My New Year Read: Marie Claire

Oh yes, I am completely serious. I decided for Christmas that I would ask for a year’s subscription to a magazine. Courtesy of my children, I am now a monthly subscriber to Marie Claire. Laugh all you want but I will be the first one to know what beauty, clothing and makeup trends are hip. Plus, it offers great literary writing such as Must-Read: I Agreed To A Threesome For My Husband’s Birthday, The Woman Who Is Funnier Than The Boys (Chelsea Handler) And Girlfriend Material (The Good, The Bad And The Ugly; A Look At Female Friendship).

So, while I wait for my fake nails and color to dry (sorry, Ronda, the ugly real nubs had to be covered for a black tie event) I sit on my bed to read my latest delivery in beauty, fashion and sex. The above parenthesis is noted because my buddy, Ronda, has talked me into discarding the fake nails on a daily basis in an attempt to let my gross, smashed by a hammer and fungus from the garden nails repair themselves. I have gone the “a la natural” route for two weeks. I am NOT going in a beautiful gown and shoes with filed down slithers of nail on my fingers. At the moment, they are short, filed to a small curve and deliciously dark burgundy.

My first read, of course, is the ménage a trois article on the wife who arranged a threesome for her husband on his 40th birthday. Yea… what happened to forty stupid penguins in the front yard? This gal is an American married to a British man and they live in Paris. My first thought is this a common thing for French couples and most importantly, why would this fruit loop want to pimp a buck on a story that involved her? Who knows but after multiple conversations on the rules of engagement (really, I figured the rules were out the window on this one), an ad for a third partner (one time deal) and several lunch dates later with potential women, fruit of the loom makes her choice. They meet, get naked, her husband says thank you repeatedly and she ends the story with wanting to go home and take a shower. As you can tell, I am intrigued, not because I want a ménage a trois. Hell, I’m not even in the mood for a one on one with my fluctuating hormones trying to leave the vessel. More of a shocked interest in why someone would want to experience this. I love Tom a great deal but if he ever thought to speak something aloud in this direction, he may end up missing the lips off his mouth.

My second intrigue is the fashion trends for spring. I get it that the runway examples and photography layouts are visually more artistic in nature than what the average woman wears. But girls, get ready. On page 70, they highlight how you, too, can “Look like a Million for Under $100”. If you want to debut this season as Minnie Mouse. ..
Polka dots (sorry, again, good until about 8th grade), yellow shoes with black and white clothing (nope, I do not do Easter egg colors) and bows. Bows… my longtime friends know how much I despise bows. Bows should be worn on females until the age of five or six. After that, they are plain ludicrous. Especially on young college women. That’s all I’m saying because, really, I could write an entire blog on why grown women should not wear bows.

My favorite was the article on Chelsea Handler. I love that chicka. As the header describes, she is “sharper, ruder, and ballsier than the competition” and I love it. I would love, love, love to have the gumption to say what she says and to be paid for it. Her show revolves around the humor behind celebrity lives and their escapades. She states, “If you go out and behave in a ridiculous way, you should expect to be made fun of”. I can respect that. I always feel for her nightly guest, though. Man, I would be shaking in my NYC boots waiting for her to make a sarcastic joke about something I commented on or wore. Anyhoo, I like her because she is one of the few women in comedy who is raking in the viewers in a male-dominated field. And she is downright hilarious and crude. My favorite mix of humor.

I feel like a real woman after flipping through this best seller. For my fashion conscious gal pals, the t-strap sandals with “sexy” cutouts are in, wedges are still the rave but in metallic colors, as are animal print flats. There’s a “Shade Shifter” lip gloss that goes on clear and turns into darker shades of pink as your body temperature rises (bring it, hot flashes), military colors and camouflage are back in (hot damn, still have and wear those). Make fun of me but my wardrobe is going to be either smoking hot or like hanging snot (fourth grade rhyme). Maybe my grubby nails will grow out, at least.

Winter Blues, Shoes, Food and Self-Tanners

Winter in Alabama does not make me a happy camper. I know that on a scale of national weather averages that I have nothing to complain about. But, come on. The moderate winter temperatures are one of the main things I like about this area. I can handle but don’t like anything below 50 degrees but the difference in an Alabama and Virginia winter is the level of humidity and rain.

Virginia is cold… but at least the chances of waking up to gorgeous blankets of snow are adequate. Alabama, not so much. We have snow flurries that shut down the entire city. Our kids dream of snowball fights and sleds; what they get is a two-inch wet slop of a snowman. We do have more sun during the months of January and February but the bone-chilling wet cold that hits you stays all day. Once my body temperature drops, there is nothing to cure it except for layers of socks, sweatpants, and eventually a long, hot bath.


I do not have the winter blues. More like bitchy woman with nowhere to go. I tend to wake up at the crack of my dawn, ready to tackle a project or the possible notion of an early morning walk. However, with the lack of sunlight at 4:30 a.m. and the sharp inhalation of ice-cold air, I quickly close the door, stomp off to my bed and attempt to fall asleep. Eventually, I do, but this unneeded slumber makes me want to sleep later and ensures that I will wake up two hours later groggy and pissed off.

Shoes are the other issue I have with cold, wet winters. You have to wear sensible and waterproof shoes. I prefer my fabulous New York City boots. Unfortunately, I cannot fit my overwrapped, two-sock club of a foot into either of them. Therefore, I scoot around the house in my cozy, lined suede slippers and on a regular basis, wear them to drive my kids to and from school. I give up on looking cute or stylish in the winter. It is not in my nature or benefits me in any way to bundle up in layers of clothing. I look like the kid brother in A Christmas Story who falls in the snow and can’t get up. This is why I live in my well-insulated pajamas, suede slippers and rarely brush my hair before 11 a.m.

Food is another winter pet peeve of mine. Why does the body need additional food to keep itself warm? I really do not understand because my caboose has enough fat to hibernate me and my three children through a long winter. I crave bread, bagels, peanut butter and jelly, cheese, olives and pepperoni. I crave these normally but in cold months, I consume large amounts and as previously mentioned, do not leave the house. Remember, I am still in my pajamas.

The peak of my whining is the lack of color to my skin. Rather, I have color but I am olive skinned and fabulously tan in the summer. In the winter, I look like I have jaundice. Add that in to messy hair, layers of socks, pajamas and slippers on a daily basis, I am not feeling so attractive. I occasionally will slather the self-tanner on my face and neck but who the hell wants to cover your entire body in it? You have to wash your hands every application or so to make sure your palms do not turn orange and it can discolor your clothing. So, you have to stand there butt-naked for at least 5-7 minutes or help it along with a blow dryer. Again, the issue of not having on your pajamas. I become chilled and off I go to the warming tub and all my work is soaked away.

I envision myself as one of those seasonal house jumpers who live in one house during the warm months and retreat to their Key West home in the winter. I want to pack up my two seasons of clothing, flip flops, funky but not warm NYC boots and bikinis and hightail it to greener pastures. I would lather on sun block instead of the dreaded skin bronzer. I would have an ice-cold coke in the morning and a frosty beer in the afternoon (without the peanut butter and jelly). I would have a pedicure once a week so I could stare at my pretty toes in flimsy flip-flops or walk around the house bare footed. Ah, this is the life I was born to experience.

Oh, yea, right. I must have fallen asleep again after getting up for my 4:30 a.m. crack food attack. I’m still in Ala “coldass” bama. I wish I had a start button for the gas fireplace. Where the crap is my damn slippers?