Questions, I need questions

OK, first of all, here's a news update, since it's been so long since I actually sat and typed an actual blog post: I'm in New Hampshire for spring break. And before I left Chicago I was up to my earlobes in volunteer work--attending bored meetings, making phone calls, trying to find a sucker to be next year's hospitality chair--the usual crap.

Although I have to admit that my overseeing of eighth grade musical rehearsals has been substantially cut back, possibly as a result of my calling one of the kids a douche bag.

Which leaves me wondering whether that's a one-size-fits-all solution to MY ENTIRE LIFE. I mean, I'm sure the possibility that I might call their white-haired old ladies "douche bags" would sharply decrease the number of jobs The National Society of the Colonial Dames in the State of Illinois might ask me to do.

It's a thought.

Anyway, on Tuesday I've got to put up a BlogHer Beauty Hacks post, and so far, the only idea I've had is that of visiting the Cosmetic Center store in the outlets in Kittery, Maine, and checking out what's available. But the store might have closed, or they might not have anything except a bunch of those sparkly little compacts Estee Lauder produces every year at Christmas time. Full of solid perfume in signature Estee Lauder scents. You know, Youth-Dew, or Beautiful. And reminding me of a cross between a Jay Strongwater bibelot and a Walgreen's perfume counter. Which would only be of interest to crazed collectors.

Not what I want to write about.

So I would be really thrilled if you'd ask me a few questions, particularly about makeup and skin care. It would help prime the pump. I am not nearly as sure-handed with fashion questions--take those to blackbird--but I know my way around a makeup counter like you wouldn't believe.

N. B. I did fulfill my contractual obligation to put up my usual Friday Mamarazzi post, and I would be so grateful if you'd check it out and let me know whether I'm off-base in claiming that Kelly Osbourne is deserving of our heart-felt devotion. I mean, is she really awesome, or is she mostly notable for having survived thus far, given her parentage?

"Hi, my name is Joe Blow, and I'm calling to urge you to vote for my law school roommate, Dick Douchebag, who is running for Cook County dog catcher."

OK, maybe that's exaggerated.

But not by much.

Now I know why they call it "Super Tuesday."

It's because it takes super-human willpower to keep from ripping the fucking phone off the fucking wall and fucking flushing it down the fucking toilet.

Help

Yesterday I was heading out for my voice lesson. I was leaving the house through the garage carrying my purse, music, and four packages I needed to mail.

I managed to slam the door on my fingertip.

I immediately pulled off my glove and checked, and my finger was not actually crushed--it just felt that way. It wasn't even bleeding. But my fingernail was already starting to turn purple.

So anyway, I drove to my lesson--whimpering--and when I got there, I got a glass of ice water and spent the next hour soaking my finger and singing a Mozart aria.

This morning, I was cutting a plastic ice skate blade protector so it would fit my children's ice skates, and managed to slice off part of my thumbnail with the bread knife I was (stupidly) using.

So I have only one question:

Where's Tom Cruise when I need him?

Guy spends all his time uploading videos of himself to the internet where he brags about how he's here to help. Hello, Tom, I needed someone to hold the door for me--or shorten those blade protectors--and where were you? Probably still talking to the camera.

What a douchebag.