Your Girlfriend is Ugly

Eye trauma

I'm convinced that the years of mascara wearing has done something horrible to my eyelashes.

I've stated before that I am the girl that wears mascara everywhere. Even if I'm going to the gym or grocery shopping I make sure to at last have a swipe of it on. Why? Because I look scary and sickly without it.

Anyway recently I've been having issues with foreign objects being lodged in my eye balls. Eye lashes are, by definition, there to protect the eye from such debris. However, last Friday I spent about five minutes trying to fish a piece of red string out of my eye balls. That's right, a long red string was swimming around in my left ocular area. When I finally grabbed a hold of the string it was so long that for a second I thought I'd caught a vein and then had visions of my eye popping out and landing on my Blackberry.

Mer.

Two weekends ago I was exfoliating my face with a products who's exfoliating scrubbies are really big and rough. Just how I like it. After I was done with my scrubbing I grabbed a towel and patted my mug dry only to be met with a feeling that gravel was geing poured into my right eye. A piece of the exfoliator had gotten in there and wasn't going anywhere. I actually started to freak out. I submerged my entire face in a sink full of water and opened up my eyes hoping to flush the intruder out. After about forty-five minutes the gravelly feelingfinally went away. Either the exfoliant shrunk to nothing or just admitted defeat and fell out. Either way it was brutal.

Between string, exfoliant and my own long eye lashes it seems that every day I am complaining about something being in my eye! And I hate complainers and whiners so you can imagine how much this eye situation is bugging me out.

As I write this blog I am being harassed by a medium sized blob of black mascara that is doing kart-wheels in my left eye.

Now that's a muffin top!

I have just received the largest muffin I've ever seen in my life from one of my vendors:

Like. Whoah. How do you even go about making one of those? And imagine the amount of jam you'd have to use in order to enjoy this mountainous baked good?! I suppose you could actually experiment with various spreads since the landscape of this muffin is so vast.

Unfortunately I don't have enough coffee to wash left to wash this beast down. That, and it has raisins (blech). But its the thought that counts! And I'm sure someone will enjoy it!

Fun with Kinoki Foot pads!

Hi everyone!

I'm not here again BUT you can check me out over at Dailymakeover.com. In case you haven't been keeping up, Daily Makeover is an industry blog that I write for. This week my blog about the Kinoki Foot Pads was posted.

Go check it out. I guarantee you'll be running out to get a box of them to try for yourself.

Xx

Where's my Whitney sweat rag at?

I enjoy the heat when I am on the beach, in a bathing suit oiled down with Hawaiian Tropic SPF 4 and having the option to cool off in the Atlantic if I start to melt.

I do not enjoy the heat when I have to pimp around. I don't like sweating the second I walk out of my door and having my eye shadow crease and run down to my chin.

Not. Cute.

I attended a trade show at the Javits in NYC today. But first I had to head to the Chinese Consulate in the morning to secure my visa -btdubbs my trip got pushed back one week so I don't leave until the 17th. Guest bloggers anyone?-. Along with my coworker I squished into the consulate and waited for my number to be called. Thirteen seconds into waiting the sweat began to trickle down my back.

Oh boy. I was also wearing dark denim with a light yellow shirt. Horray for back sweat stains!

After dealing with the Chinese woman taking my info and paper work - she actually told me that she couldn't understand me because my Engrish wasn't good?!- I walked from 42nd and 12th to the Javits on 38th and 11th. Not far, but I was drenched by the time I got there.

It's so nasty! I like don't even sweat, I rain! I have my own climate for crying out loud! I didn't want to scare any vendors with my mutant like pit stains so I wore my hoodie until I could feel myself actually drying out. And it has to be said that it's not even hot out. It's sunny but a nice 75 degrees. It's not as if it's 90 with 100% humidity. There's a nice zephyr for crying out loud. Half way through the show the coolness of my shirt touched my back, sending a shiver up my spine and I knew I was in the clear.

It's one thing to pit out when you're at the gym, it is quite another when you're in a professional environment reaming someone out about pricing as a rivulet of sweat trickles from your elbow crease.

The other night, I had my friends from LA staying at my apartment. True to the random nature of New England weather it was humid and perfect for swamp ass. We were sitting at my apartment having over sized hamburgers when I took a napkin and wiped a sweat droplet from my face. Vanessa looked at me and said, "Are you crying?"

Not wanting to tell her that I was in fact perspiring in place, I passed it off as a joke and said, with mock sadness, "I'm just so happy you guys are here!!!" She laughed and I excused myself to go and blot my face.

I'm ready to become a snow bunny.

I'm gonna do it!!!

I am going to drink so much water today.

That one there on the left, that's the tank. I'm going to make it my mission to ingest three of those lovers by the time I leave work today.

1.5 liters of pure, crystal, velvety Smaht Watah.

I'll probably end up vomiting after I down three of them but I really have to do it. My "water" intake yesterday was a coffee x 4, a seltzer water, a glass of white wine and a gigantic frozen strawberry margarita.

I felt like poop on a shoe by the time I went to bed at 1:36a.m. this morning.

I'm off to go pound the fluids. I'll check back with you all by end of day to give an update on my progress.

Let me see your Scottish salute!

I am currently obsessed with Craig Ferguson of The Late Late Show.

I just think he is so damn sexy. Ok...well maybe not in the above picture but how about this one:

I mean come on! YUM!!!

He's on super late, after another one of my obsessions, Letterman (how do you NOT love Letterman's laugh??!!) but I usually tune in because I'm typically wide awake due to paranoia and the impending doom I feel about how my life is on a slow boat to nowhere. The second he begins his monologues and starts to gesticulate wildly I settle in for some late night chuckles.

And Craigykins does make me laugh. He's able to make me giggle myself to sleep with his shifty eyes, putty like face that contorts into the weirdest shapes and his insanely thick eye brows. The Scottish accent doesn't hurt either.

In my humble opinion, he's better looking than Conan (who looks like he should be albino) and funnier than Leno. He doesn't quite top my Letterman just yet, but he's definitely easier on the eyes than the familiar host of the Late Show.

And, Craig is wedding ring free. Meh...a girl can dream.

The Joys of Cooking.

As you all know I was in Baltimore this past weekend. Well on Saturday after a thoroughly enjoyable day of shopping and busting around Jen decided to cook us spaghetti squash. No idea what spaghetti squash is? No worries, neither did I.

Spaghetti Squash, which is it's actual name, is a type of squash that, when cooked and cut open, the insides actually look like spaghetti. Does it taste like spaghetti? No. But it also doesn't give me IBS like the real deal either. And the brilliant thing, is that it pretty much tastes like whatever you put on it. Want some tomato sauce? Go for it? How about a nice creamy pumpkin sauce? YUM!

All of this fun experimentation for basically no calories!

On Monday I headed to the grocery store for our weekly shopping trip. I happen to LOVE grocery shopping. I had my typed out, alphabetical by department, then alphabetical with in department, list and was ready to get to it.

As I sidled up to the produce section I started with the apples, then some carrots, red peppers...oh...look...there's the squash! Well I think I'll grab one and make some spaghetti with it!

Also on the list was a roasted chicken and various other sundries that I enjoyed purchasing with Shana's Amex.

I headed home giddy with the idea that I'd be making the spaghetti squash. I informed my sister of the fun we would have when I plopped this gem in the microwave.

"Well why don't you make it tonight? I mean I think it will be too late for the roasted chicken."

"OK!"

I thought back to what Jen did: stabbed it with a fork a few times, then wrapped it in paper towel and placed in the microwave on high for 5 minutes. Once that side was done I'd flip it and put the other side on high for 5 minutes.

While the squash cooked I prepared some sauce and little mini garlic breads on reduced fat english muffins.

Ten minutes went by and it was still rock hard. Hmmmm...maybe I really need to do the full twelve minutes like Jen did.

After two minutes it was still rock hard.

I put it in for another ten minutes and putzed around my apartment, lighting candles and randomly vacuuming up hair balls with our mini Dirt Devil.

After twenty-two minutes the squash did not look that great. The skin had turned a strange shade of gray and it appeared that it was bubbling.

Hi you've reached the mobile phone of Jen Katz. Please leave your name and number and a brief message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

*beeeeeeeeep*

"Um. Hi. It's me. I'm trying to make this spaghetti squash and well it's not really happening for me. Can you call me back thanks."

I decided to make it a solid twenty-five minutes for it to be in the microwave. Surely after that it would have to be done.

After my microwave informed me that my food was ready I extracted it from the revolving plate and placed it on our counter.

Hmm...the skin felt tender. Save for the bubbling squash pustules it looked OK. I took a knife and chopped into it. And what I found was neither spaghetti looking nor squash looking.

What once was I'm sure the flesh of the squash was now just a shriveled up mess of orange and seeds. Gross. Maybe my microwave was just too hardcore to cook a squash in. I discarded the remnants into the trash, converted my mini garlic breads into mini pizzas and poured a glass of wine.

Then my cell phone burbled.

"Hey! It's me!" It was Jen.

"Oh man. The spaghetti squash was a disaster."

"What?! WHY?"

"It just didn't work!"

"Did you pierce it with a fork?"

"Yup."

"Did you wrap it in paper towel and put it in the microwave for 5 minutes on each side?"

"Yup."

"And you used an actual Spaghetti Squash right?"

"Wait. What do you mean?"

"You have to buy the actual squash called Spaghetti Squash?"

"You mean you can't just do this on any old squash?!"

"NO!!!" Here's where Jen erupted in laughter.

"Wait. It's actually called spaghetti squash?"

"YES! AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAAHAH!!!"

"Well I didn't know that all squashes weren't created equal!"

I'm pretty sure that the squash I tried this on was of the Butternut variety. Poor thing. Never saw it coming.

I doubt that the Shaw's in Dorchester sells fancy Spaghetti Squash and I'm not schlepping it up to Trader Joe's in Brookline so I guess I'll just have to wait it out to attempt Spaghetti Squash Part 2.

Oh and were you wondering what happened to that roasted chicken I bought?

Funny you should ask!

Last night I decided that I'd prepare the roasted chicken for my sister since it's her favorite dish. Now I do a lot of things. Preparing a roasted chicken is not on my resume.

*ring* *ring*

"Hello?"

"Mom, it's me."

"Oh, hi sweetie. You ready to cook the chicken?"

"Ya. This thing is freaking me out. What do I do?"  I didn't realize you could like see the part of the neck where they had chopped the head off. Blech.

"Ok. First you have to wash it off.."

As I lifted chicken little from the platter it started to drip juices out of its back door orifice.

"OMGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!"

"What?!"

"It's leaking! Oh ewwwwwwwwwwwwww. Mom it's like leaking juice from it's hole."

This is where The Donna erupted in laughter.

"Ok now rub some olive oil on it..."

I rubbed on I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.

"...Add some salt and pepper and put it in the oven at 350 degrees for an hour and a half."

"But it doesn't have one of those pop up things. How do I know it's done?"

"Check the legs. If the legs are done the entire thing will be done."

"Ok." I started to put the salt and pepper on it and then thought what I'd name the chicken. I liked Alastair.

I came to the back of Alastair when I noticed some paper sticking out.

"Mom he's got a piece of paper in his butt...OH MY GOD!!!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

I had forgotten about the gizzards.

"OMG! OMG! This is so gross! ewwwwwwwww." 

"Lisa just pull it out."

I grabbed the trash can and put it up next to the counter. With a little tug,the gizzards came soaring out and landed in the trash with a muted thud.

"Oh God. That was heinous."

My mother had recovered from laughing and asked if I was OK. I thanked her for her moral support and hung up.

For my first roasted chicken it ended up being pretty good! Although I didn't know how to cut it so Alastair looked like he'd been through a wood chipper and back but tasty none the less!

Oh hello.

I literally saw the photos of Tom Brady in his new Stetson ads and choked. I was talking to my box vendor and started to sputter. After mumbling that I was OK, I needed a moment with myself.

Like. Day-UM.

There are no woooooooooooooooooooooooooooords......

(besides maybe domeinthebutt.....I mean...)

Look at his arrrrms!!! HOT-ness.