One of the advantages of being an old fart

is that stuff you find completely old-hat, cliché, goes-without-saying actually needs to be articulated once in a while.



Which explains why my latest BlogHer Beauty Hacks post is about new-fangled products like lipstick, powder, and cold cream.

I've failed the internet

Today's my day to post on Mamarazzi, and I didn't have the heart to say anything mean about Michael Jackson.

But I took the opportunity to take a swipe at Perez Hilton, because what's a Mamarazzi entry without some snark? And he's a first-class creep who deserves it.

Call me petty, but I'm enjoying the twitter #unfollowPerez backlash.

Martha Stewart 1, Fred Sanford 0

Don't you love a false sense of accomplishment?

Yesterday I was on the phone with Susie Sunshine for just under three hours. Yes, THREE HOURS.

After a morning like that, you'd think I'd feel like a total sloth, but you'd be wrong. Because last month I scheduled a rummage pick-up, and the truck came by today.

They came to take away the Sheraton-style love seat that has been cluttering up my living room since the new sofa arrived from Ballard Designs. But while they were there, I got them to take the old L. L. Bean futon and frame and the Ikea kiddy table off the front porch.

I guess I haven't mentioned that last Wednesday, I found a white wicker table and chairs at a local antique shop, shut my eyes, and handed over my credit card. They're cute, they fit the space perfectly, and what could be better than another place to sit and eat? Now, no matter what the weather, we have a full range of choices of places to sit and feed our faces.

They were delivered on Saturday. They look awesome! And made for a half-way attractive porch. I say half-way because my old furniture was pushed down to the opposite end of the porch waiting to be junked. It was like I had a split personality, half Martha Stewart, half Fred Sanford.

But now the truck has gone away with my junk on board, leaving me with an almost clutter-free porch. All I have left is a few packages to mail, conveniently located out of the range of this picture:



And just think--I totally get my money's worth of any bouquet I put on the new table, because I can see it from the living room, too. What a deal! (I jest. I cannot tell a lie. I grew the roses myself. And cut them with my little hatchet.)






I have a feeling that the decorating books probably wouldn't approve of the Big Boy bank, Disneyworld snow globes, bowl of shells, and broken timer. Well, maybe the Domino book will be OK with it, but let's hope the Schumacher book doesn't notice my inner Fred manifesting itself.

Morgan Freeman gives me the creeps, and other stories

• It continues to rain in an Old Testament fashion. Speaking of that, have you ever noticed that the ceiling of a Gothic church looks like the hull of a frigate? I noticed this again last Sunday. A few more days of rain, and I'm heading to church, where I'll barricade myself and wait for a tidal wave to flip the church over, a la The Poseidon Adventure.

(In this remake, the Shelley Winters part will be played by Poppy Buxom.)


Then I'll sail that mother to Boston in time for the Tall Ships parade. You read it here first.

In the meantime, river, stay away from my new deck cushions.

• Speaking of new deck cushions, I've become obsessed with interior decoration. Obsessed. I think it's because I've finally finished my yard, and there's not a whole lot I can do with my children during summer vacation. Right now they're both lying around being fallow. Which means it's time to think about ... drumroll ... window treatments! Because not even Scarlet's best frenemy Melanie would consent to wear a dress made out of this fabric:


Yes, my living room walls are pink.

• I claim to be obsessed with interior decorating. But who knows whether I'm telling the truth? You will if you're coming to BlogHer. Because if you're reading this, and you're going to BlogHer 2009, you might be interested in coming to my cocktail party on Saturday, July 25.

Now, I don't want to start any Mommyblogging wars, but this party is not corporate sponsored, it's Poppy Buxom sponsored. It also takes place not in a hotel ballroom, but at my apartment, which is conveniently located four blocks from the Sheraton. And I don't let just anyone put out cigarettes on my floor, so I'm not inviting everyone. Just everyone who ever left a comment or went to BlissDom09 or reads Mamarazzi or is a fellow BlogHer Beauty Hacker or follows me on Twitter. I'll be sending out e-vites, so if you're interested, leave me a comment or shoot me an email.

Party! Yay!

• And speaking of Mamarazzi, which I kind of was up there, if you haven't heard about Morgan Freeman and his step-granddaughter, waste no time and check out my latest Mamarazzi entry. In a word: ew.

The truth revealed. Also, my va-jay-jay.

Hey everybody! My vagina is the internet!

But before I get into that, let me deal with the two truths and a lie situation.

1. I'm a published author--not a blog. A book.
True. An essay of mine, written when I was still a card-carrying intellectual, appeared in a collection of scholarly essays edited by a couple friends of mine. Which came out in book form about 10 years ago. Duke University Press. Yes, you'd never guess. And yes, I have killed quite a few brain cells since then.

2. One time when I was partying with some friends at a record company, Keith Richards came in and offered me some coke, but I told him no thanks, I had some of my own.
False. Doing lines of cocaine with Keith Richards is a lie, insofar as it didn't actually happen to me. It happened to my oldest friend when she was at college in California. I went to college in Massachusetts, where you hardly ever meet rock stars. (If you went to college in California, please don't comment that you hung out with rock stars all the time. I already have all the degrees any housewife needs, and anyway, it would look weird if I started applying to college at this point. Although I probably would breeze through the essay part, what with almost five years of blogging under my belt.)

3. I didn't learn how to drive a car until I was 35 years old. True. Where I grew up there was a lot of good public transportation. And boyfriends with cars. So I didn't feel the need to learn to drive until I moved to Chicago and lived in the doughnut hole of Hyde Park, which, yes, is an oasis of integration and intellectuals and also where Barack Obama used to live, but is also surrounded on three sides by extremely non-gentrified housing and one side by Lake Michigan. There is public transportation, but it involves first heading into the Loop and transferring to the bus or train that will take you elsewhere in the city. It takes forever. So I learned to drive.

And now, about my va-jay-jay: I went to the lady doctor today for the annual weight, blood pressure, feel-the-boobs, get-up-in-the-stirrups swabfest, and when I left, I was handed a card with the url to a website and the instructions for how to log on and get the results of my pap smear.

This is probably news to absolutely no one out there. You've probably been checking out your cervix on the internet for ages. But it was news to me. Which just shows you how long it's been since I was up in the stirrups, whoops.

But now? My vagina is on the internet.

I feel just like Paris Hilton.

Two truths and a lie

1. I'm a published author--not a blog. A book.

2. One time when I was partying with some friends at a record company, Keith Richards came in and offered me some coke, but I told him no thanks, I had some of my own.

3. I didn't learn how to drive a car until I was 35 years old.

The Tale of the Mad Hatter, or how to lose weight.

OMG! You guys! I shopped my ass off yesterday. Literally.

I have a Mad Hatters luncheon to attend today. (I know! My life is so wacky!) I went out to buy either 1) a hat or 2) an outfit that would work with the two lovely hats I already own. One is light brown straw trimmed with navy grosgrain, and I bought it about 10 years ago to wear with a navy blue wrap dress. The other hat is a dream of beauty; it's pink straw trimmed with pink flowers and I bought it to wear with a cute pink suit.

Then I gained a shitload of weight, and the navy dress and pink suit are both way too tight.

So it was either buy something that goes with navy or pink OR buy a black hat to go with the mostly black clothes I'm wearing these days. (Because I'm in deep mourning for my lost figure.)

I headed to Nordstrom because from the looks of their website, they'd have something appropriate. But most of their hats sent off a utilitarian vibe. They were clearly designed primarily to keep either sun or rain off their wearer.

But there was one broad brimmed black number that I thought would be OK. But I didn't love it, so I thought I'd check to see if I could find a cute flippy skirt to go with a pink jacket I have, and then I could stun the world with the sight of me in the gorgeous pink hat I already own.

On the way to the escalator I spotted these shoes



And thought, like Arnold, "I'll be back."


Well, it turns out that cute flippy skirts were not to be had. There were acres of jeans and Bohemian tops, but if you wanted to wear something other than pants, you had a choice of bathing suit cover-ups or cocktail dresses. There was nothing in between.

But while looking for a dress or skirt to wear to lunch, I found a black evening gown that looked like it would work, and was really surprisingly not-that-expensive ($138) and looked great on me, so I snagged it. And I felt lucky to find it, because I really didn't like much of what they had, except for some St. John knits stuff. And that stuff is cruelly expensive.

Then I went down and tried on the shoes, and they were amazingly comfortable, so I got them. So I went back and bought their no-so-bad black hat

So picture me carrying one of those long dress bags, a bag with the new shoes, and believe it or not, one of those huge round hat boxes--the kind of hat box you only see in the movies. When I spotted this bag:



Reader, I bought it.

And now, my friends, you see why I married Mr. Buxom in his third year of law school. So I could shamelessly mooch off his big lawyer bucks.

And I know it's not very mommyblogger of me to prance around throwing fistfuls of money in the air. It's not even very Poppy Buxom of me. Hell, my moribund shopping blog is about saving money, not splurging.

But I'll tell you something. Those rich thin celebrities who are always having their pictures taken at Barney's? (Katie Holmes, I'm talking to you.) That's how they stay thin.

And I'll tell you how I know. I'm back on the South Beach Diet. It's been about 10 days. You probably know the drill. Lots of protein and veggies and not much else. Well, yesterday morning I didn't think I could face another egg, so I breakfasted on a handful of raw almonds. And then at 2:00 I went shopping. And I was not hungry at all. And the rush of shopping endorphins kept me full until dinner.

And this morning I weighed myself, and I've lost five pounds since last Monday.

Maybe I need to go hang out in the St. John section at Nordstrom. I could call it a spa day.