What does "tinted moisturizer" mean to you?

I realize that all I seem to do these days is whine, but bear with me.

I've been on the road a lot lately, having driven with Mr. Buxom to a very remote part of New York to watch our kids perform in a production of Les Miserables.

(Idiotic aside: I'm sure the reaction to seeing your 14-year-old dressed as a whore for the Lovely Ladies number isn't supposed to be "OMG she's adorable!")

Eventually we'll be home, and the painters will leave, and I'll be through with Phase 1 of the South Beach Diet, and I'll cheer up.

Meanwhile, everything makes me cranky.

Like Estee Lauder. There was a time when I wrote Estee Lauder off as a cosmetics company for Old Ladies. But then they came out with Idealist. And Resilience Lift moisturizer. And DayWear tinted moisturizer. And I unbent and bought them. And they were good.

But. These excellent skincare products are no longer available in their original state. Idealist has been new-and-improved until it's unrecognizable. The same thing goes for Resilience Lift, once my absolutely favorite daytime moisturizer.

And now Estee Lauder has reformulated my beloved DayWear tinted moisturizer. Which is maddening, because in the last three years, I've probably gone through three tubes of the stuff.

The original came in different shades, was light, moisturizing, and so sheer that color matching wasn't an issue.

The replacement is this stuff with encapsulated bronzing beads in it. It's a very pale cream, but when you rub it on your face, the bronzing beads burst and add a tint. Which makes me look like an Oompah Loompah.

I've been searching for a replacement. So far I've popped for the famous Laura Mercier product, which isn't moisturizing enough for my middle-aged skin. The shade I was "color-matched" for is kind of off.

I also tried the Chanel Hydramax version. It smells pleasant and seems OK, but again, the color is slightly off.

Why is this so difficult? I always thought that tinted moisturizers were moisturizers with just a hint of tint. Like, say, what would happen if you took your SPF moisturizer and mixed in a little foundation. Which would keep the titanium dioxide from making you look super pale, and provide a little coverage to even your complexion. How do I know this? Believe it or not, back in the olden days, I used to do this myself.  I know, I know--it's the makeup equivalent of baking my own bread. But it worked because the foundation I started with was already a good match for my skin.

To my way of thinking, the tint in a tinted moisturizer isn't supposed to be a bronzer. And when you use a tinted moisturizer, you shouldn't have to worry about a demarcation line at the jaw. The tint should be so small a proportion of the product that you shouldn't be able to see where it leaves off and your neck begins.

The stuff I keep buying seems suspiciously like foundation. OK, it's not  What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? full-coverage spackle. But it's not really tinted moisturizer.

Am I completely off base?

And does anyone have any product recommendations?

A data dump, because otherwise I'll never manage to post again.

OMG, people. I'd tell you that real life has me by the balls, except I don't have any. And I have so much to do today, I can't stand it. So I'm going to do the blogging equivalent of what I do when I haven't written my mother a letter in a really long time and the stuff I need to tell her keeps mounting higher and higher and I get carpal tunnel syndrome just thinking of how many pages I'll have to write to get her up to speed.

(My mother is old skool and expects written letters.) But sometimes the idea of writing everything down is overwhelming, and I have to just dump the data. So I call her up and babble at her for an hour.

So let's pretend that I called you up, and you asked me how I was.

1. As soon as Christmas was over, I got going on Operation Get The Girl Child Into a Private School, because honestly? I really don't see her doing all that well at the huge John Hughes-ish high school in our district.

So there were campus visits and shadow days and SSATs and application-writing. The good news is the more we found out about the local private schools, the more we realized that only one would really work for her, so that's the only school she had to apply to. But then? She didn't get in. So that accounts for about six weeks of being crazily busy, culminating with much time spent comforting the girl child.

2. The many Clean House mini-marathons I've watched since discovering this amazing show have inspired me to really take charge of my house, but the cleaning alone is overwhelming--and that's not even dealing with the clutter. And I think I'm getting a little compulsive. I mean, I'm sitting here thinking about how I really need to mop the kitchen floor.

3. I haven't been talking about style because my shopping has been confined to Christmas presents and the cleaning product aisle of the supermarket--with occasional trips to Bed Bath and Beyond for closet stuff.

4. In related news, how did I not know about the wonders of the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser before now? I bought one a long time ago and discovered it sitting in my broom closet, still in the package. But when I opened it up and tried it on a stubborn scuff mark on a baseboard, the clouds parted and a chorus of angels began to sing. And then I ran around looking for stubborn scuff marks to clean. I also did an entire bathroom floor, at which point, the plump, exuberant, snow white Mr. Clean Magic Eraser was reduced to a sad, skimpy festered lily--that's how much fun I was having.

5. You should see what a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser does for a stainless steel kitchen sink that has been sullied with tea and coffee stains. Shines it right up.

6. I'm thinking of using a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser on my teeth.

7. Just kidding.

8. Blackbird tells me she approves of the rebooted Talbots. Have you checked it out? Everyone talked about the new Burberry and the new Brooks Brothers and the new this and the new that, but where's the love for the new Talbots? I tell you what: I've picked up a few things there and have been deliriously happy. The latest is these gold hidden platform sandals

which are lovely and retro and astonishingly comfortable.

9. Recently, Jen and Wendy and Susie Sunshine and Blackbird and I had a combination girls' weekend/Tour of Homes, where we checked out Wendy's addition and Casa Fletchcaster and my place too, although with all the Mr. Clean Magic Erasing, I'm surprised there was anything left to see.

Interested parties were also treated to Jen and Poppy's John Hughes movie location tour. We visited Kevin's house from Home Alone, the park where Kevin visits Santa, Cameron's House from Ferris Bueller's Day Off, and Jake Ryan's house from 16 Candles.

When I admitted to never having seen 16 Candles, we had a movie night and watched it. And I'm so glad I did, for several reasons. First of all, Anthony Michael Hall is completely adorable in 16 Candles, which is great because he makes me a little crazy in The Breakfast Club. Also, Jen wasn't giving us any of her home-made lasagna until we'd watched the movie, and the lasagna was incredible.

10. Jen gave us all pre-publication copies of her latest book and first novel, If You Were Here. John Hughes cognoscenti will understand the title, which I understand now too, courtesy of our movie night. Anyway, I read it and it's great. Two very enthusiastic thumbs up. If you like Jen's books and/or John Hughes movies, you'll love it.

11. And here's an extra bit of data as a GWP: I recently made a complete fool out of myself by calling on my twitter army to shame Crate and Barrel into delivering the sectional I ordered from them in October. This was pretty much of a total failure, since I have no twitter minions to speak of. Still, if you'd like to see how a baby boomer who grew up watching syndicated episodes of Gilligan's Island uses social media to bend a major corporation to her will, check out my twitter stream.

How can you miss me if I don't go away?

Hey internet? Miss me?

OK, maybe not. But I feel guilty, so I'm here to confess.

I haven't been blogging much. I'm part of a group blog, and I've been managing to do my Mamarazzi posts. Most of the time, at least. If you've been wondering where the hell I've been, and why I haven't been blogging, here's the deal.

Right about when school started, I signed up with LiveStrong's MyPlate program. I figured out things like if I want to lose 1.5 pounds a week, I need to eat about 1300 calories a day. And if I want to drink a glass of wine, I need to walk for half an hour. So anyway, with the weekly weigh-ins and the long walks and the food journal, I've been busy. I've also lost 15 pounds.

(Don't get excited, I weigh 175 pounds and am wearing a size 14.)

I've also been decluttering my house. I highly recommend it as a complementary activity. First of all, it gives you something to do besides eat. Also, as you shrink, you get to get rid of your fat clothes, which is kind of fun. And third, you get a huge sense of accomplishment. Really. I've been decluttering a space a day. Sometimes it's something small, like the junk drawer in the kitchen; sometimes it's something appallingly out-of-control and death-trap-y, like my closet. And it feels fantastic! I could have filled you in on this, but I don't know how compelling it would be. I've been boring my husband for weeks now.

What the hell, I'll give it a try. Hey internet! You should see my broom closet!!! Pfft. See what I mean?

So anyway, dieting and decluttering have kept me away from my laptop.

But here's a big one. Did you know, going into this parenting gig, that teenagers were such time- and energy-sucks? Color me naive, but I thought that as long as truly excruciating bad behavior involving drugs, alcohol,  unwed motherhood, and fresh back-talk weren't part of the picture--well, how bad could it be?

HA.

I won't go into the awkward stage where teenagers have a ton of extra-curricular activities and no driver's license, because you're all acquainted with the second shift, i.e., the karate / Girl Scouts / choir rehearsal / music lessons runs. That's all very well and good. As long as the curricular activities are going well.

But after too many days where I went to a board meeting and got home at 2:30, only to have some huge hairy homework debacle occur an hour later, it finally dawned on me that I needed to shed as much volunteer or unpaid activity as I could. There have been too many days recently where I had to chose between my family getting a decent dinner, and a child's homework being completed.

And I am NOT a helicopter mom. But if they flunk out, they'll never get into college. And if they don't get into college, they won't graduate and come home and clutter up my empty nest with pizza boxes and video game equipment. And that would never do.

So I had to put aside some of my favorite activities, i.e., the ones where I make an idiot out of myself. For example, this Christmas, I won't be putting on my red sequin Santa hat and singing "Santa Baby" to a roomful of retirees at the local nursing home. Even though those old guys think I'm smoking hot.

Also, the blogging thing had to go for a while. I needed to husband my energy.

I would have told you, except I was in the middle of it, and sometimes when I'm in the middle of things, I lack insight. I even (gasp!) sometimes lack the words.

So anyway. Miss Doxie is back!!!! and so--much less thrillingly--am I.

(And unlike Miss Doxie, I'll try to come back more often than once a year.)

What do you mean, women don't like using maps?

Hi internet! Listen, I know I've been neglecting you shamefully lately. But I have excuses. Many, in fact.

Mr. Buxom, also known as "Counselor Whup Ass" has been out of town
ruthlessly horsewhipping Intelletual Property scofflaws
at a trial, and I've been the only parent to help with my wonderful, talented children--children whose talents involve lots of driving around and listening to music and cramming for exams and shopping for camp clothes, not to mention the camps themselves. Plus the usual groceries, laundry, cooking, mopping up spills and teenaged angst and what not.

Then there's all that volunteer bullshit I'm always whining about (see tags) like my own talented musical performances and the desktop publishing I'm doing for a non-profit even as we speak. In fact, I'm only here because I'm waiting on some proofs.

But what has suffered? MY BLOG, thank you very much. And MY READERS.

Well, listen, readers--one of the things that has been vexing me has been my printer's inability to scan anything. I had all these pictures I wanted to show you, and the stupid HP All-in-one had become a Part-in-one. And then, a couple of weeks ago, it even balked at printing and morphed into the world's largest paperweight. So I did the smart thing. I checked out the reviews of the HP PhotoSmart C4280 All-In-One printer on Amazon. And I discovered that's it's not me; it's HP.

So I bought a new printer. And I just scanned my first scan! Voila:

Now, other than playing with the new printer, why the scan?

It's to even the playing ground. Because a lot of the time, makeup instructions are written by makeup fanatics for makeup fanatics. I mean, I love MakeupAlley, but with all the talk about the back wedge,  tightlining, and waterlining, those women aren't speaking English.  If you aren't all makeup, all the time, you won't know what they're talking about.

Even makeup fanatics who write books forget to talk down to their readers. Where's Makeup for Dummies when you need it?

But Gentle Reader(s), this is Makeup for Dummies. And I promise, I'll never forget to talk down to you.

So check out this map. Study it. Learn the terminology. Refer back to it. Copy it onto the top of your left hand with a Sharpie. Tattoo it to the small of your back. Be the ball, Danny.

And get ready for Eye Shadow 101.

I'm not dead yet!

Internet, I have been neglecting you. I'm sorry.

See, my husband is out of town for the next month and I've been crazy busy with the non-profit volunteering crappe AND I got smacked with some kind of virus that landed in my throat, swelled up my tonsils, and generally made me miserable.

So the only blogging I've been doing is Contractually Obligated blogging, like the piece I did on updating your eyebrows for BlogHer, and a couple of posts I did for Mamarazzi, like my Field Guide to Reality Show Skanks.

The rest of the time I've been curled up on the sofa with my collection of Buffy the Vampire Slayer DVDs. I'm almost through with Season 7, which means that I'll soon be blogging again.

Until then, there's something you ought to know. Gargling with a salt water solution every hour really does make your throat feel better!

But it bloats you up like a pregnant lady in her third trimester. I'm just saying.

Now is the month of Maying / when merry lads are playing / and ladies who lunch hold one damned lunch after another / Fa la la la

For a lot of people, May is a lovely month, but for me, May is the month when every non-profit, club, and board on the face of the earth holds its annual meeting.

Before I went to an annual meeting, I thought it would be a room full of guys in suits wondering what happened to this year's dividend. I pictured uprisings and gavels being banged and the kind of ruckus you see in those all-Springfield meetings they're always having on The Simpsons. That would have a certain charm.

Unfortunately, in my case, annual meetings are ladies' luncheons where everyone gets all dressed up, listens to boring reports, and eats too much fattening food.

And this week I had three ladies lunches on three successive days. THREE.

It's all an enormous strain. I'm a geek. I'd much rather be talking to the internet about eyeshadow. Instead, I'll be slipping on one of the three versions of this dress I scored at Old Navy and driving downtown to listen to rathah dull reports and eat too much.


(I got it in black, slate blue, and this Yummy Plummy color. Two were $25 and one was $12.95, can you believe it?)

But seriously, people, can you imagine serving lobster souffle and then having coconut cake for dessert? That's a week's worth of calories in a single meal.

Internet, I'd rather hang out with you. Granted, you end up costing me a lot of money (see above) but you're way less fattening, and anyway, I want to finish what I have to say about neutral eye makeup. I mean, let's face it; I'm one of the most interesting people I know. I like making the internet listen to me talk to myself. It's fun.

I also want to tell you about what I'm doing to get ready for my 30th college reunion. Yes, I said it. Thirty years.

I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone and try some new things in a last-ditch attempt to impress my classmates with how fabulous I look for my age. I bought a Murad Resurgance starter kit ($119) and started using it on May 1st.

Murad Resurgence 90 Day Kit

I also bought the new five-minute Crest Whitestrips. And some absolutely enormous vitamins.

But I don't know when I'm going to find the time to post, what with all these luncheons.

(I might actually make a video, instead.)

Just when my blogging friend blackbird is bragging about how productive I am, or, irony in action

Oh, internet, you know I love you, but I'm having a few problems with my next eye shadow post. And it has nothing to do with all the M.A.C. shadows I just bought over the internet. I am not freaking out AT ALL that M.A.C. gives their shadows all kinds of unique names like Wedge and Cork and Bamboo and Corduroy and then when you order 15 of them, it tuns out they're all exactly the same color.

(Some makeup expert I turned out to be.)

Also, I really want to scan in some pictures from some out of print books I have on makeup. I dug up a couple of excellent diagrams of the general eye area, with very clear instructions on where to put which shade of shadow. They would be so helpful. But I can't get my scanner to work.

Also, LPC kind of derailed me with a question about lilac-colored eyeshadow; specifically, whether it's OK for us old broads to wear it. (My answer is yes, of course, but only with due diligence about shimmer. And unless you're planning to star in a remake of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, I'll terminate glittery lilac-colored eyeshadow with extreme prejudice.)

So I'm getting way behind on my posting. For example, I have plans to start a regimen that I'll do for an entire month, so I can report back with a truthful, objective review (albeit marred by parenthetical remarks in italics.) I bought a Murad Get the Glow! Resurgence kit, as well as a couple of other supposedly miraculous products. I was planning to post about them on May 1st, and now I'm all BEHIND.

Capital letters were designed by the ancient Romans to express FRUSTRATION.

And now I have to go to see lovely Tony at Pascal Pour Elle (he's completely adorable) to get a blow-out because I have two cocktail parties to attend tonight.

WHAT A WHIRLWIND.

Coming soon on the Beauty Boomer

I'm derrière-deep in alligators right now, with too many social engagements, too much volunteer stuff, school stuff for my kids, and the usual pile of laundry. While I'm scurrying around doing that, I'm also working on a few posts--mentally, that is--just figuring out what direction I'm going to take next. So Internet, I'd like your opinion on what to post next. Do any of these interest you?

1. A series on neutral, everyday eye makeup: what works for women our age; what products and colors I recommend; what techniques work best.
2. A series in which I make myself into the internet's guinea pig by buying and trying some anti-aging skin care, and then reporting my findings.
3. Ideas on coordinating your look; looking polished, pulled together, and age-appropriate.
4. How I decide how much to pay for clothes, or, My So-Called Budget.

What do you think, sirs?

In Nashville, no one can hear you scream

OMG you guys, I totally deserve to drink an entire bottle of wine all by myself because seriously, if I had to answer one more phone call about today's election I was going to have to kill myself, not to mention that I really wanted to vote a straight Green Party ticket because the number of flyers and cards left on my front steps made the local pizza places seem understated and tasteful--and yet I AM NOT DOING SO because I'm desperately trying to get ready to fly to Nashville to attend BlissDom, the funnest friendliest blogging conference in the history of EVER.

But I can't find my hotel reservation information for the Opryland hotel.

So it's lucky that I forget to cancel the back-up reservation I made at a nearby Radisson when I couldn't get into the Opryland Hotel because it was sold out for the first night. Which is tomorrow.

Can you tell I'm panicking? Because I am.

What I really need is Jen Lancaster, blackbird, Susie Sunshine, and Wendy to tell me what to do and where to go. But they won't be there.

So if you see me (large, loud, bespectacled, older than I write) and I'm looking frantic because I can't find my phone and I left my laptop charger in the room and I don't know anyone, please come up and say hi.

I promise I won't cling to your neck and weep.

In which I defy the space/time continuum

I was plagued by a series of physical ailments today.

Between my sore knee and hip socket (from Thursday's fall,) a sore eye (from wearing crazy glittery eye shadow to a cocktail party on Friday night and stupidly falling into bed in a drunken stupor falling asleep without taking off my eye makeup,) and a sore back (from standing around my fire-damaged condo discussing renovation plans and then pushing around an overloaded grocery cart,) I was feeling the weight of my years.

In fact, I was feeling the weight of more years than I've actually lived. By a few decades.

My lower back hurt, my hip hurt, my knee hurt, and my right eye hurt. "This is what it's like to be 83," I said to myself. And then I went out and told those pesky kids to get off my lawn.

And then tonight, at a dinner party, I was told I look 32.

So basically, in one day, I managed to add and then subtract several decades. With almost no effort on my part.

If Alfred Einstein could come back from the dead, I could win him another Nobel prize.

I'll let you know how young I am tomorrow morning. When I've sobered up.

Bullets Thursday

• There's a stretch of sidewalk on the street where my church is that has always struck me as an accident waiting to happen. It's one of the few places in town that can be described as a hill. In places the cement has heaved, so the surface isn't as smooth as it should be. In the summer when the leaves are out, the streetlights don't really do much of anything. In the winter, when it's already dark, the crazy sidewalk develops patches of black ice. Downward slope + crazy sidewalk + darkness + ice = guess who wiped out tonight on her way to choir?

• And it was a full-on wipe-out, too. I was glad I was wearing a down jacket and thick mittens, because the padding helped protect the upper half of my body. But I hit the sidewalk pretty hard with my left knee (take that, stupid sidewalk!) and ripped my jeans.

• And I have a feeling I'm going to be very sore tomorrow.

• I don't know whether you've noticed, but I'm doing Blog365 again.


• I'm picking up the slack from Badger, who did it in 2009.

• Badger is number five in the Babble mommyblogger write-ins.

• I nominated her, and she's gone from number 365 to number 5. This may be the single most impressive thing I've done in the five years I've been blogging.

• If you think I'm exaggerating, come back tomorrow, when I'll probably be reduced to posting pictures of the owie on my left knee.

Well conducted

My children are trying to kill me.

I mean, it's not like they haven't already tired me out. Especially new teenager Poppette, who sang in a concert tonight and was thoroughly excited and delighted by that ... and twenty minutes later, was home experiencing the depths of despair! And anger! Because she lost a textbook. Honestly, it was two extremes of emotion, height and depth--occurring incredibly fast, like one of those terrifying roller coasters that takes you way up high and then shoots way, way down. And twists. And leaves you hanging upside down. Maybe under water, I don't know. And I know I'm belaboring a cliché, but:

The ride is called Teenaged Girl, and it's coming to a Six Flags near you.

So anyway, now that it's almost midnight and I badly need to be sitting here drinking the one measly glass of wine Weight Watchers will let me have, I can hear her in her bedroom. And she is not asleep. And I'm going to have to go in there and get her to go to sleep or she'll be OTE (over-tired and emotional) tomorrow.

You know, teenagers are just like toddlers. Except with hormones.

OK, you already knew that, too. And so I'm posting this picture of my church choir, taken when we were visiting Salisbury Cathedral last summer.

Because both of my teenagers in that choir, and we're taking another choir trip in a couple of weeks. See how orderly and calm and in control we all look in our blue robes?



See how lovely? Blue robes. Stained glass. Historic edifices. Beautiful music. Not plummeting to a messy death.

This is also my life. And I just figured out what we need in this house. We need a conductor. Someone to tell us what to do (and, if necessary, divert dangerous electrical charges.)

See, when I'm singing in a chorus, I do what the conductor says. I sit, stand, sing, listen, take careful notes, try to remember everything he has said. And I don't argue about what I'm told to wear. Blue choir robes? Not really my thing. I'm more drawn to the traditional black. And yet, I don't argue; I just wear the stupid thing. And it's also effective with teenagers. See the kids in the picture? They adore our conductor and do everything he says.

Is it possible to hire a conductor for something other than a musical performance? Because I'm sure that Mr. Buxom would agree that it would be a distinct improvement if someone else were in charge around here once in a while.

Why I need a vacation

My son got his exams back. While I don't need to put him on the vocational track, he's not about to get tapped for Valedictorian.

I cooked short ribs of beef to have for dinner tonight.

I did six loads of laundry.

I planned my daughter's birthday party.

I cleaned the kitchen, right down to the turtle enclosure.

I spent about 100 minutes on the treadmill.

I ordered stuff for my daughter's birthday.

She's turning 13 tomorrow.

Set phasers to stun

OK, so this morning was my son's last exam, and it was supposed to start at the uncivilized hour of 8:00. That wouldn't be so bad, except he's supposed to get there about half an hour before the exam. So my husband, who realizes I'm not an early riser and in fact, am amazingly grumpy in the morning (pay attention here, because that's what English teachers call "foreshadowing") volunteered to drive him.

So I tried to be helpful, because my husband had been doing all the math cramming and now was doing the driving. I asked my son whether he'd like a commuter cup of tea to bring with him, and went to the kitchen to fix it.

And of course, there was barely half a cup of tea in the carafe, so of course, I had to make more, and of course, my daughter had to wander in at that point, and of course, she wanted cinnamon toast for breakfast, so of course, we were out of cinnamon sugar, and of course, the butter was hard as a rock.

So I made a fresh pot of tea, mixed cinnamon sugar, toasted bread, buttered it, sugared it, cut the crusts off, ran it under the broiler so the butter would melt and the sugar would bubble just a bit, and then decided I deserved another cup of coffee, so I set up the Melita filter and proceeded to make a cup of coffee.

Which promptly overflowed the mug and got all over the counter, trickled to the floor down the front of the white cupboards, and puddled inside the drawer where I keep batteries and take-out menus and such.

I opened the drawer and said "Oh no! I got coffee in the drawer!" at which point my daughter said "Can you not complain to me?"

Internet, you would be proud of me. I merely told my daughter that she was done and should go upstairs to get dressed.

I then fixed my mug of coffee and went back to bed.

Luckily for all involved, my husband came home. I told him about my morning and we've decided we have new catch phrase.

Your best friend is ranting about her husband? Your mother is bored and unhappy in her retirement community? Your child falls and skins his knee? Dooce is tweeting that Maytag isn't doing whatever the hell it is that she wanted them to do?

Just say "Can you not complain to me?" I guarantee, this will flatten your opponent. Take it from me, Miss Grumpy in the Morning. I was in such shock, I actually clammed up. THIS NEVER HAPPENS.

Of course, I'm better now. I'm feeling talkative again--I don't know whether you've noticed--and I'm about to go around to the blogs in my sidebar and leave comments. Because today is National Delurking Day.



I found this out by visiting Rachel over at Southern Fairy Tales. And now I'm heading back to comment. Because Rachel wants me to, and so do Miss Manners and my mother. My daughter wants me to comment, too--as long as I'm not complaining.

Bullets Thursday

• Yow.

• Dealing with the aftermath of the condo fire is a little bit like telling time by looking at the second hand of a clock. The story keeps changing, so why bother to listen to it? Or maybe it's like a roller coaster ride. First the insurance guys were all "there's vaporized asbestos all over your apartment--unclean!!!" and then they were all "actually, it's OK," and then they were "OH NOEZ, U NEED MEN IN HAZMAT SUITS" and then they were "Hey, no problem; a specialized team can go in and wash everything."

And half of that ride happened TODAY. So that was tiring.

• High school continues to kick. my. ass. Final exams are next week. Somehow I suspect that this weekend will not be spent curled up on the brown sofa of love drinking wine and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD.

• That's OK because I'm back on Weight Watchers, so a glass of wine a day is about all I can handle. OK, maybe two. But no guzzling. Not if I want to also eat food.

• I went to the dentist today. (Yes, I'll go this low. Dental blogging. Hey, what's the internet for if not to give a rendition of the condition of my dentition?) Is the suspense killing you? Relax. They're fine. And the hygienist even complimented me on my gums.

• You know what's sad? I'm always pleased to remember that my teeth have already been flossed twice on the day I get them cleaned--once by me, once by the dental hygienist. And that means--ta da!--I don't really need to floss again before I go to bed. Which is AWESOME. And on a day with a diet, a dentist appointment, and a bunch of insurance hassles, awesome is good.

• I have not yet begun to take down Christmas decorations, mostly because long conference calls with insurance agents tire me right out and leave me looking longingly at the wine bottles. But also because I'm not sick of them yet. THEY'RE PRETTY.

• Hey, I made chicken cacciatore tonight and both of my children ate it!

Whine it like a mommyblogger, Part Trois

It's not all that often that I come right out and announce that I'm planning to indulge in a full-on white suburban über-privileged mommyblogger whine-fest. As in that "WANH!! I went to Sephora to buy a tube of $40 tinted moisturizer and they were sold out!" bullshit that makes you want to reach through your laptop, grab her expensively-moisturized neck, and squeeze until her eyes bulge.

So if your eyes roll over obviously well-to-do stay-at-home-mothers wringing their hands over a botched spa treatment, you'd better find something else to read. Because I'm here to complain about my weekly cleaning team.

I'll admit up front that having a bunch of women come to the house to dust, vacuum, and sanitize the bathrooms and kitchen is a wonderful luxury. After I hired them, among other benefits, incidents of food poisoning in the Buxom household fell to a record-breaking low.

And honestly, nobody should have to clean up the living quarters of a herd of pack rats, which is what we all are. I KNOW.

And I can certainly accomodate them. I can be flexible. Like when they started making the beds with the down comforters under the bedspreads--OK, that's not really what you want to do with a bunch of feathers--weigh them down under something else--but it's not hard to undo. And OK, they don't know not to wash iron skillets with soap and water? Fine. I'll hide all the skillets in the oven. And so what if they can't tell recycling from garbage and put everything in the wrong bin and I have to go outside and fix things until I feel like Phil Hartman as the Anal Retentive Chef?

But I was getting ready to type up some minutes last night, only to discover that my notes were missing. I immediately concluded that the cleaning team had found them and put them someplace. A place that made total sense to them, but as far as I was concerned, was magically counterintuitive.

And I was right. Unless you think the proper place for loose papers is in a basket under my bedside table. Under a needlepoint canvas.

And I didn't just find my handwritten notes. I found several pieces of unopened mail from the middle of October, to wit:

1. a bill
2. the stewardship packet from my church
3. my daughter's first trimester grades
4. a very official-looking IEP packet for my son
5. the instructions for how to schedule parent/teacher conferences at my son's school

Which means there are at least five people out there who think I'm an unorganized, ineffectual idiot.

Well, them and the entire internet.

Life can be very cruel.

I'm on the Nordstrom website. Even as we speak, another tab on my laptop has an entire department store open and ready for businesss. (And if you're reading this in my archives? It's still true.)

But oh Nordie's. Take thy beak from out my heart. These


are sold out in my size.

And this


is no longer available in red.

Today I am

... reading A Cotswold Killing by Rebecca Tope. It's a murder mystery I picked up in England. In the Cotswolds, actually. Yes, I am actually that much of a dink.

By the way, you know how American TV is always ripping off British shows? I think I'm going to write A Costco Killing. Yes, I just thought of that comic gem. And it's only the first category. Stick around.

Oh, and Mike, by P. G. Wodehouse, which I downloaded for free from Amazon for my iPod's Kindle app. If you have any interest whatsoever in public domain literature, (i.e., old shit that uses big words,) you should check out free e-readers like Kindle and Stanza and that one from Barnes and Noble. Trust me. You'll never be bored again.

... listening to Desolation Island by Patrick O'Brian from Audible.com. I've already read the book a couple of times and listened to Patrick Tull read it, but I have a massive audiobook hard-on for Simon Vane and felt a strong need to hear all 21 of the Aubrey/Maturin novels as read by him. Yes, I am actually that much of a dink, part deux.

... watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer via Netflix DVDs. My husband and I are catching up with awesome, cult-worthy shows that were on TV when we were busy wrangling toddlers into their footie pajamas.

It turns out that we love Buffy. We're totally addicted and begrudge every moment we can't fire up the flat screen, light the candles, pour the drinks, curl up on our giant brown velvet sofa, and head to Sunnydale, CA. We're finishing up Season 3.

And now I hear Spike will be coming back. I can't wait.

... eating leftover party food from last Saturday's Halloween party. Yes, still. I've got a bunch of containers of pulled pork and chili in the freezer. I also have innumerable bags of Goldfish and pretzels and such. Honestly, I could go another three or four days without cooking a thing, but tonight I gave everyone a break and made spaghetti with meat sauce. Tomorrow it's back to leftovers.

... drinking red wine. Shiraz. So yummy and yet, not particularly fattening.

... making a heroic effort not to let my children drive me crazy. So far I'm triumphing over insanity. No thanks to them.

... waiting for this incredible spell of damp, rainy, overcast weather to finally end. In case you haven't heard, Chicago is the new Seattle, except with fewer hipsters drinking less coffee.

... wondering whether my kids are ever going to develop any study habits.

... hoping they will because, hello, the Buffy Season 3 two-part "Graduation" episodes are supposed to be awesome.

... thinking that somebody needs to invent a laundry-folding machine.

Sometimes I think I'll never have time to blog again.

So for now, some topics, to flesh out when (if?) I have time. WITH DOOCE CAPS FOR HUMOROUS EFFECT.

1. Back to school continues to kick my ass. Big time. Maybe I'd feel better if I developed a peptic ulcer or a hysterical pregnancy or some other psychosomatic ailment so it wouldn't just be my brain freaking out all by itself. Wouldn't hives be a pleasant distraction from reality?

2. My mother has joined FaceBook. And friended me. Not just me, as in Real Name me, but also as Poppy Buxom. What if she finds my blog and reads it and discovers that I KNOW HOW TO SWEAR?

3. I'm blogging about celebrities on Mondays and Fridays at Mamarazzi. Also, today I blogged about the tragedy of Maybelline's discontinuation of my beloved Drippin' Honey lipstick over at BlogHer. Please to read and comment.

4. I've realized that the daily crap (cooking, cleaning up the kitchen, laundry, grocery shopping, decluttering, bill paying, topping off the underwear drawers) is more than enough to fill my days and I really shop STOP with the volunteer work. I should tell Girl Scouts, my church choir, the Joffrey Ballet, the Colonial Dames, and the English-Speaking Union to suck it.

5. I just agreed to continue being the recording secretary for one of these groups.

6. We went to a black-tie dinner dance on Friday night. My mother got a vicarious thrill out of it, but I'd rather have been watching a DVD.

7. I went to England. In August. And have hundreds of pictures to post/talk about. Still.

8. My phone won't stop ringing. I just don't answer it any more or I'd never get anything done. Honestly, how do you other housewives talk on the phone all day? You do, don't you? I mean, that's not just a stereotype, right?

9. I went rummage sale-ing with Wendy last Thursday. It was awesome! Wait 'til you see the gorgeous chair I bought for the deluxe apartment in the sky. IT IS FABULOUS.

10. I hear somebody leaving a really long message on my answering machine. I'd better go and check it out. Maybe it will be an INTERESTING BLOG TOPIC.

It's official. I'm Math Barbie.

So you know how life has become one long teacher telephone call?

It's because my son, a freshman in high school, is crashing and burning. And he's doing it so completely that soon I'm going knock on his bedroom door to tell him that it's time to leave for his cello lesson, and I'm going to find nothing but a bunch of skid marks and a charred, smoking smudge on his bedroom rug.

Last night I worked with him on his Latin translation for about an hour. I don't know which of the two of us found it more challenging, the person who is currently bungie jumping his Latin grade, or the person who didn't "get" Latin when she took it 40 years ago--and no, I am not exaggerating; I really am that old.

All I know that the Bible nailed it: caeci caecos ducentes, or, the blind are leading the blind. The full quotation is apt: If one blind person leads another blind person, both will fall into a ditch. So I'm hoping that I remembered a few rudiments about gender, number, and case. And didn't push him closer to the edge of the Biblical ditch.

So anyway, guess which math teacher called to tell me about trouble in math class?

My daughter's.

Whee!

Now I have to go all Japanese housewife and help both of them with their homework, make sure their backpacks are organized, blah blah blah ... but what about dinner? What about relaxing in the evening? Spending time with my Japanese husband?

Forget that. He's too busy helping our son with his math. Because I can't handle it.

So here's the deal; I've always had the first shift: taking care of household matters while the kids are in school. You know the drill; grocery shopping, laundry, dropping off the dry cleaning, decluttering, buying the underwear. This is also when I fit in some volunteer work. And blogging.

Then there's the second shift: feeding the spawn and dealing with various kid-related matters once they get home.

But I always had some free time to myself in the evening. And now ... well, I was doing Latin last night until 10:00.

Any second now I'll be standing outside holding up a sign: WILL BLOG 4 TUTORING.

Meanwhile, it's time to dust off the slow cooker. Anyone have any good recipes?