Category Archives: beauty

Invest in Yourself!

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Invest in Yourself!

Last night I posted the featured photo on my Facebook page to see if people could guess what it was. My friends did not disappoint and some of their guesses were quite fascinating. Here’s what they suggested:

Back massager, sleeve iron, sweater shaver, head trimmer (for the bald), can opener for old people, vibrator, hair diffuser, electro laser face treatment (sounds fancy), steamer, sex toy (specifically designed by aliens), toilet bowl (hand held?), portable bidet (again, hand held??), kale tenderizer (is that even a thing????), hand mixer, clothes steamer, portable branding iron (for those inclined to body modification and/or ranchers on the go), a vagina warmer/steamer (ouch), and other assorted guesses for an ionic thingamajig.

Now we did have fun with those guesses. I may have over indulged in “No” GIFS.

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If you’ve been keeping up with my blog lately (Thank You & God Bless) you may have noticed that I have been curious about making some aesthetic improvements. I don’t mind being 50, the only problem is my brain which thinks I should look 35 (spoiler: I don’t). I suspect that the Google Gawds of Algorithm (GGA) and AARP (together they makeup GGAAARP and doesn’t that just roll of your tongue) have joined forces to send every ad for modern day snake oil my way.

Women over 40 know what I’m talking about, the ads are relentless. I still go on Facebook and my demographic gets the same ads on a constant loop. Now some of these products are probably good, in fact I can vouch for Rothy’s Shoes.

I happen to own three pairs and they are fabulous and slightly addictive. Now this is more than I typically spend on shoes and I don’t care, I like them that much. Super comfy and they are made from recycled bottles AND they’re cute as hell. I finally got myself a pair of leopard flats – I have wanted leopard flats for 10 years!

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Other products have me more skeptical. Those jeans that come in three size ranges, are you kidding me? If I lined up 10 of my closest female friends there would be at least seven different size categories – short/tall, thick/thin and every combination in between, I laugh at your three sizes.

The magic eye cream that promises to shrink your under eye bags. First of all, f*ck off. Seriously f*ck all the way off with your lies. I haven’t clicked on that infomercial yet because this is a particular sore spot for me. I suspect the jars go for about $3billion each because eye of newt and unicorn blood is really flippan’ expensive. Hard pass, full stop.

Which brings us back to the mystery featured photo. Big reveal (insert drum roll……..still drumming……….little more drumming……damn my imaginary drumming arms are tired). I present to you the –

Ultrasonic Cavitat RF Fat & Cellulite Remover

Yes friends for the mere cost of $99.99 which is a never been seen before fabulous discounted price to end all discounts, the mother of ALL discounts. For under $100. you can “invest in yourself” and rid your self of fat and cellulite (& $99.99). It also cleans your house, picks up your dog’s poop and if you’re single, it’ll find your soul mate. Your SOUL MATE! The only thing it can NOT do is make middle school car line more manageable because that mess is unfixable. Oh and it won’t cook dinner either so basically, useless.

 

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It Burns!

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It Burns!

Midlife has a way of saying f*ck you on a daily basis. Today I woke up and the right side of my neck hurts, bad. Don’t know why, perhaps I slept on it wrong, angered the midlife Gawds, total mystery. I recently gave up sugar for Lent and I’m pretty sure I’ve gained weight (dafuq?). I’m not trying to stop the age train, I would like to slow it down.

If you’re like me, you still have kids at home and at least one elderly relative to check in on. Midlife is a balancing act on all fronts. Drifting away from our younger years and aware that things will likely deteriorate at some point. There’s a constant stream of advertising that comes your way via mail, telemarketing calls and those damn pop up ads that have a direct connection to my thoughts (Minority Report anyone?). The general message is you’re getting old, no need to look that way, we can fix it!

The messaging isn’t subtle. The day you turn 50 I guarantee AARP will send you something to acknowledge it and say “join us, we’re going to age gracefully with vigor like some Stepford midlifer”, it’s implied. Step off AARP, I’m not interested. In my brain I think I look 35, the mirror on the other hand, tells a different story. Today I went for another consultation to see about minimizing the bags that have taken up residency under my eyes. If you follow my blog (and thank you if you do), you may remember another recent consultation Work it (or Not)

I arrived at Les Crap of Zee Bull (not the actual name, it was equally French and fancy) eager to see what non surgical options could fix this mess. I was whisked upstairs to the waiting salon by a 20 something staff member. She did the obligatory model hand wave toward the refreshment table and promptly got me a questionnaire to fill out. I may have lied about my weight on the form, that is classified and it’s going to the grave with me. I filled out the form and waited.

While I was waiting I noticed a client who was sitting across the room with an ice pack on her face, she may have been writhing in pain or perhaps she had to pee. There was a water wall in front of me which made me think there was no way I could afford this place. I texted my friend Kristy about the water wall and she suggested that it was there to muffle the screams. She attended a prestigious university and studied science so maybe she’s on to something.

After a few minutes of listening to the melodious splash I had an urge to go. On the way to the bathroom I walked past a ginormous advertisement which proudly displayed several large photos of before and after ass pictures. In that moment I was grateful that I didn’t have an issue with my backside because the idea of having my before and after ass on display was a little too much to bare (intentional typo calm down grammar nerds).

Things didn’t improve in the bathroom. Everything was fine until I went to wash my hands. I got some soap and waved my hand under the faucet, nothing happened. I did the magic wand wave a few more times, approaching from different angles, adjusting the speed in the hopes that water would be released, nope. I looked at the faucet for clues, nothing emerged, it just stared back at me with a steely gaze, unyielding. There were no handles, no sensors, nothing obvious. After approximately 90 seconds of me waving hands frantically and muttering  “Oh for f*ck sake!” repeatedly, I figured it out. The cube at the top of the faucet pushed up to release water. I did have to chant (thanks for that tip Paul) and wiggle my ears while simultaneously applying enormous pressure in an upward motion to get it to work. Nevertheless, I emerged with an empty bladder and clean hands.

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Sure it looks simple enough. Trust me without the chanting, ear wiggling and upward motion, total desert.

A few minutes after that ridiculousness, I was ushered into an exam room by a pleasant middle aged woman with a stylish hair cut and cute glasses. Did I mention that I came from the gym so I was sweaty, potentially smelly, not even a hint of make up and my hair was dripping with sweat? My new friend put down a cloth barrier on the chair that I was later guided to sit on. I’d like to think they do that for all the clients….in retrospect, I’m not so sure. I was also told to remove my hat which was providing shelter for my sweaty pony tail so you know, sexy as hell.

She asked me why I was there and I told her. A few minutes later a nurse practitioner came in the room and asked the same questions I just answered. She gave me a hand held mirror to hold while she pressed on various parts of my face to demonstrate how fillers could possibly help. The lighting in there wasn’t doing me any favors, I felt like a vampire seeing the sun for the first time, it burns! Let’s just say the nurse was honest, brutally honest. The take away was “Honey, we can’t fix that. Go back to the surgeon or else you’ll waste gobs of money and be miserable.” So, that went well at least it was a free consultation – free of dignity, confidence, pride, ego, totally free. I may just get a stylish hair cut and some cute glasses.

 

 

Work It (or Not)…

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Work It (or Not)…

Confession whenever I say work it, I instantly think of the Missy Elliott song. If I wasn’t too cheap to pay for premium WordPress I’d drop a link here, sorry about that. I have to save my money, I’ve been thinking about getting (coughs quietly) “work done”. I suppose everyone has their cosmetic Achilles heel, mine is the bags under my eyes. They aren’t full blown moving-across-the-Atlantic-and-putting-everything-in-trunks size yet but they aren’t casual weekenders either.

A big chunk of me feels guilty and stupid for even considering making a change. The world is one big dumpster fire and here I am wanting to hold on to the pretty a bit longer. It seems like such a shallow and frivolous preoccupation. Then again, if it makes you feel better about yourself…welcome to my internal tortured dialogue. If a friend told me they wanted to do something, I would be their biggest cheerleader. Perhaps I need to befriend myself because apparently I’m not above all this shit just yet. I’d like to be, I’m just not.

The other day I went to see a cosmetic surgeon for a consultation. It cost a fair amount just to discuss the options and the office is about an hour away. I lost half a day to this expedition. After the worst photo session EVER (“before” pictures are a horror show, they want you to look bad) they asked if I had any pictures from my 20s. I laughed because the only pictures I had on my phone were ones that I used for an 80s party a few years back.  I was in my early 20s at the time and now I don’t even look like I’m related to this chick –

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It was the 80s baby! 30 years and about as many pounds ago…

We discussed three options 1) Surgery 2) Injectables or 3) INTRAcel Treatment. I won’t lie the first option is not unappealing – aside from the anesthesia, recovery and OMFG costs. You do it once (the right way) and you’re done, the eye bags are packed and out of there, bah-bye. As tempting as that is (if I won the lottery and wasn’t a chicken shit), that was a hard pass for me. I have a teenage daughter and the last thing I want to do is be a role model of physical change via cosmetic surgery. Perhaps when she is away at college….

I thought about the second option. The doctor I saw is one of the top doctors in his field,  he is an ophthalmologist and board-certified cosmetic surgeon in four specialties. If someone is going to be poking needles near my eyeballs, he’s the guy. Alas, this is also a pass as it is temporary and expensive for something so short-term.

That leaves the third option which is some combination of micro-needling, radio frequency and voodoo of some sort. I almost pulled the trigger on this one. The cost is somewhere between ridiculous and stupid expensive and there could be some side effects. The first thing that freaked me out was a script for Valtrex. Apparently it is standard procedure to take it before treatment to avoid the possibility of a Shingles or a Herpes outbreak. Let’s just be clear, I don’t have Herpes. I did have Chicken Pox as a kid and Shingles is no joke. So hello GI distress and possible yeast infection, good times.

The treatment itself consists of a machine that pummels your face to the sweet spot of pinpoint bleeding and (fingers crossed) NOT 8th round in the boxing ring and you just lost. Swelling, bruising, blood, possible scabbing, scaring small children, wear large Jackie O sunglasses for a week after AND this was the most tempting of the three options. Wow, when I type it out it seems rather insane. Beauty is pain bitches (and expensive as hell).

I got as far as scheduling an appointment and filling the script, then I cancelled it. I’m going to do some more research and see if there are other more cost effective options. I did like the office staff and the doctor but the doctor would not be performing the voodoo, a technician would. With that in mind, I may be able to find another option closer to home for a more reasonable rate. Or maybe I’ll just say f*ck it because we’re all going to be dust soon enough.

Curious if any of my readers have considered making a cosmetic change – big or small. Obviously self-acceptance is the ultimate goal, is it wrong to get a boost?