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Saturday, October 19, 2013
Acne Treatment
Sunday, September 15, 2013
I'm sick and tired of
cropped pants
smoky eyes
bare legs all the time (regardless of occasion, weather, or age)
platform shoes
nail art
arm parties
tissue weight fabrics
visible zippers
skinny jeans
leopard print
studs or spikes on shoes
shoes that looks like hooves
crazy hooker stilettos
smoky eyes
bare legs all the time (regardless of occasion, weather, or age)
platform shoes
nail art
arm parties
tissue weight fabrics
visible zippers
skinny jeans
leopard print
shoes that looks like hooves
crazy hooker stilettos
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Buxom.
Folks, one of the two Buxom offspring has flown the nest. We spent a lot of time working on college applications, and he got accepted at all of his schools, but the idea of a gap year was just too enticing. So he's gone, but he's spending a second year as a high school senior, this time at the Interlochen Arts Academy, where he'll be studying motion picture arts. Then he'll go off to film school and become a famous director, and pretty soon I'll be blogging from his mansion in Bel Air. You heard it here first.
Meanwhile, to keep things motion picturesque, as befits the parent of a major young directing talent, I'm enjoying wearing one of Chanel's latest nail polishes--Cinéma. It's a soft, pretty, almost retro red.
To complement it, my nails are a retro almond shape. Matronly? Pretty? Glamorous? Maybe a little of each.
Have you noticed the retro influences in fall clothes? One such influence is the resurgence of interest in navy blue. I swear, black has been the neutral of choice for over thirty years. Who would have thought that navy blue could look this fresh? Don't let the school girl connotations fool you (even if your kid, like mine, is wearing a navy blue school uniform.) Navy blue is just as slimming as black, and kinder to the complexion.
In a couple of weeks, my husband and I will be celebrating our 25th anniversary with a dinner dance. I'll be wearing this dress from Worth.
It's navy blue jacquard with feathers on the skirt. For that touch of Hollywood, darlings!
Meanwhile, to keep things motion picturesque, as befits the parent of a major young directing talent, I'm enjoying wearing one of Chanel's latest nail polishes--Cinéma. It's a soft, pretty, almost retro red.
To complement it, my nails are a retro almond shape. Matronly? Pretty? Glamorous? Maybe a little of each.
Have you noticed the retro influences in fall clothes? One such influence is the resurgence of interest in navy blue. I swear, black has been the neutral of choice for over thirty years. Who would have thought that navy blue could look this fresh? Don't let the school girl connotations fool you (even if your kid, like mine, is wearing a navy blue school uniform.) Navy blue is just as slimming as black, and kinder to the complexion.
In a couple of weeks, my husband and I will be celebrating our 25th anniversary with a dinner dance. I'll be wearing this dress from Worth.
It's navy blue jacquard with feathers on the skirt. For that touch of Hollywood, darlings!
Sunday, March 31, 2013
... and you'll find that you're / In the Photogravure
If you blog like bird, you let the pictures do the talking. Let's try that, shall we?
The Buxoms went on a Disney cruise to the Western Caribbean.
Miss Buxom has always been a Minnie fan. And now Disney sells dresses for grown-up ladies that, while they are not official Minnie wear, are decidedly Minnie-esque. To buy one to wear to "formal night," was, for us, the work of an instant.
(For "formal night," Young Master Buxom wears his hair pulled back, and wears a shirt that isn't a vintage heavy metal concert tee. You're welcome, Disney "formal night" nazis.)
Here are Mr. Buxom and me on the beach on Grand Cayman. I'm wearing Lilly pants that used to not zip. Thank you, gym.
Lunch at Guy Harvey's Island Grill. They sell Cuban rum, so for Mr. Buxom to order a shot was, for him, the work of an instant.
Our second and only other port was Cozumel. We were supposed to explore the coral reefs, but due to rough weather, the excursion was cancelled. As you can see,
that didn't bother us very much.
We went on a margarita hunt instead.
This is me with my Personal Trainer, Matt. He kicked my ass during four PT sessions and two boot camps, which meant that I could zip up my pants without having to lie down on the bed. Wait, that sounded bad, didn't it. (Thank you, Matt.)
Finally, home again where I loaded up my last two Easter baskets. (The boy child will be at college next year, she sobbed.) Two years ago, the baskets were full of Parisian goodies. Last year, they were full of chocolate kangaroos and bilbies, thanks to a trip to Sydney. This year, they featured all kinds of Disney silliness.
Happy Easter, everybody!
p.s. Watch out for the coconut-flavored M&Ms. Your jeans will thank you.
The Buxoms went on a Disney cruise to the Western Caribbean.
Miss Buxom has always been a Minnie fan. And now Disney sells dresses for grown-up ladies that, while they are not official Minnie wear, are decidedly Minnie-esque. To buy one to wear to "formal night," was, for us, the work of an instant.
(For "formal night," Young Master Buxom wears his hair pulled back, and wears a shirt that isn't a vintage heavy metal concert tee. You're welcome, Disney "formal night" nazis.)
Here are Mr. Buxom and me on the beach on Grand Cayman. I'm wearing Lilly pants that used to not zip. Thank you, gym.
Lunch at Guy Harvey's Island Grill. They sell Cuban rum, so for Mr. Buxom to order a shot was, for him, the work of an instant.
Our second and only other port was Cozumel. We were supposed to explore the coral reefs, but due to rough weather, the excursion was cancelled. As you can see,
We went on a margarita hunt instead.
The chips disappeared due to the deliciousness of the salsa, guacamole, and whatever the mysterious spicy brown liquid was. Please note the Hidden Mickey Margarita. Also that it was my second.
Under all the food, I'm wearing J. McLaughlin pants--size 12, bitches! How did I do it?
This is me with my Personal Trainer, Matt. He kicked my ass during four PT sessions and two boot camps, which meant that I could zip up my pants without having to lie down on the bed. Wait, that sounded bad, didn't it. (Thank you, Matt.)
Finally, home again where I loaded up my last two Easter baskets. (The boy child will be at college next year, she sobbed.) Two years ago, the baskets were full of Parisian goodies. Last year, they were full of chocolate kangaroos and bilbies, thanks to a trip to Sydney. This year, they featured all kinds of Disney silliness.
Happy Easter, everybody!
p.s. Watch out for the coconut-flavored M&Ms. Your jeans will thank you.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Why I want to give my trainer a big, wet kiss on the mouth, or, Yes, it was cancer
Can you believe it? All these years of blogging, and I still don't have a solid technique for leading into a story. So I'll remind you of where we left off last time.
When we last spoke, I was about to head into the hospital for laparoscopic surgery on my right kidney. It was a modern day update of the old nursery rhyme:
I mean, what wasn't to like? I had had a perfectly lovely time with twilight sleep and general anesthesia. I remembered my nurses' names and everything everyone told me to do. I had two new audiobooks on my iPhone.
I also had two completely delightful new hardcovers to dive into: Jen Lancaster's latest novel, Here I Go Again, and Simon Doonan's Gay Men Don't Get Fat. My bed was comfortable, and I could adjust it to suit me and my incisions. The room was small, but exquisitely clean and decked with masses of flowers.
Most importantly (and this is key) nobody's emotional well-being or self-esteem would be affected by anything I'd say or do. The nurses and doctors and orderlies didn't mind that I was there; it didn't hurt them at their hearts to see me stretched out on a hospital bed. I didn't have to be brave for them or console them or act all siff-upper-lippy. Really, it was lovely. All I had to do was lie in bed, eat and drink, read my books, and fill up my Foley bag. (Catheter, to the uninitiated.) And I was up to the task.
But I went home a day early. To a much less tidy room and a dearth of red Jell-O.
Currently, I'm spending a lot of time propped up in bed so as to adequately communicate the message that I'm not, at present, the go-to person for clean blue jeans or hairdo assistance or homework help or really, much of anything at all.
Here's the thing. I have limited theatrical experience, but I realize with teenagers and husbands, it is all about the staging. If this means that I move around normally after everyone leaves, and only start reclining in bed when my children and husband reappear on the scene, so be it. If it means that I continue to wear pajamas and bathrobes long after I can get back into my clothes, so be it. I have to communicate the message that this is the time to be kind to one's mother or the wife of one's bosom.
So yeah, I'm acting a little drama queeny. Let this be our little secret, internet.
OK, then. Now for my surgeon's report. They removed a 2 cm tumor from my right kidney. Apparently, my surgery was a model of deft, elegant minimalism. The tumor was removed in its entirety, with a nice clean margin all around it, indicating that They Got It All.
When art historians start blathering about "negative space," is this what they mean? (Don't answer that--my pain meds are starting to kick in. If you couldn't tell.)
Anyway, the survival rate for very small, encapsulated tumors like mine is about 99 percent. My surgeon tells me that there's a pretty good chance that I'll live for another 50 years. (OK, I think he was flattering me, or maybe my colorist is doing an even better job than I thought. I don't really think it's reasonable to suppose that I'll still be here when I'm 106 years old. I'm thinking of sticking around for another 40, and even that's pushing it.)
In the meantime, I'm starting to think of myself as Poppy Buxom, Cancer Survivor! With all the kick-assery that that entails.
When we last spoke, I was about to head into the hospital for laparoscopic surgery on my right kidney. It was a modern day update of the old nursery rhyme:
Because she was trying to fit into smaller jeans, Poppy did hundreds of crunches.I went into the hospital last Thursday at 11:00 in the morning, and went into the operating room at 12:30, floating on a white cloud of twilight sleep, with nary a care in the world. After two days, (the first of which was rather uncomfortable, the second much less so) I left the hospital. My insurance would have covered a third day, and if it hadn't been for my surgeon's dire warnings to escape the hospital's germiness as quickly as possible, I'd have hung out longer, basking in the attentions of the nursing staff and a seemingly limitless supply of red Jell-O.
Because of the hundreds of crunches, she developed lower abdominal pain.
Because of the pain, she got a CT scan.
Because of the CT scan, they discovered a mass.
Because of the mass, she had surgery.
Because of the surgery, she kicked cancer's ass.
I mean, what wasn't to like? I had had a perfectly lovely time with twilight sleep and general anesthesia. I remembered my nurses' names and everything everyone told me to do. I had two new audiobooks on my iPhone.
I also had two completely delightful new hardcovers to dive into: Jen Lancaster's latest novel, Here I Go Again, and Simon Doonan's Gay Men Don't Get Fat. My bed was comfortable, and I could adjust it to suit me and my incisions. The room was small, but exquisitely clean and decked with masses of flowers.
Most importantly (and this is key) nobody's emotional well-being or self-esteem would be affected by anything I'd say or do. The nurses and doctors and orderlies didn't mind that I was there; it didn't hurt them at their hearts to see me stretched out on a hospital bed. I didn't have to be brave for them or console them or act all siff-upper-lippy. Really, it was lovely. All I had to do was lie in bed, eat and drink, read my books, and fill up my Foley bag. (Catheter, to the uninitiated.) And I was up to the task.
But I went home a day early. To a much less tidy room and a dearth of red Jell-O.
Currently, I'm spending a lot of time propped up in bed so as to adequately communicate the message that I'm not, at present, the go-to person for clean blue jeans or hairdo assistance or homework help or really, much of anything at all.
Here's the thing. I have limited theatrical experience, but I realize with teenagers and husbands, it is all about the staging. If this means that I move around normally after everyone leaves, and only start reclining in bed when my children and husband reappear on the scene, so be it. If it means that I continue to wear pajamas and bathrobes long after I can get back into my clothes, so be it. I have to communicate the message that this is the time to be kind to one's mother or the wife of one's bosom.
So yeah, I'm acting a little drama queeny. Let this be our little secret, internet.
OK, then. Now for my surgeon's report. They removed a 2 cm tumor from my right kidney. Apparently, my surgery was a model of deft, elegant minimalism. The tumor was removed in its entirety, with a nice clean margin all around it, indicating that They Got It All.
When art historians start blathering about "negative space," is this what they mean? (Don't answer that--my pain meds are starting to kick in. If you couldn't tell.)
Anyway, the survival rate for very small, encapsulated tumors like mine is about 99 percent. My surgeon tells me that there's a pretty good chance that I'll live for another 50 years. (OK, I think he was flattering me, or maybe my colorist is doing an even better job than I thought. I don't really think it's reasonable to suppose that I'll still be here when I'm 106 years old. I'm thinking of sticking around for another 40, and even that's pushing it.)
In the meantime, I'm starting to think of myself as Poppy Buxom, Cancer Survivor! With all the kick-assery that that entails.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Vanity can save your life
Vanity gets a bad rap most of the time. Not around here, where it's all lipstick, all the time--but amongst other, less frivolous people. But vanity has its good points. For one thing, it can save your life.
You may remember that I spent last November blathering away about working out and dieting. I mentioned heading to the gym enough to have fully cemented my reputation as a fitness freak, or at least, a dedicated wannabe.
So along comes December, and in addition to the usual holiday travel and craziness, I'm trying to continue to work out. But I notice that after prolonged periods of standing, such as washing dishes or attending cocktail parties (or decorating the Christmas tree all by myself because my family is a bunch of heathen Grinches,) I was experiencing some pain in the lower left side of my abdomen. Sitting down made it feel better, but then I'd go to the gym, and it would start up again.
I tend to have a "shut up and quit whining" attitude about physical problems, but my husband does a lot of weight lifting, and he thought it might be a hernia. So I made an appointment with my doctor to have it checked out. He didn't notice anything conclusive, so he advised me to get a CT scan. What with Christmas traveling and the facility being pretty booked up, the first appointment I could get was two weeks away. And during those two weeks of traveling and not going to the gym, the pain disappeared. Naturally, I dithered around, and debated canceling the CT scan. Because I hate going to the doctor. But my husband and son told me to go in and have it done.
Have you ever had a CT scan? It's not fun. And after drinking iodine-flavored water for a few hours and having more injected into my arm and lying on a table passing through a pale green doughnut, I was determined never to complain about anything ever again.
And of course, it turns out that I don't have a hernia.
On the other hand, they discovered a small mass on my right kidney. (Which was not where I was feeling pain, and so was completely unrelated to what brought me to the doctor's office in the first place.) So I went to a urologist who advised me to have it out. Apparently, even if they're benign, these things just keep growing and eventually, it's a problem. And of course, if it isn't benign, it needs to come out pronto. (And chances are it's not benign. But it's very treatable with an excellent cure rate! Really.)
Apparently, the vast majority of kidney tumors are discovered while they're looking for something else. In fact, according to Wikipedia, medical professionals call them "accidentalomas."
So anyway, tomorrow I'll be at the hospital under general anesthesia (YIKES!) having a robot-assisted (COOL!) partial nephrectomy.
Which is really kind of astonishing, when you realize that if I hadn't been trying to fit into size 12 jeans, I'd be happily asymptomatic ... until I wouldn't be.
Which just goes to show you--to appropriate from that slimeball Gordon Gecko, "Vanity is good!"
So anyway, that's why I haven't been blogging. It's just hard to get excited about lipstick and such when you have surgery scheduled.
Not that I won't be bringing a ton of products to the hospital. Because of course I will.
You may remember that I spent last November blathering away about working out and dieting. I mentioned heading to the gym enough to have fully cemented my reputation as a fitness freak, or at least, a dedicated wannabe.
So along comes December, and in addition to the usual holiday travel and craziness, I'm trying to continue to work out. But I notice that after prolonged periods of standing, such as washing dishes or attending cocktail parties (or decorating the Christmas tree all by myself because my family is a bunch of heathen Grinches,) I was experiencing some pain in the lower left side of my abdomen. Sitting down made it feel better, but then I'd go to the gym, and it would start up again.
I tend to have a "shut up and quit whining" attitude about physical problems, but my husband does a lot of weight lifting, and he thought it might be a hernia. So I made an appointment with my doctor to have it checked out. He didn't notice anything conclusive, so he advised me to get a CT scan. What with Christmas traveling and the facility being pretty booked up, the first appointment I could get was two weeks away. And during those two weeks of traveling and not going to the gym, the pain disappeared. Naturally, I dithered around, and debated canceling the CT scan. Because I hate going to the doctor. But my husband and son told me to go in and have it done.
Have you ever had a CT scan? It's not fun. And after drinking iodine-flavored water for a few hours and having more injected into my arm and lying on a table passing through a pale green doughnut, I was determined never to complain about anything ever again.
And of course, it turns out that I don't have a hernia.
On the other hand, they discovered a small mass on my right kidney. (Which was not where I was feeling pain, and so was completely unrelated to what brought me to the doctor's office in the first place.) So I went to a urologist who advised me to have it out. Apparently, even if they're benign, these things just keep growing and eventually, it's a problem. And of course, if it isn't benign, it needs to come out pronto. (And chances are it's not benign. But it's very treatable with an excellent cure rate! Really.)
Apparently, the vast majority of kidney tumors are discovered while they're looking for something else. In fact, according to Wikipedia, medical professionals call them "accidentalomas."
So anyway, tomorrow I'll be at the hospital under general anesthesia (YIKES!) having a robot-assisted (COOL!) partial nephrectomy.
Which is really kind of astonishing, when you realize that if I hadn't been trying to fit into size 12 jeans, I'd be happily asymptomatic ... until I wouldn't be.
Which just goes to show you--to appropriate from that slimeball Gordon Gecko, "Vanity is good!"
So anyway, that's why I haven't been blogging. It's just hard to get excited about lipstick and such when you have surgery scheduled.
Not that I won't be bringing a ton of products to the hospital. Because of course I will.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
My emailbox is out to get me.
Is everyone else going insane from all the sales notices in their emailboxes? Or is it just me?
Between the sales notices and the cookies on my laptop (that appear to keep all of my selections permanently in every shopping cart I ever use on line), I've stumbled across some nice markdowns this weekend. I'm putting these up here in case anyone has something on their list that they'd like to order tonight. Which, OK, is the next ten minutes. Anyway, this is where I was shopping.
I thought I'd missed out on a great J. Crew deal, because they were offering 25 percent off for Black Friday. At that point, I loaded up my shopping cart with some cute cardigans for my daughter, and then forgot to pull the trigger. Well, I went back to the site to discover that this weekend's sale--using the WINTER coupon code--was even better, with 30 percent off.
At the moment, it's back down to 25 percent off and free shipping.
Honestly, trying to keep up with on line deals is like telling time by looking at the second hand of a clock.
All I know is I got myself some button downs and my daughter the Bling Button cardigan for $41, marked down from $72.
The Michael Kors set is available in three different colors, but each color is offered only by certain stores. Check out this post by GWP Addict for details.
Also, costume jewelry is on sale, which meant that I could pick out a cute Betsey Johnson necklace for my daughter.
• Free shipping on all on-line sales
• Loyalists receive double points
• Buy more/save more (10 to 30 percent off Women's, Men's, Home, Fashion Jewelry)
• Some kind of code they emailed me (X40936A7VCRK) for $25 off a purchase of $100 or more.
So I bought a bunch of clothes for my son--and a little wine cellar for Mr. Buxom--but you don't want to hear about them. I also picked up the Estee Lauder Blockbuster, because Santa likes to add these little goodies to the stockings she stuffs.
Honestly, all I know is that it seems impossible to keep track of all these deals. It's worse than airline frequent flyer programs. All I know is that if I ever pay full retail for anything ever again, you can give me a good hard, internet spanking.
Merry Christmas shopping to all, and to all a good night!
Between the sales notices and the cookies on my laptop (that appear to keep all of my selections permanently in every shopping cart I ever use on line), I've stumbled across some nice markdowns this weekend. I'm putting these up here in case anyone has something on their list that they'd like to order tonight. Which, OK, is the next ten minutes. Anyway, this is where I was shopping.
J. Crew
 |
| J. Crew's Bling Button cardigan, marked down from $72 to $59 to $41 |
At the moment, it's back down to 25 percent off and free shipping.
Honestly, trying to keep up with on line deals is like telling time by looking at the second hand of a clock.
All I know is I got myself some button downs and my daughter the Bling Button cardigan for $41, marked down from $72.
Carson Pirie Scott
Carson's is offering 25 percent off everything in the store, and 10 percent off Beauty and Fragrance, with code FRIFAMNOV12. If you're interested in the Estee Lauder seasonal blockbuster or the Michael Kors/Estee Lauder collaboration, this is a good way to get it. |
| This set features a cosmetics bag from Michael Kors, a compact blush with 3 shades of Pure Color Blush, a Pure Color Lipstick, a Pure Color Lipgloss, a Sumptuous Mascara, Intense Kajal Eyeliner and Pure Color Nail Color. |
The Michael Kors set is available in three different colors, but each color is offered only by certain stores. Check out this post by GWP Addict for details.
Also, costume jewelry is on sale, which meant that I could pick out a cute Betsey Johnson necklace for my daughter.
Bloomingdale's
OK, this is when it really got crazy. There was a combination of• Free shipping on all on-line sales
• Loyalists receive double points
• Buy more/save more (10 to 30 percent off Women's, Men's, Home, Fashion Jewelry)
• Some kind of code they emailed me (X40936A7VCRK) for $25 off a purchase of $100 or more.
So I bought a bunch of clothes for my son--and a little wine cellar for Mr. Buxom--but you don't want to hear about them. I also picked up the Estee Lauder Blockbuster, because Santa likes to add these little goodies to the stockings she stuffs.
 |
| Estee Lauder's holiday blockbuster--better pictures and description available on Chic Profile. |
Honestly, all I know is that it seems impossible to keep track of all these deals. It's worse than airline frequent flyer programs. All I know is that if I ever pay full retail for anything ever again, you can give me a good hard, internet spanking.
Merry Christmas shopping to all, and to all a good night!
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