Thursday Morning Potpourri
I just learned that "Cold Stone, Warm Heart" posted three times yesterday. Why didn't anybody tell me? Would you let me sit through a job interview with lipstick on my teeth, too? It's not like a hideous mole that I can't do anything about; just tell me and I'll fix it! Or do you not scroll down and repeatedly re-read my previous posts, cherishing every word like so much succulent lobster meat dripping in drawn butter?
I got carded this evening. Granted, I was buying peppermint schnapps to mix in my hot chocolate, and the bottle had cute little candy cane emblems on it and everything, but I imagine the ceremonial carding would not have taken place if I resembled Yoda, so it looks like I've still got a few good years left in me. Those do-it-yourself face peels must be working. Perhaps by the time I hit middle age, do-it-yourself liposuction will be available at Rite-Aid and I'll get carded while buying fuzzy navel mix. The last time I got carded was my honeymoon, and despite the Midori sour, I strongly suspect the bartender was only buttering up my husband in anticipation of a good tip.
(Let's see if I can work butter into the third paragraph, too, shall we?)
I know I'm a pretentious yuppie, but, still, I kinda miss the K-mart wineglasses I had years ago, with seams down the sides, that could go in the dishwasher. Hand-blown stemware is beautiful, but it sure is a pain to clean. Plus, for what the really good stuff costs, it should hold your wine, beautifully reflect light, pick up your dry cleaning, vacuum your apartment, fold your laundry, take out the garbage, and re-stock your refrigerator, yet in reality it's so fragile that it's easily broken while you engage in its initial (hand) washing. It's like repeatedly paying for dinner and not getting so much as a kiss. Ty wants to upgrade to Reidel, but I'm happy to stick with Crate and Barrel for now; at least it's only like treating to brick-oven pizza instead of Jean Georges.
(Guess not.)
Am I the only person who doesn't understand how so many women can wear high-heeled shoes without pantyhose? I know pantyhose is "out," but if I tried wearing pumps with bare feet, I'd need to hijack the butter from the dinner table and rub it on my heels to ease the friction. (There it is again.) Plus, not for anything, but you could freeze a cheek this time of year. Or two.
Actually, I hate potpourri. It gathers dust and makes me sneeze. I'd rather spritz the room with Citrus Basil body spray. Even my personal care items involve food.
I got carded this evening. Granted, I was buying peppermint schnapps to mix in my hot chocolate, and the bottle had cute little candy cane emblems on it and everything, but I imagine the ceremonial carding would not have taken place if I resembled Yoda, so it looks like I've still got a few good years left in me. Those do-it-yourself face peels must be working. Perhaps by the time I hit middle age, do-it-yourself liposuction will be available at Rite-Aid and I'll get carded while buying fuzzy navel mix. The last time I got carded was my honeymoon, and despite the Midori sour, I strongly suspect the bartender was only buttering up my husband in anticipation of a good tip.
(Let's see if I can work butter into the third paragraph, too, shall we?)
I know I'm a pretentious yuppie, but, still, I kinda miss the K-mart wineglasses I had years ago, with seams down the sides, that could go in the dishwasher. Hand-blown stemware is beautiful, but it sure is a pain to clean. Plus, for what the really good stuff costs, it should hold your wine, beautifully reflect light, pick up your dry cleaning, vacuum your apartment, fold your laundry, take out the garbage, and re-stock your refrigerator, yet in reality it's so fragile that it's easily broken while you engage in its initial (hand) washing. It's like repeatedly paying for dinner and not getting so much as a kiss. Ty wants to upgrade to Reidel, but I'm happy to stick with Crate and Barrel for now; at least it's only like treating to brick-oven pizza instead of Jean Georges.
(Guess not.)
Am I the only person who doesn't understand how so many women can wear high-heeled shoes without pantyhose? I know pantyhose is "out," but if I tried wearing pumps with bare feet, I'd need to hijack the butter from the dinner table and rub it on my heels to ease the friction. (There it is again.) Plus, not for anything, but you could freeze a cheek this time of year. Or two.
Actually, I hate potpourri. It gathers dust and makes me sneeze. I'd rather spritz the room with Citrus Basil body spray. Even my personal care items involve food.
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 9:52 PM
4 Comments:
Where to start? So much lovely imagery here. Yes, of course I cherish every word... but my internet connection is down and so I only got to read the entry once. :-( I got carded the other day, too! And I am SOOOO legal. Do you know who DOES (well, did) look like Yoda? Yassir Arafat. I shook his hand once. Also, he's (well, was) very short. Do it yourself liposuction. Heh. Dang, I was really rooting for the butter in the third paragraph. Shoot.
I think Norman Mailer looks like Yoda.
And I quit having potpourri around when my granny came over and ate it once, thinking they were chips or something.
High heels with bare feet = "what's that smell?" and cold-as-shit toes. Why do they get so much colder when they don't have the millimeter of synthetic fabric covering them?
You know what works well? Spritz some of your perfume on a light bulb (best to do before turning on). When the heat from the bulb releases, it will also heat up the oils in the perfume and make the room smell nice (and like you!). This works with essential oil, too.
I didn't know pantyhose were out. Are tights out, too? I almost wore patterned tights to my office Christmas party, then decided it was too cold. Perhaps I had a narrow miss with a severe fashion faux pas.
Jessica, thank you for the compliment!
I have no idea why the gossamer-thin layer of pantyhose makes such a difference in warmth, but it really helps, doesn't it? Tights are still "in," thankfully, because I prefer them to pantyhose anyway. Of course, it helps to remember that many of the people making these "rules" are grown women who will spend $30 on lip gloss, $500 on shoes, and untold sums on specialized diet food, yet complain that organic vegetables are "too expensive." If you ask me, they are the ones who need butter in their lives.
The lightbulb trick is a great idea; I'm going to try it today.
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