Ah, A Flea Market

I'm working on an HGTV show for a few weeks and last weekend we were filming at a flea markets. This is just a smattering of what was being sold. Remember, one man's trash is another man's, well, you'd like to think it's treasure, but sometimes, it's still trash.

I'll be back with more of the funny, as soon as this gig wraps!

REALLY????? Come and get it, dead animal parts... I'll give you a great deal!!!!

I'm embarrassed to say that we have this in our basement... where it belongs. Lover thinks it's a classic.... Classically tacky.

I'm speechless... and scared... and sad... and confused... by this one.

I thought this guy would look great over my fireplace.

The vendor called this 'mini death choppers' and would be great for kids. I called my boyfriend immediately to see if he wanted one for his son. Oh, and they don't work. so I'd have to pay to die.

Does This Mole Look Funny To You?

I went to the dermatologist yesterday for my yearly mole check up. You don’t have to tell me how sexy that is. I already know. This was a new doctor, so I had my former doctor forward my records. This doctor once lifted my files and said that they were as heavy as one of her 80 year old patients. See, I told you, sexy.

It’s not my fault I’m a delicate flower, who has to constantly stay vigilant. I already have several strikes against me, what with my fair skin, light eyes, and several childhood blistering sunburns, thanks to a mother who dragged me to the beach every year to visit my grandparents. This isn’t something that my melanin packed Portuguese lover seems to understand. The experts say that it only takes one blistering sunburn to raise your chances of skin cancer. Terrific. I lost count at age fifteen.

The doctor was 45 minutes late, and in that time, as I waited in the room, wearing only my thong (my ass gets checked as well) and bra, her nurse walked in and out several times without knocking! I’m sorry, but in my illustrious doctor visiting career, staff knocks before they enter. Clearly this woman was in a tanning salon when they went over manners and protocol in nursing school. 

The doctor finally arrived and I wanted to ask her how many boxes of Girl Scout cookies she sold this year, because man oh man, she was barely older than a fetus. Is it me, or is everyone getting younger? Oh, wait. I’m getting older. Got it. She commented on the plethora of scars that enhance my body, and I told her that I wear them proudly, like a war hero wears their medals.

And then I realized that I hadn’t shaved my legs. We’ve all been there--- the women anyway, maybe some men, I don’t know, I don’t judge. I usually feel bad, although it’s not like I didn’t shower before seeing the Gyno... am I right ladies? Men? I didn’t care this time. I mean, JC Christ, she’s looking at my tight and lifted ass (Insanity Workout), and fingering through my scalp. If she can handle that, a little stubble shouldn’t make her yack. What I was really embarrassed about was my extremely dry skin. Oh, the afflictions! Oh, the injustices! Isn’t it enough that I house pre-cancerous cells, do I have to have flaky skin as well.

As it turned out, I needed to have two moles removed. I’ve had so many extractions, that I probably could have foregone the novacaine if I had to. I don’t know any reason why I would have had to but I’m just saying.

The doctor left me with recommendations, that will always bear repeating, because people think that they are immune to the ravages of the sun. That and they’re stupid. This shit is serious, yo, and the messed up thing is that, for the most part, we are in control of it and it’s preventable. Okay, getting down off the soapbox now but please, at least try to practice the following.

STAY OUT OF THE SUN: Kidding, sort of. If you absolutely have to go in the sun, here are some easy tips. It could save your life. Okay, that drama was uncalled for but sometimes you have to get a little dramatical for people to pay attention.

SUNSCREEN- At least SPF30, and reapply every two hours. And don’t forget the ears and hands!

EXPOSURE- Between the hours of 10a and 2p, the sun is at it’s most evil, so get thee to some shade.

CLOTHES- If you like to play sports on the beach, I don’t know, I don’t, but if you do, they have clothing now with an SPF. I’m sure Michael Kors or Chanel has come out with a whole sassy and chic SPF line.

HATS- Who doesn’t like a hat? Wide brimmed, and with an SPF would be great. And really ladies, (and men) you want to protect your expensively treated hair, don’t you?

UMBRELLAS- I make my melanin packed Portuguese lover put up an umbrella on the beach for me, when I watch him play volleyball, which he does sans sunglasses and hat. I swear I’m going to be taking him to the plastic surgeon for Botox, if he persists in furrowing and squinting.

BODY CHECK- I recommend that people go to the dermatologist at least once a year. And in between appointments, you and your significant other can check each other out and use it as a form of foreplay. If you don’t have a significant other, see just how ‘best’, your best friend really is.

GLOVES- This might be a bit extreme or Diane Keaton-y for you but I have been known to wear white cotton gloves when I drive. Oh, sure, make fun, but I’m not the one who’s going to be playing ‘connect those insidious brown dots’ on my hands.

As always, your welcome.

Sexy & Responsible

A Short and Embarrasing Encounter With Bobbi Brown

I insulted make-up maven, Bobbi Brown, within 5 minutes of meeting her.

I took my mother to Canyon Ranch in Massachusettes, for a few days, to celebrate her 70th birthday, and Mother’s Day. But for that price, it’s going to count as her next two birthday gifts.

We hit the road and, although visions of Thelma & Louise, never really danced in our heads, we caught up on the goings on in our lives. After a wrong turn here and an antique store there, we arrived three hours later, just in time for lunch. I was not going to miss out on a free meal. 

In a matter of 48 hours, we saw Ted Koppel in a bathrobe, went zip lining, and both my mother and I managed to embarrass ourselves and insult the make-up maven herself, Ms. Bobbi Brown!

On our last morning at the ranch, we walked into the adorable cafe for breakfast where I immediately spotted Bobbi Brown and another woman sitting at a table. I was sure that my mom hadn’t seen her and it didn’t matter because we were going to take a seat at the far end of the cafe to take in the view of the sprawling property. But when another woman sat down at the window, my mother, sensing that it might be a bit cramped, sat down at the table next to Bobbi.

It’s hard to know what possesses me to do or say the things that I do and it’s probably better that I don’t look too closely. What I knew was that, for whatever reason, I was going to talk to Bobbi Brown, so I commented on her sausage. Say what?

It was the first thing that came to mind. She was eating a sausage, and I marveled at how good it looked and that maybe I should order one. What? She sensed my indecisiveness and asked me if I was a vegetarian. I told her that I ate fish and chicken, to which she assured me that it was a chicken sausage. I smiled and thought about the next asinine thing I could say.

I wouldn’t have to wait long.

I couldn’t help imagine what she was probably thinking, “These women don’t wear make-up? Really?” Leave it to me and my non make-up wearing mother to sit right next to Bobbi Brown. She did offer up some of her coffee, while we waited for ours, but I graciously declined. I thought that might’ve started a diarrhea of the mouth shit storm from me.

She said she was going to see what I was eating because I looked so fit. She opened the door. I simply walked in. I thanked her but the truth was, I was wearing black from head to toe. I didn’t need to tell her how slimming black can be. I told her that my bodily specimen of perfection was due to Pilates, which wasn’t entirely true. I’d been doing the Insanity workout and remiss with my Pilates practice, but I thought the conversation would end there, so I didn’t care.

Upon hearing Pilates, she humphed and the woman who was sitting across from her said, “I’m a Pilates instructor.” Shit. I replied, “Me too.” We chatted about our certifications, and where we lived. When I said New Jersey, Bobbi asked where and as it turns out we live about 15 minutes from each other. I told her that I had seen a house in her town that I had fallen in love with and that I wanted to replicate it in the town where my boyfriend and I were building a house. I’m sure she hadn’t heard a riveting story like that in a long time.

We continued speaking and my mom still didn’t know who we were talking to. This will mean a lot in a moment. Bobbi and her companion looked alike, and the ranch is notorious for mother daughter getaways, so I asked if they were mother and daughter. Bobbi shot me a look that felt like a dagger had pierced my heart, soul and cerebral cortex. Clearly they were not a mother and daughter team. I tried to be funny, and I back pedaled super fast. They were sisters.

Bobbi asked where my mom was from, and when she told her, Bobbi said that she only knew one family that lived there. The Lauren’s. My mom thought. Bobbi continued, “Ralph.” My mom said, “Oh, yeah, they were living there. But I don’t know if they’re still there.” I wanted her to stop talking because I think that Bobbi Brown would know where Ralph Lauren, who she’s probably broken bread with, lives. But I’m sorry to say that it went back and forth one more round before the topic was dropped.

I only wish that I had my business cards on me. I would’ve offered to barter with Bobbi, make-up lessons for Pilates lessons.