After six months, an update

What have I been up to, you wonder. I mean, Blogger has a brand new (to me) interface--surely something has changed chez Buxom.

Well, not to sound like Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof ("I have FIVE DAUGHTERS!") but we have two teenagers--so mostly I've been hunkered down in our foxhole, waiting for properly uniformed officials to sound the All Clear.

While there, I noticed that I had gotten kind of fat. While I wasn't paying attention, my weight had crept up to 192 pounds of pure buxom--again. I'm sure you'll agree that once you've come--at 5'6" and change--to within striking distance of the big 2-0-0, it's time to do something. So I'm back on Weight Watchers. And I noticed that while sitting on my sofa streaming episodes of The Biggest Loser is inspiring, it doesn't burn many calories. So I've started going to the gym. Also? What I'm eating is so unbelievably healthy, it would bring a tear to the eye of the editor of Prevention magazine. It's salmon and whole grains and protein smoothies and hardly a refined carbohydrate around here.

I'm down 11 pounds.

I haven't been buying a lot of clothes, but I did pop for a new evening gown.

Tadashi Shoji cap-sleeve twisted gown

Nylon/Spandex 

Neiman Marcus, on sale for $235

And I've gone a little crazy for Chanel cosmetics, particularly nailpolishes. Here I am modelling Quartz

which looks a lot better when Temptalia is photographing/wearing it.

All I know is that it will look AWESOME with my new flap, a Mother's Day present from Mr. Buxom.

Friday natterings

I'm sorry, Internet. I put all of today's ration of creativity into this week's Mamarazzi post. Check it out if you want to see why Donald Trump probably won't bother to get a paternity test for his latest wife's baby.

I got my hair colored and styled today. It looks good. The rest of me kind of sucks, but tonight we're going to see Cosi Fan Tutti. We sit in a box, and before the opera we have dinner in this special dining room for the Truly Big Donors. I enjoy swanning around there and feeling like Really Hot Shit, so don't worry, Internet; I'll slap on some makeup and get into the Little Black Dress du jour (whom am I kidding?* I only have one Little Black Dress. And it's "du soir," anyway.)

Now for the bad news. I need to get off my ass and pack up the minivan for a weekend in the city. I also need to talk my children into putting their clothes on, because they didn't have school today, and naturally, stayed in their pajamas.

Tomorrow I have four hours of rehearsals for a piece I don't like very much. On Sunday I'll have to perform it. If asked, "Poppy, do you like the Durufle' Requiem?" My answer would be "Feh." But do people ask? No, they do not. And therein lies the problem.

Oh yeah. It got cold again. On Monday it was 75 degrees Fahrenheit. Today it's 36 degrees.

There's an asshole parked on my street. The rear of his or her car is lapping over my driveway by about a foot and a half. Do I have your permission to smack him?

*Note correct grammar. See how easy it is? Why does this elude so many people, most of who should know better?

The Grinch Who Stole Valentine's Day

Today I was supposed to get all dressed up in something red and festive, head up the road to get my hair and nails done, then, while looking like a crazed blood clot absolutely smashing drive downtown to rehearse with one of my singing groups,



go to a St. Valentine's Day tea party here,



and then have dinner with my husband.

I just blew it all off. In short order, I canceled the hair and nails, the rehearsal, the babysitter, the tea party, and the dinner.

In case you haven't heard, it's snowing in Chicago. And about every five minutes, I get another email from the National Weather Service advising me to stay home. And who am I to argue with the National Weather Service? Especially since my car has been in the shop since November 19th, due to some trifling misunderstanding it had with the rear end of a Mercedes Benz.

Not actually my car. Or me. You can tell because this woman is
smiling,and I have not had the chance to smile while in
close proximity to my VW in months. And months.

And frankly, I'm damned if I'm going to plow downtown in my smoking hot minivan^{tm badger} only to smash that one up, too.