Thursday, August 23, 2012

Shouldn't ya?

Here are a few highlights from my endless mental to-do list:

Change the sheets.
Oil change for the car.
Cut up that very fragrant cantaloupe on the kitchen counter before it's too late.
Take chipped polish off of toes.
Pay that parking ticket (grrrr.)
Go through the mail.
Buy coffee filters for the love of God. I'm tired of using napkins and paper towels.
Replace old tights/underwear (sometimes "crotchless" isn't really meant to be "crotchless".)

As you can tell, there's a lot to do here at Camp Lori.

Below are some things that I accomplished in a 24-hour-period.
They are small, but I felt damn good afterwards.

Wash your make up brushes.
Who cares about the eye shadow brushes, or the one you use to make your brows pretty. But your foundation, powder and blush brushes - when was the last time you washed those puppies? My skin has been pretty bad lately, breaking out and splotchy. Hmmm, I wonder if it could be tied to the fact that I haven't washed my brushes since Regis and Kelly were still together? I washed them on Friday easy-peasy using baby shampoo, it took ten minutes. And that fresh-clean-brush-on-my-face-feeling the next morning? So nice.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Replace your mascara.

Being a mascara-hoarder is ridiculous and potentially bad for your peepers. They say you are supposed to rotate the stuff every three months - I admit I'm not that good about it. I tend to buy and buy and buy until I have a favorite, while I ignore the previous purchases. Currently, this is the favorite child so I am getting rid of the rest.

Mama's favorite - Voluminous Million Lashes by L'Oreal.

Get fitted for and buy a new bra.
I still can't believe that there are women in the world who have not gone out and gotten themselves properly fitted for a bra. Oprah let me in on some crazy statistic that like 80% of women are wearing the wrong bra size? Ridiculous! If I could afford to, I would go out and buy myself a new bra at Nordstrom like once a month. Now, a bra isn't something I can just go and buy at Target or Victoria's Secret. Those bras simply cannot handle my cups - they floweth over in those tiny things. Sure it's more expensive to shop at Nordy's for the brands that I love (Wacoal, Felina) but it's worth it. And my boobs are important - I need the help of a professional to get measured and be told, "Lori, that is the perfect fit." I walk out of there standing way taller than when I came in.

Investing 101.

It's amazing the sense of accomplishment you can feel after doing the teeniest-tiniest after I cleaned my make up brushes I felt great! Throwing away those old mascaras, like I was creating a little feng shui in my bathroom drawer! And buying a new bra? I felt like a million bucks!

That's well-worth the sixty I spent.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Sock it to me.

If you follow me or have read any previous posts about my youth, you know that back in the day I was a bit of a joiner, a follower, a big jump-on-the-bandwagon kind of a girl.

As I look back, there were some trends that everybody was doing and were kooky, but tame (giant mall bangs, giant shoulder pads, giant gelled-nails, etc.)

Some were a little more, shall we say, stupid (Snooki-orange spray tan, fingerless lace gloves, super-skinny-over plucked eyebrows, bad tattoo, etc.)

Lately there have been a few things going on that I am intrigued/confused by:

The Sock Bun.
Many friends have sang the praises of the almighty sock bun, telling me how it has changed their lives and turned their meek, tiny, average buns into SUPER BUNS! All I knew was that it involved ruining a perfectly good pair of socks by cutting the toe off of a single sock to make the "donut" that I need to roll my hair up in. I was willing to sacrifice a sock for fashions sake. Or one of my husbands socks:

The Mullet Dress.
Party in the front and business in the back baby. This dress reminds me of many a boy I dated back in the day, especially this boy:

With Gary, my "King of the Mullets."
We both coulda used a sock bun on this night.

I see these all over and I think they are cute, but just like a maxi-dress, I don’t think they will work on me. A long, long dress on a short, short girl - not so good. But this one has the mullet feature, so my legs would show in the front and make me look less stumpy, right? But where the hell do I wear this thing? It’s too formal to wear on the weekend (I’m not watching TV or vacuuming my living room in a dress) and to casual to wear to work. Bottom line, I bought one at H&M and it still is sitting in my closet with the tags on it.

Mullet memories.

The Nail Art.
Really? Are we back here again? In seventh-grade I was painting polka dots and flowers on my digits. I even painted The Rolling Stones lips on my thumbs once – holy crap, that took a long time. Anyway, Sally Hansen - along with a couple of other companies - has put out little outfits that you can apply to your nails. It’s called Salon Effects and comes in patterns like leopard, glitter, tattoo, snakeskin, and a little tuxedo jacket. These are stickers you put on your nails so there’s no dry time, which seems to be the one good point they have. I think I’ll stick with trying to make sure I manage to put matching earrings and shoes on rather than worry about if my striped shirt is clashing with my houndstooth nails.

Nailed it.
What am I thinking? It's Friday! Tonight I will don the mullet dress, throw my hair up in an old dirty sock and paint my nails with green butterflies.

And I may still have those sweet opera gloves from the homecoming dance with Gary laying around somewhere.

Friday, August 10, 2012

She's a beauty.

Good things can happen when you use certain things that you have in your medicine cabinet, for other things, than the things you would normally use them for.

You know what I mean?

For example:

I booked a commercial job that shot today (YEA!) but - what do you know - I woke up yesterday morning with a  deep down hurt happening on my chin – not just a pimple, but a monster (BOO!)  I tried, and failed last night to get rid of it, thinking I could somehow perform a minor surgery and wake up miraculously cured. But when I woke up this morning it was still there, and it was all angry and RED.

And you know what I said?
And then you know what I said?
No problem!
It's not just for eyeballs anymore.
Did you know that Visine (or any brand of eye drop) not only gets the red out of your peepers, it gets the red out of your pimples!
I washed my face, used a little antistrigent on the spot, and put a few eye drops on my finger. I applied it to the angry spot and let it dry…and…hey! It lightened up the red!

My pimple was no longer angry, it was just mildly pissed.
I guess this is an old beauty pageant trick - when you put eye drops on your zit it causes the blood vessel in there to temporarily shrink – the effect only lasts for a few hours and doesn’t help the pimple to go away, but it sure helped me in a pinch this morning.
When I got on the set this morning, the stylist sat me down in her chair and started to put a little powder on my face. "Ugh," I said pointing to my problem spot, "Is there anything you can do about THAT?" 
She waved her hand and said, "Big deal Lori, you barely notice it."

Thank you beauty queens.
I will now dig further into your pageant bag-of-tricks and try Preparation H on my under eye circles to make them less puffy, Vaseline on my teeth to make my smile super-shiny, and spray hairspray on my face to set my make up like a coat of varnish.
I will not, however, use duct tape to create "instant cleavage" because first of all I might put somebody's eye out, and secondly I have enough trouble mustering up the courage to yank a wax strip off of my bikini line. I'm not pulling glue-y tape off of my boobs.

What was I saying?
Oh yeah, the eye drops on the zit...
Makes me feel way less self-conscious, way better about myself.
Makes me feel like Miss America. Or Miss Universe. Or whichever one The Donald has coming up next.
Makes me want to smile and wave and answer hard questions.

My title:
Sponsored by Visine.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Not campy enough.

Hello, summer camp? This is Lori.
We need to talk.


I sent my seven-year-old to camp this week. He is having a blast, and that of course makes me very happy. But I gotta say, I am confused as to what the words “summer camp” mean in 2012, because it sure as hell means something different than it did back in 1970-something.

My son goes to camp for one week in a beautiful community center with a pool, pristine classrooms and it’s own café (!) from nine until noon with a break and a snack. This one week worth of camp cost me just under two-hundred-smackeroos.

Five days.
Nine until noon.

You call that camp?
I went to summer camp for the summer, like the whole summer.

My summer camp was held at Roosevelt Middle School in Ossining, New York and let me tell you, there was no fancy Olympic-sized indoor swimming pool or café available for me to take a dip or purchase a pre-camp scone and steamer. Oh no, no, no.

I think my butt got permanently flattened sitting on this playground, 1979.

My camp was held in the smelly cafeteria and extra-smelly gymnasium of the town middle school and it was AWESOME. I walked there from my house which was about a mile away, either with my friend Susie or by myself, no big whoop.

Here are things that we did at camp:

• Made elephant trunks out of paper towel tubes.

• Had parades where we traipsed through the town wearing our elephant trunks while making elephant noises.

• Made caterpillars out of egg boxes, paint, and pipe cleaners.

• Had movie nights where we watched rated-R scary movies at waaaay too young of an age.

• Made ashtrays for our parents out of clay.

• Dodgeball.

• Macaroni-art, macaroni-art, macaroni-art.

• Sang Bee Gee’s songs from Saturday Night Fever.

• Played on the giant, metal playground.

• Truth or Dare.

• Traded/flipped baseball cards.

• Snuck across the street and down the block to get a Slush Puppie at the deli.

• Threaded colored beads through our sneaker shoelaces to make a pretty pattern up by the toe.

• Used a microphone plugged into a shoebox-sized tape recorder to document what an awesome time we were having, giggling and falling over like a bunch of drunkards.

All of this was friggin’ awesome, a pre-teen girls dream!

Lunch was Goober Grape sandwiches, a room temperature carton of whole milk, and a popsicle that permanently stained your lip/chin area for the entire summer.

Seven cents off!
Sandwich in a jar!

It was delicious and again, awesome.

Basically we hung out at the school, with a few various planned activities thrown in, all with minimal adult supervision.

The summer ended with an overnight "lock in" where 100+ kids of ages ranging from around nine to thirteen had a big sleepover in the gym. Friends, movies, snacks, loud music, zero sleep...HEAVEN. I loked forward to/dreaded that night, knowing summer would soon be over.

Two words: LOCK IN.

Camp was a time to hang out with friends and just “be.” Even if that meant just sitting on your butt on the hard concrete playground, solving the worlds problems like, which Kissing Potion should I put on - watermelon or bubblegum? Or who was cuter, Scott Baio or Shaun Cassidy? (Scott Baio, duh.)

Last time I’ll say it – awesome.

I’m glad my son is having fun, and I know he will cherish his camp memories and tell his kids someday what summer camp was like way back in 2012, how different it was, and how much better it was back in his day.

But I kind of secretly wish that he was making crummy crafts, playing dodgeball, and eating Goober Grape in an old cafeteria.