Hurry Up, The Maids Are Coming!

6 Aug

You would have thought the Queen of England was coming to my house with the way I was acting last night. “Put those shoes away! Get those dishes out of the sink! Who’s going to sweep this floor? Take the garbage out of the bathroom!” The members of my home were running around like hamsters on a wheel. Time was running out. I’d never get everything done in time. I’m getting a stress headache.

So who was coming over that was so important that I made my family clean up till the stroke of midnight? Were Branjolina and the new babies coming to visit? Maybe it was the Publisher’s Clearing House crew with my 26 pound check. Or was it was the Absolut Vodka hunk, Jason Lewis, coming to drop off a case of booze in person? Unfortunately no, it was none of those fantasy friends. It was a group that was even more ‘in-the-know” and my house had to be ready for them. Who were they, you ask?

….the maids.

Yeah, okay. Take a minute to process that one. I’m cleaning my house so the maids won’t think my family is a group of slobs. Now if any of you have or had a maid, you know exactly where I’m coming from. There is a line between what is acceptably clean and what is “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me!” dirty. I’m sure for the most part I was being obsessive compulsive. But then again, if I was that OCD I wouldn’t need a maid in the first place.

For the most part, I’ve always been able to handle my house on my own with the help of my husband and two kids. It’s been much more difficult, however, since I had had three shoulder surgeries and four hernia operations within the past 8 years. I’ve had to cave in to the fact I can no longer reach, grab, push, pull, lift, carry, and stand for long periods of time. That pretty much takes away my ability to do much cleaning now at all. My husband isn’t the most together person when it comes to cleaning either. He was the only child of a stay-at-home Italian mom and didn’t realize that clothes didn’t wash and fold themselves till he was around 25. In fact, while helping me after my first hernia surgery, he actually called me on his cell phone from our basement to ask me what the knobs on the washing machine were for. Give me strength.

With a foot surgery on my upcoming agenda and no idea how long I will be out of commission for, I decided to break down and hire a cleaning service. I don’t feel bad that I am now aware that I can’t take care of my house by myself. Hell no, I’m not that proud. I’m upset because I have to let a van full of women see my cluttered, disarranged abode. There is no privacy paper you sign when the maid service comes to your house either. Everything they see will be discussed amongst the living before the end of the day. And because of this “all seeing, all knowing” clause that you know is in fine print, anything not in place must be put in place ASAP. Things such as all dirty socks buried under the couch. All of the toenail clippings on the floor that no one will claim must be disposed of. All pay stubs must be filed. All wine glasses must be washed and their accompanying empty bottles must be disposed of. And the collection of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issues must be “put away for safe keeping” as per my husband.

So if all this is going to be done, why bother to get a maid? I guess it’s because a home is easy to de-clutter but not easy to clean. And when the time comes to remove the clutter, somehow accumulated crud appears where clutter once was. By that point, to most wives and moms, it’s overwhelming to the point of tears. Cleaning services are awesome. They get down on their knees and scrub the bathroom places that I only see when tying my shoe while taking a pee. They will clean my kitchen and dining room floor with a nail brush. They chisel off the Spaghettios that have become a permanent fixture in my microwave. They will suck out the fuzz from under the refrigerator. They will polish the candlestick holders that Aunt Melva gave to my mother-in-law who in turn gave to us which honestly don’t match a damn thing but my husband says we can’t get rid of due to sentimental value. At this point, they have accumulated sediments … not sentiments. They will tackle this home with a shop vac, old t-shirt scraps and Windex. And for this I will pay them. I will pay them well, and I will nominate them for cleaning sainthood.

So as soon as I finish getting my house in order, I will be ready for them to come in and tackle my dusty, dingy but full of love and appreciation home. I just hope to hell they don’t open the hallway closet. If they do, the chances are good they will be attacked by a hockey stick, a computer charger, 15 X-Box games, an empty six-pack of coke, Christmas decorations, and a box of stale Cheerios. I’ll have to make a note to get that cleaned out before next Spring.

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Cosmetic Review: Sephora’s Atomic Volume Mascara

15 Jul

ATOMIC VOLUME MASCARA

By Sephora Brand

Price: $16 at Sephora.com and Sephora retail stores

Item Description:

What it is: mega-volume mascara.

What it does: Sephora Brand Atomic Volume Mascara blows all other mascaras away. An innovative tubular brush applicator with a lash-lengthening comb perfectly separates lashes for a full, sexy flutter. The advanced color formula conditions lashes, keeping them pretty, healthy, and capable of causing an explosion.

Things I like: Lasts ALL day; no smudging, smearing, running or flaking; very lengthening; thickening but not clumping; blackest of black color; one coat coverage; fabu-licious applicator!

Things I don’t like: Hmmmm, let me think. Ah, none.

Rankings:

Packaging Design: 5 out of 5

Portability/Convenience: 5 out of 5

Wearability: 5 out of 5

Shade/Color Variety: 5 out of 5

Value: 5 out of 5

Overall Ranking (on a scale from 1 – 10): 10

Likely To Buy It Again? Absolutely!

Why?

Let me start by saying I am a mascara fuss pot. I don’t try a lot of different mascaras, and I like even less. With the weather where I live changing from wet to dry in an instant, and temperatures fluctuating from freezer to oven within a month, my skin can definitely lose all control. My eyes are a true show of these rapid changes. With the wrong makeup, it’s easy to tell that the “hazy hot & humid” alert has gone off as you slowly see my eyes sliding down into an oil slick on my cheeks. Ugh.

Rewind to a few weeks ago when I made a stop to my local retail Sephora heaven and picked up a few things that I probably didn’t need. When I checked out, I had qualified for a deluxe sample and I had my choice of three things. Two of them I had already (you can see the pattern already, can’t you?) but the third was a new mascara from Sephora called Atomic Volume. I knew nothing about it—didn’t know the shade or the formula—but I’m always willing to try new glamour. Like I do with all of my new buys and latest samples, I tried it out as soon as I got home.

The first thing I notice when I applied the mascara was how long it made my lashes. Not just fluttery long… killer-looking, curly long!! This is a big selling point for me as my lashes are very straight and short. Next I realized how awesome the unique applicator was. It’s tubular with lots of little combs. It doesn’t have one of those poofy mushy brushes. It’s precise. It gets even the smallest of lashes in the corners and crannies. This applicator made each lash thick, but not clumpy or sticky at all. Ok, so I must love it 100%, right? I mean it did pass every test, didn’t it? Not yet. Now comes the test of time…. And this will decide if it is a mascara that can run with the big boys.

I took the mascara off at bedtime that night with my usual waterproof eye makeup remover. It took two cotton balls to get all the mascara off, but that’s why a mascara is good…stay-power. The next morning I curled my skimpy lashes, applied my new Atomic sample of mascara, and left the house to go about my daily routine of this and that. Other than touching up my lip gloss here and there during the day, I barely check my makeup. I don’t have time to be a mirror monger. So at the end of my hectic craziness, I headed home to put on my super lounge clothes and take my face off. When I peeked in the mirror to see how my mascara held up, I was more than pleasantly surprised: I was flat out amazingly shocked! My lashes… my ubersexy lashes… looked as perfecto as they did when I put the mascara on first thing that morning. Not one flake of black. Not one smudge of creamy soot. Long, luscious lashes after ten strenuous hours, and they were still going strong!

That’s it. I was in love. And it was with a black, teardrop shaped tube.

Until they either stop making it or I need falsies (lashes that is), I have found my one and only mascara. Sephora’s Atomic Volume is the answer to my lash prayers. It is my new number one fave glamour item, and I have already started spreading the word. This is one item that you just cannot miss with all year ‘round!

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“Ex”treme Stupidity?

8 Jul

I’ve you ever noticed that after you break up with your mate, they seem to become dumb overnight? Or maybe you find it to be a process… that they have their head on somewhat straight early on, but as time goes by, their intelligence dims to the wattage of a Christmas tree bulb.

I realized this recently with my ex-husband. I have to interact with him on a human level about twice a month when my teenage children go to his house for their “weekend father” visit. If it was possible, I wouldn’t even stop the car and look at him when I go to drop off the kids. And if they were more athletic, I would teach them how to leap from a slow moving vehicle so I wouldn’t even have to down-shift the car from second gear. But somewhere in my custody papers I think it reads I actually have to put the car in park. No where does it say, however, that I have to turn off the ignition. Thank God.

I know I am going to have to converse with my ex as an adult, or as close as he can get, when I get to the drop off location and he gets out of his car and motions for me to roll down my window. When he does this I can feel my stomach roll and I immediately start reaching for the elixir of Pepto and Tylenol. He’s wants to speak. To me. Out loud. Oh lord, give me strength. Ever since my ex and I divorced, he loves to “chat” with me about his latest ideas, inventions, outings, and dreams. The first few years he did this, a good portion of them seemed decent. Buying a house, savings bonds, things like that. They weren’t always pursued in a way that I would I do them, but still it showed he was putting thought into something. Then somewhere along the way, the “EX”treme Stupidity factor set in. Now every couple of months or so he feels the need to share with me the details about his latest undertakings. Stupid stupid stupid undertakings. These could be anything such as a picture-taking endeavor in a woods full of ticks and mosquitoes to click some slides of deer and butterflies (even though he has thousands of these, and takes new ones every weekend), the patent his father and him want to get for a magnet-operated car, the newest get-rich-quick scheme that he’s been “personally selected” to participate in, or his development of medical knowledge when his last date informed him of the clinical definition of a hermaphrodite. I’ll leave that last statement alone for now, as it really deserves a post all by itself.

In my ex-husband’s defense, I will say that he is not very informed. But that’s by choice. He does not have cable TV. Actually he gets no TV whatsoever as he lives in the woods in the middle of nowhere (hence the bug and animal photos). He has a computer with dial-up internet access but never logs on to read the latest headlines because that costs money. FYI, my ex likes to conserve money whenever possible and is always looking for a way to get more of it. He says he’s thrifty. I say he’s flat out cheap. So where does he get the majority of his worldly information? Are you ready for this?… the mail. The junk mail. And that’s enough of a foundation for a disaster in itself.

Because it is delivered by the U.S. Postal Service, my ex feels that everything that enters the black box with a red flag is legit and good. Everything. This included the stuffing envelopes for thousands of dollars invitation, the newest vitamin for weight-loss newsletter, the “How To Rid Yourself Of Cancer-Causing Chemicals” magazine offer, how he’s been chosen to get his latest bird picture published in a feature book for a “small” processing fee, and the selling of legal services to needy individuals (but only if he buys the service for himself first) job offer. The list is long, pathetic, and very detailed. But you get my drift.

You would think that the longer your ex is out on his own, the more street savvy he would become. I mean, why wouldn’t he? You did! Honestly, after the break-up, someone actually handed you a bag of clues, and you reached in an got one! But the longer you two are apart, the more obscure the statements that leave their mouth become. Now for me personally, I can take extreme enjoyment in being able to tell my ex that his latest venture is about as promising as a loaf of bread rising without yeast. Or water. Or in my ex’s case, even flour. But that might be because I can be a sassy sadistic shit at times. Can it be true that the father of my children has an I.Q. that is declining more quickly than the water level in my humidifier? Or is it because I only notice his wrongs instead of his rights now that we are apart? Maybe I just want to believe – and gloat – that our divorce made me a smarter, stronger, more cautious, more alert individual than him. Could that be true? Hmmmmm. I’m not sure. I’ll have to see about that one.

I’ll let you know what I think right after he sends his large Money Gram to a public relations firm in Guam in order to make a few extra hundred dollars after being selected to the prestigious position of “Mystery Shopper of the Month.”

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So, you want to feel a little “sassy” today?

6 Jul

‘Then get spruced up

and laugh and dance

And turn away from worry

with sassy glance.‘

~ Weekend Glory by Maya Angelou

Welcome to my blog! Man, I hate that line. It’s so routine, so overused, so blasé. But honestly, what the heck are you supposed to say at the beginning? “Hi! I have PMS and am craving salt & chocolate at the same time! My nail polish is chipping, I have three loads of laundry to do, and I just got my bank statement in the mail!” Come on. That kind of fun doesn’t start for at least another week or so. At least not till the PMS really gets here

.So I guess the main reason why I’m doing this blog is because 1) I can make people laugh by telling them about my life and 2) I’m a glamour junkie. Now, you are asking yourself, “How do those go together?” They don’t. Not at all. Only when I put on a new sparkle eye shadow wrong and my eyes look like two disco balls, do the two intersect. But that doesn’t happen…well, not that often.

You’re going to find two things on this blog. The first is an occasional story or journal entry about something crazy that has happened recently in my life. What makes that so funny is it probably has happened to you, and you will find comfort and humor in knowing you are not alone. The second thing I’m going to do is discuss glamour-type girlie stuff. This will range in reviewing some of my favorite cosmetic items, tricks of the trade, new goodies and finds, and whatever else girls talk about over coffee at Starbucks.

I don’t have a regular 9 – 5 job. I can thank various health issues for that. Then again, my bickering teenage children, my endless doctor appointments, my cats’ constant hairballs, and my mother’s mission to discuss bowel habits 24/7 makes it almost impossible to have a normal day anyways. No wonder I medicate.

So I hope you enjoy this. Feel free to email me if you want to throw your two cents in about anything regarding cosmetics, fashion, or men. Don’t bother to try and throw your two cents about my mother though. You’ll need those two cents to put towards your therapy. My mother will do that to you.

Like what you see? Have some comments you’d like to share? Want to tell me you think I’m awesome or I’m as whacked as a feline on catnip? Feel free to email me. You can reach me by email at: SassyAuburn@nycap.rr.com

Ready to have some fun? Grab a cocktail and enjoy!

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How It All Began…”Sex and the City” Style!

1 Feb

**Note To Reader**: This post was written at least eight years and forty pairs of shoes ago….

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About a year ago, a newer friend of mine commented that I was wearing a pair of earrings just like a pair that Sarah Jessica Parker had worn in an episode of “Sex And The City”. I told her I wouldn’t know because I had never seen one show. I had to sit her down and give her a paper bag to breathe into, she was so shocked. She thought sure I was a Carrie junkie. This is the second time in my adult years that someone has told me they had me pegged for a “SATC” girl. I didn’t see it. I couldn’t find myself relating to thirty-something women who lived to buy shoes in Manhattan and sleep with any man who would give them a second glance. I thought I related more to moms who carried Clorox coupons, females who thought the smell of chocolate cookie dough was sexy for a body lotion, and women who wore bras that were over 8 years old because … well… they could? Geesh, maybe I did need to add to my circle of friends.

For starters, I have only been to Manhattan three times in my life. And I live in New York! The only purchases I made while in NYC were a lime green scarf which I love and a designer lip gloss from Sephora which I still use. Not once during any of my trips did I ever go into a shoe store. Why would I? The fact is, I honestly have less than 10 pairs of shoes in my entire closet at any given time. Of course, boots don’t count in the summer and sandles don’t count in the winter. I have two pairs of sneakers, three pairs of high heels, a pair of professional slip ons that are kept stricly for business appointments (they are very comfortable, but have no style), and the rest are seasonal. And of the six mainstays, five are black. Colored shoes scare me.

The sleeping with strangers script doesn’t stimulate any of my senses. Above or below the waist. Maybe that’s because I’ve had less lovers in my lifetime than I have shoes in my closet right now. Maybe it’s because I’ve been happily married to the same man for ten years…consecutively, too. Maybe it’s because I would rather spend a chunk of coin on a good lipstick than a carton of condoms. No nevermind. This cultish fem show wasn’t one I would set my TiVo for. I’d rather tape a repeat showing of game seven of the 2003 American League baseball series than spend 27 minutes learning how to match a dress with new snake-skin Prada stilletos in order to sleep with the bartender of a martini bar. Gag me with an olive.

During my past winter from hell, where almost every week was spent in bed with some sort of respiratory bug, I became to hate all daytime TV. I had no interest in knowing the results of the eighth DNA test for some woman in Texas. I had learned the price of every shopping item from a pack of Trident gum to a new Ford Fusion. I had seen every deliquent cell phone bill and dog bite lawsuit on every possible judge show. I had a high definition TV, the remote all to my self, 1000 possible cable channels, and I was more entertained by taking a nap than anything I could find on television. So, while stumbling through my “On Demand” channels one day to see if anything was being replayed that I knew was good, like Bugs Bunny cartoons or past episodes of “Good Times”, I saw it. Then entire last season of “Sex And The City” available for me to watch at no cost with just a click of a blue button. Should I? Had my boredom reached its all-time low? Oh what the hell. I convinced myself that I was not turning it on to see if I liked it, but turning it on to get details about why I wouldn’t. I wanted to give my my friend examples of the lame storylines and the tacky trists of the main characters that did not interest me one ounce. With my finger on the cancel button, I began watching the first episode of the last season.

Nine hours later, I was still strewn out in front of the TV in the same clothes I had slept in the night before, covered with granola bar crumbs eating chocolate truffles and drowning in an empty six pack of red labeled Coke bottles. I was down to watching the series finale with tissues in hand ready for the flow of tears. Oh God, it was true: I was officially a “SATC” girl.

Now that the show has officially ended, I have to watch the previous episodes in syndication or on HBO’s On Demand service. Have I turned into such a junkie that I actually SURF the cable guide looking for any past show? Oh hell no. I’ll still bypass a night with Carrie and Mr. Big (yeah, okay, we’re on a first name basis now) to watch a good football game. But if it’s 1 a.m. and it’s either cosmopolitans with “the girls” or watching an infomercial for a health food juicer?

No thinking involved. Hand me a martini glass. With a twist.

Contact Form

25 Jan

Thanks for your interest in contacting me!
Okay, let me get a cup of coffee and put on my slippers. Cream and sugar have been added, feet are propped up… I’m all set!

Now tell me what’s on your mind!

Have you found a new cosmetic item you’re dying to talk about? Need some ideas to help you pick out a new look? Maybe you want my opinion about a fashion question you have. Wondering what cool things I have discovered lately? If you take the time to ask, I’ll take the time to answer… the best I can! And if I don’t think I can give you the best possible advice, I’ll make sure I find someone who will.

Can’t wait to hear from you!!

 

 

 

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SASSY’S DISCLAIMER

1 Jan

This is the posting policy for Sassy Auburn’s Diary of a Glamour Junkie. I’m a real-life fashionista and you bet I’m going to keep it real when I write, too!

All editorial content published on Sassy Auburn’s blog is for general informational purposes only. They are never meant to harm any religion, ethnic group, organization, company or individual.

The opinions expressed are based on the author’s personal use, experience and research and do not represent any advertiser, affiliate, organization, public relations firm or company. Samples, trials and products submitted for review are for consideration only. Sassy Auburn does not accept monetary compensation for product reviews and will not guarantee a review, positive or negative. Almost all products featured on my blog have been purchased by myself. When a product has been submitted for review by a company or organization and not purchased or obtained by me personally, I will make readers aware of that fact.

Any unauthorized copying, reproduction, republishing, uploading, posting, transmitting or duplicating of any of the material on Sassy’s blog is prohibited. To obtain permission to copy portions of the blog, please e-mail me at:

SassyAuburn@nycap.rr.com

If you own the rights to any of the images used and do not wish for them to appear on this site, please contact me and they will be removed promptly.

The information on my blog may change without notice and is not guaranteed to be complete, correct or up-to-date. By using the blog, you consent to full responsibility for any loss resulting from it.

If you have any questions or concerns about this disclaimer, please contact me through the link on my homepage.

Now, with all that legal stuff being said…. enjoy my blog, fashionistas!!

This is only a test….

1 Jan

Hey followers!

I am in the process of updating my website so if you are reading this…. hang tight. We will be up and running again soon. You can still access older posts by scrolling through the main blog!

Thanks beauties!

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