees.”  

What?  I'm not even kidding.  WHAT?  

  

But I digress...

So until I board my plane, I’m a hot child (brat, crybaby, complainer) in the city.  And since I can’t help but play the soundtrack to my life, in my head, at all times, all I can think of are songs with “hot” in the title.  So I thought what better ode to the heat than a little Billy Idol singing the theme song of one of the best spin-offs EVER, Booker. 

I know there’s at least one other person out there who spent their Sunday nights with the one-two punch of Jump Street and Booker.  And sure, I was (and still am) a Johnny Depp/Tom Hanson devotee, but I’m the first to admit I was seduced by Richard Grieco’s bad boy.  I fell for all his little tricks…the brooding, the charming smile, the general bad-assness.  Johnny and Grieco’s pictures covered my bedroom walls (keeping company with Keanu Reeves and Christian Slater, thank you very much).   

And if there was any doubt that pack-ratting had its privileges, I give you this:

Rip this out from a magazine and save it for almost 20 years? Yeah, I did. 

I think this was from either a People or US Weekly “hottest guys” issue circa 1990.  (Is it bad that I’m proud that I held onto this?  I mean obviously the younger me knew that someday there would be a payoff for a twenty-year old magazine tear out of Mr. Grieco.  Hello, payday.)  I know, I know…the silky pajamas and open robe are so awful.  I mean, seriously? A good pair of jeans and a slightly tight white tee are waaaaay sexier anyday.  Hell, everyday.  But, this pic epitomizes the cheesetasticness perfectly.  (The only thing cheesier is the Billy Idol video…a total *must* watch!  I'm guessing it was all Billy's concept.  A little "Walk This Way" meets "Girls on Film".  Brilliant, Billy.  Just brilliant!)

As for Richard Grieco....well, I’m not quite sure what eventually happened to his face.  (We can’t all age as well as George Clooney.  Or resist the temptation to go all Janice Dickenson, which is kind of what it looks like really happened.) I’m also not sure what happened to his career, but suspect the move from Booker to Lifetime movies with Yasmine Bleeth were a good indicator of where he was headed.  Sorry, dude, we can't all bounce back from Lifetime like Tiffani (sans Amber) Thiessen, either.  (Capital "L" Love her.)   

But no worries.  I still remember you fondly, in your Booker heyday, hot in the city.

This is my mix tape...

There’s a lot of things I love about living alone.  Truth be told I’m a pretty selfish person. I like my space.  I like my quiet. (Even though my version of quiet usually includes loud music playing or the TV being on or sometimes both at the same time, which I realize makes all of no sense.) 

I like the freedom of living alone.  I can leave the dishes in the sink.  Let the clutter sit. Toss a week’s worth of outfits on a dining room chair.   Not worry that I make too much noise when I stumble home after a late night.  Lie on the couch and nap in the middle of a perfectly sunny summer day without hearing anyone squawk in my ear that I’m wasting the day away.  I like having full control over what TV shows I watch. (And having no one around to judge when I spend an entire weekend watching The Hills.)  I can eat peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon and call it dinner.  And I can do what I’m doing now - playing DJ on my computer and belting out every damn song that comes on.

(On a total sidebar, the fact that I have so many song lyrics memorized, but have little memory of what I learned in high school is not entirely lost on me.)

I definitely fancy myself quite the rock star.  I was the girl who danced around her bedroom, singing into the hairbrush to Cyndi Lauper and Madonna and Olivia Newton-John (from Grease to Xanadu to Physical).  Hell, I still am that girl, minus the hairbrush.  I totally have the fantasy of tapping and singing my way across a Broadway stage or singing in front of a crowd, with the voice of Adele and the sass of Gaga.  My drunken karaoke moments have proved I am neither, but I don’t care.  I am a rock star, hear me roar.  (I’m sure my neighbors just love me!)

Now it should go without saying that I obsessively made mix tapes and eventually mix CD’s and now I have playlists.  But the tapes were cooler.  As if I needed an excuse to buy more colored markers so I could decorate the covers which all had a name and a theme.  I don’t have anything to play the tapes on anymore since tossing this gem in my getting-ready-for-the-carpet-installation purge. Hello, 1984. 

But I still have the mix tape covers.  Each mix hit on the mood I was in at the time, what I was going through, what I was trying to get through, what I was celebrating. 

These are some faves:

The magic of iTunes has completely fed my mix-making-obsession.  It’s a total fat kid in a candy store sitch.  Playlists are my drug.  Compulsively scribbling down lyrics runs a close second (I have books filled with them).  As anyone who has spent time with me, listening to music and downing cocktails in my apartment can attest, I will make you listen to a song I love and then repeatedly interrupt it with some version of…“You have to listen to the next words. They’re amazing.  And then this part.  It’s the best.  Let me play it again.”  I just want people to see what I see in the song (or maybe *hear* what I hear). 

And I fully beat songs to death. The “repeat” function is near and dear to my heart.  (So much easier than rewinding and wearing the tape out.)  Some songs will wear out their welcome, but when I think of ones I will never, ever, ever get sick these pop right to mind – “Wonderwall”, “Times Like These”, the soundtrack from Rent, “Homecoming”, “In Your Eyes” (epic, love, love, LOVE). 

And with shuffle I full on discover old favorites – right now I am re-loving Cake’s “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps”.

Here’s a snippet of what else I’m playing into the ground these days…

“The Adventure” – Angels & Airwaves.  “I want to have the same last dream again.”  Also makes me nostalgic for Blink. (sigh)

“Remedy” – Black Crows.  They remind me so much of high school and every time I hear this song I just want to rock out.  One of their best.

“Long As I Can See the Light” – Creedence Clearwater Revival – I am in no ways a CCR kind of gal (Honestly, I don’t even know what else they sang).  But for me this song is all about the Season One finale of Las Vegas when Danny McCoy is riding down the strip, suited up in his Marines uniform, to head off to Iraq.  I heart you, Josh Duhamel.  (Fergie, who?)

“Take Me or Leave Me” – Rent.  In my dreams I’m Idina on Broadway belting this out.  For now I belt out both parts at home, feeling like I’m a mix of the two, and wishing I had the courage to say these words.

“The Heart of the Matter” – the India Aria cover.  The song that makes my heart break even when my heart isn’t breaking.

“After All This Time” & “Spinning to Crazy” – Carla Ryder.  If you don’t know who she is, find out immediately. Amazing singer/songwriter. 

“Not Ready To Make Nice” – Dixie Chicks. A reminder of where I was and where I am now.  Forgiveness.  “It turned my whole world around and I kind of like it.”

“21 Guns” – Green Day.  I am in awe of this song.  So many beautiful lyrics to choose from – “When you heart breaks the spirit of your soul.” 

“If I Can’t Change Your Mind” – Sugar.  This song takes me back to sitting on the floor of my friend’s apartment at UNH, drinking Harpoon and commiserating over boys who, in hindsight, really were not worth our time.  Like really really not worth our time.  Years later we found it at a used CD store in Portsmouth.  But more than anything this song reminds me of my old friend that I don’t talk to nearly enough.

“Sorry” – Ashlee Simpson.  She can lip sync this song anytime.

“Chocolate” – Snow Patrol.  “This could be the very moment I’m aware I’m alive.” Best when played as loud as possible. 

“It’s Only Life” – Kate Voegele.  Thank you One Tree Hill.  I love me some teen drama and this was the first show in a long time that really knew how to use music.   Plus I made a lot of new discoveries  - Snow Patrol, Jack’s Mannequin, Nada Surf.  The storyline has become flat out painful (Stalkers and shootings and too many people *almost* dying and then actually dying.  Please bring back Lucas!).  But I’ll still tune in for potential tunes. 

“Candyman” – Christina Aguleria.  No denying the girl can sing.  Love this one because it sounds like the Andrew Sisters from the forties yet has the wickedly wonderful, “He’s a one stop shop….” line.

“Waste My Time” – from Instant Star. It used to be on The N.  I’m sure the cheese stands alone with this shameful pick, but I’m an even bigger sucker for teen drama when it’s Canadian. This little ditty was their very own ode to “Walk This Way” with the teen superstar vs. the bad-boy rapper.  They should have hated each other, but of course their sing-off became the biggest hit EVER.  And then they ovbi fall for each other.  Shameful?  Yes.  But love.

“Nolita Fairytale” – Vanessa Carlton.  This song is absolutely screaming to me right now – “I used to hover above my truth.”

“Hands Down” – Dashboard Confessional featuring Michael Stipe.  Circa 2004 MTV2 did two episodes of Album Covers. Dashboard covered REM’s “Out Of Time” and Guster covered Violent Femmes self-titled first CD.  It was another great idea that didn’t last.  Michael Stipe joined DC on stage for “Hands Down” and it’s nothing short of amazing.  

Mr. 3000 & Living the Dream

I am a girl who loves her baseball.  Like obsessively, amazingly, devours the game.  I just love it.  And anyone who says baseball is boring just doesn’t get it.  They can go hand out with the people who don’t get why Pretty Little Liars is also a bit of genius.  (Oh, A, you clever devil!)

Amazing seats in 2006 let me snag
this up-close photo of Jeter.

But back to the task at hand…as I watched Derek Jeter get his 3000^th hit today (albeit from the comfort of my couch, though would have killed to be at the stadium) I was so overwhelmed with excitement and tears and emotion.  There’s just something about watching history-in-the-making, about seeing someone achieve and surpass their goals and live out their dreams that inspires me.  Full body chills.  Full on tears of happiness.   Full on hooting and hollering in my living room as the ball sailed over the leftfield fence and Jeter broke into a grin.  I can’t even fathom what it must feel like to not only live your dream, but to literally hit it out of the ballpark. 

I’ve been a baseball fan since I was a kid.  My mom and I started watching it together and it became not only another special “thing” that her and I did together, like playing canasta and watching episodes of Dynasty and Hotel, which we actually called Hot-el. I’m guessing the fact that I was exposed to a lot of Crystal and Alexis cat-fights with some James Brolin and Connie Sellecca on the side, during my super impressionable junior high years, probably explains my current addiction to any soap-y, remotely cheesy TV show.  But baseball was one of the first things, outside of my dolls and reading that I can remember become truly engrossed in.  

The actual Polaroid of me getting Mookie's
autograph at the Galleria Mall.  Check out
that snazzy grey purse. And the feathered
hair of the guy in the background.   

We went to Mets games and to baseball card shows.  I clipped out stories from the newspapers and made scrapbooks.  I went to signings, collecting autographs from Keith Hernandez and Tim Teufel and my hero, Mookie Wilson.  My parents and I tuned into games on Channel 9 daily.  I got to see Dwight Gooden pitch in his rookie season.  And when the Mets won the World Series in 1986 I remember the sheer excitement of *my* team winning.  It was a dream season.  And somewhere in there, when the Mets came back in an almost unbelievable fashion in that World Series, it seemed like anything was possible.  It was the perfect piece of hope every kid should have and I still get excited when I watch clips from that series.  

Many years later, after many years in Boston (and a period of rooting for the home team and for Johnny Damon and witnessing the epic 2004 World Series win and an amazing parade), I was back in New York and (gasp!) found myself becoming a Yankee fan.  Now if you’re not a baseball fan the significance of all this may be lost on you.  Long story short the Yankees and Red Sox have been archenemies since pretty much the beginning of baseball time.  Curse of the Bambino and on and on.  But being a Sox fan and then a Yankee fan is very controversial (pop in Fever Pitch for a glimpse).

Boston certainly reignited all my old passions (going to games, following the players and getting completely emotionally involved in wins and losses). But being back in New York was in so many ways like being a kid all over again. I lived with my parents for a bit, while I got settled and looked for a place, and my mom and I once again found ourselves bonding over baseball. 

After Damon joined the Yankees in 2005 (at which point I knew it was okay that I crossed over too) it was nearly impossible for me to not get totally engrossed in the game.  Going to games at Yankee Stadium is a whole different animal.  I’ve had the good fortune to go to games at the old and the new stadium (including opening day in 2008….unreal!).  My old job had the perk of scoring me free seats and one of my best friends, a life-long Yankee fan, had the same perk.  I once again found myself obsessively watching games and reading articles in the paper, gobbling up info and educating myself on Yankee history.  I brought my camera to every game, committed to marking all the moments.  I even managed to get my mom to a game, which wound up being a ridiculously long game on a 100-degree day.  Luckily we had passes to the air-conditioned clubhouse where we could cool off and had premium seats that were in the shade. 

Dusk over the new stadium.

And as anyone who has ever seen a live version of something they love knows (be it sports or concerts or an author reading) I find there’s a certain energy at these events that I desperately wish I could bottle.  There’s nothing like being in *that* moment of a game - walk-off wins, homeruns, amazing plays.  It’s a crazy rush.  And I feel like it’s been a while since I’ve truly had one. 

But then just this morning I was reading an article and the author was saying that you could find inspiration in anything, whether it’s a conversation you’re having with a friend, or a movie or something you see just walking down the street. 

For me, that feeling was off the charts today. 

Watching Jeter’s 3000^th hit was epic.  After the excitement simmered down they interviewed Jeter’s dad who, beaming with pride, said that Derek gets to go out every day and have fun doing what he loves.  This totally hit home because, let’s be honest, that’s all I want to do. (Isn’t that all anyone wants to do?) To spend my days having fun at a job I love.  Because I do truly believe that when you’re doing what you love, there is an element of fun in the hard work.  And even though the work will have daunting days, the passion for doing what you love will help to keep pushing you forward. 

Watching the game made me want to start writing, right then and there.  The idea of seeing my dreams be a reality (my name in print again, my book on a shelf, the money in the bank a result of my writing) is starting to consume me.  It’s no secret I’ve been derailed a bit lately and have been trying to figure out how to merge my dream with my reality.  How to make my dream my reality.  How to find the courage to take the risk because as my dad said, there are no guarantees, but that I won’t know until I try.  But he also knows that I’ll be happier doing something I love.  (It’s like my dad is Jeter’s dad…see…I’m connecting the dots!) 

It just feels so great to be excited about something again.  So time to take the bottled up rush and pour it into my dream.

Confessions of a Product Junkie - Part One

I worship in the church of Sephora where a girl can be a whore (of the product-whore variety, that is) without risk of damnation.  It’s a Mecca for junkies like me.  When I walk through the doors I feel a little bit lighter and a little bit higher.  It’s a feeling I’d bottle if I could.

I vividly remember my virgin trip to Sephora.  I was literally drunk with happiness thanks to some “signature” cocktails at the Rainforest Café in the Burlington Mall.  It’s a given that shopping while drunk is dangerous, but in a store like this, it’s downright lethal.  A basket of make-up, moisturizers, perfume, hair products, make-up brushes and about $400 later, I left Sephora and I’ve never been the same since.

I can trace the whore/junkie behavior back to when I first discovered make-up. My mom would pass on those “gift with purchase” freebies to my sister and me and I’d relish in them.  My mom took me to the Clinque counter in junior high to help me find a skin regime and I was amazed at all the make-up counters department stores had to offer. 

Visits to Rock Bottom (a pharmacy that, you guessed it, sold stuff for *rock bottom* prices) followed.  And when I had to get a job to learn a little something about responsibility and earning my own money (thank you, mom), I chose a part-time career at CVS and I’m not ashamed to admit I loved it.  Products + a job that required organizing shelves + getting to play with a real live cash register = a happy me.

These days Sephora is the lure, but I will also satisfy my cravings at everything from Duane Reade to drugstore.com to Bliss to CVS (I can never seem to get out of there without spending $25).  I’ve curbed my department store make-up counter habit, after many years of living at Trish McEvoy.  (Still love her but needed to broaden my horizons a bit.)  And so it will come as no surprise that my cabinets are bursting with products.  In the grand tradition of if at first you don’t succeed….I try and try and try again.  Any product is fair game and while there are some misses (law of averages, right?) there are definitely some hits.

So on this Monday, which is kind of like my normal Sunday (love holidays), when I typically perform some of weekly beauty rituals, I give you some of my current hits. 

My fan favorites. 

My obsessions.  (Love an excuse for an 80s song link).

1.  A bundle of Bliss:

As if the clever names weren’t reason enough to try these products, they smell great, work great and are reasonably priced.  I’m very careful about what I’ll use on my face thanks to my sensitive skin, so when Bliss worked for me, I never looked back.

I’m not a fan of facials. I don’t like having other people mess with my face.  But the Bliss masks make me feel like I’m getting all the perks of the in-spa without the anxiety that goes with it. 

First up is the Steep Clean Mask – Every Sunday night, like clockwork, I slather this on.  A blue and yellow gel get blended together and smoothed on.  The mask smells like heaven, doesn’t get all hard and crackly like some other brands and my face feels amazing in 15 minutes flat.

Triple Oxygen Energizing Mask – this orange scented mask comes out as a gel and turns into a foam on your face.  There’s a hard-to-describe bubbling feeling as the mask works its magic.  In just five minute my face is brighter and has a great glow.  On special occasions I’ll follow it with the Energizing Eye Mask.  

Youth As We Know It – I admit I tried this line when it came out based on the name alone.  I was getting a little, ahem, older and I’ll happily admit I am trying to fight the reality of aging.  I tried the whole product line but narrowed down my loves to the eye cream (so rich, absorbs well, no irritating fragrance) and face moisturizers.  The SPF version is a new purchase, just in time for summer.  Brilliant!

I go back and forth on the need for toners – are they necessary or just a ploy to get people to spend more money?  I used to use Sea Breeze, which smelled like alcohol and kind of burned and dried my face out.  This was back when I was shopping at Rock Bottom and technically I think this was considered an astringent (which just sounds painful).  But I had faith in Bliss (and I’m pretty sure there was some sort of 20% off promotion) so I took the leap and got the Detoxifying Facial Toner.  I typically use it at night – post wash or mask and pre-moisturizer and I’m pleased.  This one stays in the rotation.

I’m also devoted to the Cleansing Milk, Pore-Perfecting Face Polish and Fabulous Foaming Face Wash (in my shower where they are in daily circulation) and to the Body Butter.  I’m partial to Vanilla Bergamot in the fall/winter and the Blood Orange for spring/summer.  And then some days I just have to go Naked, so it doesn’t compete with my perfume.  Baggage Handler ensures I look like I got a good night's sleep.  Problem Salved is great for everything from taming my eyebrows to softening my cuticles to soothing my skin post-tweezing.  And No Zit Sherlock gets it done. 

So yes, Bliss, I bow down to you every day.  But I do have one little smidgen of feedback that would make me the happiest girl in all the land.  Please please please resurrect the Spearmint & Sweet Orange scent from about five years ago.  I die for that scent and it was discontinued.  I was devastated when I found out.  Like when Dylan picked Kelly over Brenda. (Brenda was your soul mate, you idiot!)  I beg of you, Bliss, bring it back!  For me!  Please!  I’ll buy it in droves.  Promise! 

Photo Courtesy of http://thanksgiving.phillipmartin.info
/thanksgiving_turkey1.htm

And I must give a shout out to that little bottle of Olay Regenerist that snuck into the picture.  I tried the Bliss Thinny Chin Chin, which is supposed to help prevent that whole I’m-getting-old-and-therefore-getting-a-turkey-neck, but it was pricey and I didn’t really feel like it was doing anything.  But I’m still vain and don’t want the turkey neck, so when I read the amazing reviews on Olay, I decided to give this product a go.  Love it.  It’s a fragrance free, smooth gel, and it does the trick.  They have a whole line of products, but this is as far as I’ve ventured. 

2.  These nails were made for polishing…

I’ve been obsessed with painting my nails for as long as I can remember. I even painted some of my dolls and Barbie’s nails.  Constantly changing my nail color, I’ve always had a rainbow colors at my disposal.  And just like I don’t have the patience for facials, I really don’t have the patience for manicures. 

I got acrylics for a wedding way back when and stuck with them for about a year.  My manicurist was a little reminiscent of Ursula from “The Little Mermaid” except instead of being a singing sea witch, she was a chain-smoking, schmatta-wearing gypsy, who doled out advice on my life and my relationship (it often felt like I was paying for therapy and not a manicure).  But then she had a heart attack and quit the biz. 

And I quit the acrylics.  So these days I’d rather save my money for the full body massage and do my own nails.  And if I do say so myself, I’ve gotten really good at it after a couple decades of practice. 

For years I was a lot of a nail polish snob and only used OPI.  I frequented beauty supply stores, and stocked up on colors, until OPI became available in chain drugstores.  Its accessibility has become the death of me. 

I want to note that I’ve been partial to dark nail polish since before Vamp hit the market in the mid-nineties and I didn’t jump on that bandwagon.  I did however go off the OPI path for this amazing chocolate brown Essie polish.  I wish I knew the name, but it was one of those colors my manicurist used to pull from her purse when I came in, so it was like I was getting some insider color.  Loved it, but in hindsight I should have demanded to know the name.  Grrrrr!

But I’ve sworn by the dark polish for ages.  Light colors just don’t work for me. The lightest I’ve gone recently is OPI’s You Don’t Know Jacques, which is a great greige, but I have to be in the mood for this one.  And I absolutely don’t believe in certain colors for certain seasons.  My nail colors have certainly earned me some snide comments. Sticks and stones. So long as I don't break a nail!

One of my all time favorite colors (another case of the discontinued) is OPI’s Massachusetts Mulberry.  It was a sort of red/brown shimmer and I’ve never found a color to hold a candle to it and replace it.   When Sephora started their OPI line I was over the moon with new options. (I’m With Brad became the color I wore into the ground starting in the summer of 2008.)

These days I’m broadening my horizons and am having a love affair with the Sally Hansen Complete Salon Manicure. It’s the base coat, polish and top coat all in one.  Genius!  And as a girl who does her nails at least twice a week, this is a huge time saver. Plus I cannot stand chips so the all-in-one formula makes touch ups at work that much easier.  I go back and forth from Haute Chocolate to Navy Baby on my fingernails.

For the toes I’ll hit every color of the rainbow.  I was wearing some Navy Baby on my toes, but I'm a fan of matchy-matchy, so swiping it off and changing it to Sephora by OPI Ms. Can't Be Wrong.  Shimmery, hot pinky/purple will keep me happy for weeks to come.  And I suspect will look amazing on the beach on Portugal!

3.  Head to Toe.  Or Hands to Feet, actually…

And when the hands and nails are done there’s only one thing left to do – moisturize.  As you can guess I’ve given the Bliss hand and foot creams a go and they’re definitely keepers.  But then I read about the brand, Cake, in Real Simple magazine.  They had me at “spearmint and peppermint” for the foot cream so I promptly hopped on Sephora and bought the set:

Love them both.  My feet are happy and tingly and my hands are smooth.  The hand cream has a slight scent that isn’t at all overpowering – I can’t quite put my finger on it.  The ingredients say shea butter, mango, milk and marshmallow extract.  Sounds weird, but I swear it’s ahhh-may-zing.  So worth it.

And with that I’m off to unwind.  I have some mellow music to listen to and a face mask to indulge in.