Yet another thing that can kiss my ass: Latisse

Okay, I know I’m the most vain person on earth, but even I’m not falling for this bullshit.

I’m talking about an article I just read in the Las Vegas Weekly, our weekly (duh) arts and entertainment magazine, about something called Latisse, “nightlife’s newest secret weapon.” Latisse is an FDA-approved prescription treatment that’s supposed to make your eyelashes long, thick and luxurious. It’s being hailed as a cost-effective alternative to “laborious and expensive lash-extension applications, which are being performed at boutiques and spas everywhere.”

Whoa, whoa, WHOA!

Are you telling me that now we’re supposed to be worried about the thickness of our f*cking eyelashes???

Evidently Brooke Shields is touting this stuff (insert sarcastic comment here). Look at the “before” picture.


Can you believe she had the nerve to leave the house like that? Well, thank God for Latisse—her career is sure to get back on track now. Lindsay Lohan, there’s hope for you, too!

Seriously, I find this ridiculous. Have you ever, ever looked at a pretty girl and thought too bad she's cursed with those stubby eyelashes? Guys, how many times were you on the brink of asking a woman out and then backed off because of her meager lash inventory?

Do women really need to be told that there’s one more area of inadequacy to worry about? I stopped logging into my MySpace page after being greeted with this:


Yeah, thanks.

Perhaps the most disturbing line in the Weekly piece was, “Latisse is letting cost-conscious ladies (and increasingly, men) stay competitive in an appearance –obsessed city…”

First, hold on, men are doing this? Sweet bearded Jesus, tell me they’re not straight. Because straight guys are getting into some pretty gay grooming habits these days, like going crazy with the eyebrow tweezers and over-trimming “down there.” Please, stop that shit. Women like men to be manly. We’ll have second thoughts if we’re unsure that you’ve actually made it through puberty.

And second, what the hell are we competing for? Whose attention are we trying to gain, and if long, thick eyelashes are the criterion for acceptance, do we really want to be a member of that club?

Imagine feeling so satisfied with your looks that you’d spend $1200 a year on this?

I’ve attained such a level of perfection, I’m afraid the only thing left is the eyelashes. I didn’t have anything else to spend that $1200 on… every vase in my house is in place, my charities are no longer accepting donations… thank you, Latisse!

Recession? What recession?

Hey, there’s no denying that only four days ago, I wrote “I think women should make every effort to look pretty.” Yes, I said that. And while I do believe we should take pride in our looks, I’m now taking back the “every effort” part. Enough is enough. Skimpy eyelashes aren’t going to make or break your looks.

To anyone who wants to appear more attractive instantly, I offer this simple advice:

1. Stand up straight.
2. Smile.

And to the drug companies, I say this:

Stop preying on people's insecurities and start finding a cure for cancer!

My blog anniversary and 20 things my old self would wonder about

Hey, tomorrow marks the one-year anniversary of my first blog post. As I’ve been looking through this collection of crap, I’ve been thinking how surprised I’d be if the Linda Blackwell from 10 years ago were to look into the future and read the posts of the past year.

Man, I’d have a lot of questions and commentary:

1. I live in Las Vegas? How the hell did that happen?

2. What??? I’ve done stand-up comedy? In front of people?

3. I wrote a book called Bastard Husband: A Love Story? Wait, Chris wasn’t a bastard… oh, no! Did I get married again?

4. I had essays published in books? Oh… one of them is Chicken Soup for the Divorced Soul. Shit.

5. Beautiful Aunt Joyce is dead? No! No! NO!

6. Guiding Light has been cancelled? Bastards!

7. Hey, I don’t look too bad for 51.

8. I weigh 138.5? What the hell? (Note: “WTF?” wasn’t invented yet.)

9. Oh, so Mom and Jim got married… cool. But they live in Boise???

10. Wow, I sure have a good looking boyfriend.

11. Courtney plays the guitar and is a singer-songwriter, too? Like Christopher?

12. Oh, I see I haven’t gotten over my bird phobia.

13. Oh, I see I haven’t gotten over my obsession with Beverly D’Angelo.

14. Oh, I see I still hate going to work every day.

15. Yay! I finally got to see Leonard Cohen in concert!

16. I lived in Laramie, Wyoming? And UTAH?

17. I knew I’d still have my Saturn!

18. We have a black president?

19. Who the hell is Sarah Palin?

20..What the f*ck is Twitter? Is that Sarah Palin’s nickname?

Whew!

How about you? What would your self from 10 years ago say upon looking at your life today? What would be the biggest surprise?

What it's like to do stand-up comedy? Find out tonight on Aging Nymphs!

Hey, my sister Lori and I have a great radio show on tap for tonight, when our guest will be Albany-area comic Dave Kanyan.


Pretty, huh? I know--he has a body for radio. He'll probably want to kill me for posting that, but what can he do? I'm on the other side of the country.

I met Dave a while back when we did an open mic at the Lark Tavern in Albany—he’s a great guy. We’ll be talking about the in's and out's of performing stand-up--how to get started, how to keep motivated, dealing with stage fright… and whatever else you want to talk about. Join us for a lively conversation!

To listen, simply go to our Blog Talk Radio website at 7:00 Pacific/10:00 Eastern and click on the show’s title. Call the number on the screen to join in.

Remember, you can listen to the show archives anytime, so if you missed Hurricane Mikey two weeks ago, simply click the link on the right sidebar of the site you’re reading now.

Talk to you later!

P.S. We're always looking for fun topics and interesting guests--let me know if you have any ideas!

5 more reasons why I’d make a terrible feminist

I should probably keep these thoughts to myself since I could single-handedly take the women’s movement back a hundred years, but after last Saturday's post, I've come up with five more reasons why I'd make a terrible feminist.

Reason #1: I’d be perfectly happy with the model whereby men provide and protect, and women take care of their kids and their men. Especially their men. And by take care of their men, I mean "take care." Wink, wink. And why not? They deserve it! Please, it’s so much fun and it makes them so happy—it’s the least we can do.

Related to that…

Reason #2: Personally, I’d like to have a word with whoever decided it was a good idea for women to have jobs. I’ve said it a million times: I’ve never had a day at work that was better than a day at home. My grandfather Papa used to check Nana’s wallet everyday to make sure she had money to go out to lunch with her girlfriends from church, and if she was low, he’d stock it with a crisp twenty dollar bill. Awesome! But there I am, sitting in a gray cubicle day after day, churning out proposals and other boring documents that mean nothing to me but a paycheck… hell, I’m nothing but a while collar Norma Rae. Is that really progress?

Reason #3: I love it when people call me “honey.” Especially women, and especially waitresses. Nothing makes you feel more loved than a 110-year-old greasy spoon waitress with painted on eyebrows calling you “hon.” And I’m always intrigued by waitresses who call me that and who clearly are my kids’ age. I know some women get bent out of shape when they’re called “honey,” which is curious because I have a feeling they’ve been called much worse. I take no offense—I’m just thrilled that somebody is actually going to put a plate of food in front of me and all I have to do is sit there.

Reason #4: I think women should make every effort to look pretty. You don’t have to be a classic beauty to keep yourself up. I’m way too vain to let myself go (hello, did you just meet me?), but personally I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Men appreciate it when you care enough to look good. If you can't do it for yourself (and why not?) at least do it for your man.

Reason #5: Men really are the stronger sex. No matter how much I work out, I will never be able to open some jars of spaghetti sauce. Which, unfortunately, says a lot about my cooking.

So there you go. I’m not saying this is how it should be for everybody; I’m just saying this is how I look at it. But still, can you believe that in 2009, this is what I really do believe?

What's your opinion? Am I nuts or right on?

Long post about love and why feminism is on my list of stuff that can kiss my ass

I’m not done talking about Julie over at 47 and Starting Over. She is one ballsy chick, which is why I love her. Julie’s fearless about sharing her opinion; she tells it as she sees it, even when it comes to her own emotional landscape. She lays it out there for all the world to see.

In a recent post she wrote

I am so lonely it's palpable.

I miss dating. I miss intimacy. I miss flirting. I miss hand holding, and making out like teenagers. I miss sweet text messages and phone calls and surprise flowers. I miss...well, you know what I miss the most. *That* goes without saying!

The bottom line is, I miss being in love.

You know, it takes guts to say that. It takes guts for a woman to admit that she’s lonely; it takes guts for a woman to admit to the world that she misses being in love.

Ever since the 1970s, beginning with that stupid fucking “I am strong, I am invincible” song, women have been conditioned to believe that they shouldn’t have to “need” a man.

You must be independent.
No one else can make you happy; happiness comes from within.
A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.

That’s such bullshit!

I know a little something about living the life of the strong, independent woman. I also know what it’s like to be in love, and I’ll take love any day. Not that they have to be mutually exclusive.

Let me give you a timeline. My first husband, Chris, and I split up in May 1994. I met Bastard Husband, infamous star of my book, in May 2000; we got divorced three years later, almost to the day. I’ve been with my beloved boyfriend, Mike, for a little over six months. If you do the math, you’ll see that I’ve been unattached for 11½ of the past 15 years. Yeah, I’ve had boyfriends—all truly lovely men—but none were what I’d consider to be relationships with long-term possibilities.

I spent 5½ of those “alone” years here in Las Vegas. If you read my book, you’ll see I do pretty well as a soloist. I make friends in no time and I’ll go anywhere by myself… to the movies, to check out live music… hell, I’ll even go to biker bars alone. But I’ll tell you, it does get old.

Bastard Husband: A Love Story chronicles only my first year in Las Vegas. What you won’t read about in that book is my post-divorce relationship with B.H. Believe me, we did not split up due to lack of love. We had a wonderful life together (until his thirteenth beer) and were crazy about each other (probably literally), but as I say in my book, it was clear that his path was wide enough only for one and it became increasingly unhealthy for me to stay married to him. He’s been living in New Zealand for the past several years now, but he’s come back to Las Vegas several times. To see me.

The last time was in January 2008, when he stayed for two weeks. He was on his best behavior and I loved every minute he was here. He even came to my writer’s group meeting. We walked in separately and B.H. stayed under the radar since, of course, everyone there had heard me read about him week after week and he would have been a bit of a celebrity. We laughed about how we felt like we’d really pulled something over on everyone. We had a great time together—we went to the movies and checked out bands and I realized how much I missed having somebody to do things with. I missed the companionship, and I missed being in love.

I almost left Las Vegas last October to join B.H. in New Zealand when my lease was up. If you look at this post from back then, you’ll see I meant business—I hated my job and felt there was nothing for me here. But I didn’t go. One night we were instant messaging about the logistics of my trip, and I heard something in the tone of his IM that told me, don’t do it. Even though I was getting just plain fucking tired of living alone and that whole independent woman persona, which, by the way, I pulled off quite well, I heard something that told me that I’d be making a big mistake. So I renewed my lease and stayed put. And I decided to back away from that relationship for good. Finally.

Within a couple of months, Mike and I got together. Our relationship is healthy and I love him with all my heart. I intend to be with him for the next 50 years—I’ll shout that from the rooftops and I’ll put that in writing with my own blood.(Wouldn't it be funny if, after I say that, he breaks up with me?) (Ironic funny, not ha-ha.)

My point is, for years I held onto B.H. I held onto the fantasy that he could overcome his demons and we could live together again and enjoy each other’s companionship and live the life we were meant to have. But it really was a fantasy.

There’s a lesson here: you have to get rid of the old to make way for the new. You have to release what no longer serves you in order to allow fresh, new energy into your life. I believe that with all my heart. If you’re holding on to a relationship that no longer serves you, release that person with love. Yes, you may go through a period of alone-ness and the period of transition will absolutely suck, but I believe the universe hates a vacuum and that someone else, someone more suited to your authentic self, will soon come into your life.

But getting back to the feminists who say we shouldn’t have to need men… yeah, they can kiss my ass. I’ll take being in love anytime.

Life isn’t fair and neither is death

My twin separated at birth and blogging buddy Julie over at 47 and Starting Over took some heat this week for her take on all the hoopla over Michael Jackson’s death. For the record, I’m with her 100 percent, but I’m so friggin’ sick of it all that the last thing I want to do is write about it myself. I added a comment to her post; that’s all I’ll say.

Okay, just let me say one last thing: if I were Farrah, I’d be pissed. She was dead, what, three hours before the news broke about MJ?

I picture her up in heaven, wearing a cute little angel outfit… her gorgeous hair is back and she’s flashing that famous smile… Heath Ledger and Princess Di and JFK, Jr. and my Beautiful Aunt Joyce are there to welcome her with a bottle of champagne and they’re all chatting it up over how great Larry King will be tonight since his whole show will be devoted to the lovely Farrah.

“Larry’s next,” one of them says and they all giggle and clink glasses. Heaven is awesome!

And then who shows up at the pearly gates but Michael friggin’ Jackson. I’m telling you, if I were Farrah, I would have marched my (now cancer-free) ass over to St. Peter and I'd be in. his. face. With teeth clenched, I’d be like, “No f*cking way--you send him back right this instant! Is it too much to ask for one goddamn day to myself of post-mortem glory? Huh? Get me Jesus. I demand to talk to Jesus!”

Yeah, if I were Farrah, I’d be pissed as hell--where, by the way, MJ should be IF those charges against him were, in fact, true. But we really don't know, do we? None of us knows for sure.

Mental movie talk

So Sunday night beloved boyfriend and I had a date to go to the movies and when he picked me up, I swear, I was like a friggin’ mental patient. You know how you try on 10 different outfits and nothing looks good because you’re too goddamn fat and your face looks weird and your hair looks shitty and you hate all your clothes and you just want to cry?

Yeah, that’s what he had to contend with when he arrived at my door. Poor guy. Let me remind you that I was doing all this primping so I could sit in a dark theater for two hours, where, even if I looked fantastic, no one would see me.

Remember this from a previous post?


Imagine that to the tenth power. Do you ever get crazy like that, or is it just me?

Anyway, we saw the new Woody Allen movie, Whatever Works, starring my hero, Larry David. L.D. basically plays himself—the same guy we see on Curb Your Enthusiasm—but OMG, what a great movie and I’m not just saying that because I love Jews. I thought it was hysterical and so well done. I highly recommend—two thumbs up, four stars.

The review in our local Las Vegas newspaper said that if you liked The Hangover, this movie is not for you, and all I can say is NO SHIT! Are Mike and I the only people on earth who thought The Hangover sucked? We actually walked out after about a half hour. Please, I am not above stupid humor—I think What About Bob? is the greatest movie of all time—but we found nothing funny about that piece of crap. Nothing. Yet it will gross at least 10 times more than the new Woody. See, that’s when I think I’m out of whack with the rest of the world. I’m still trying to figure out what people see in Julia Roberts.

Oh, they showed the preview for Ang Lee’s new movie, Taking Woodstock, which comes out next month. It was shot in upstate New York, and guess who worked a few days on the set last summer as an extra?


Yep, our Courtney. You can see why the casting director was psyched when she showed up at the casting call. Can't wait to see it.

How about you? Any movies you're looking forward to? What makes you feel you're out of whack with the rest of the world? And please, please tell me you thought The Hangover sucked, too.

Olfactory pleasure at the Stone Temple Pilots show

What? WHAT?

Sorry, I’m still having trouble hearing after Thursday night’s Stone Temple Pilots concert at the new Joint in the Hard Rock. My friend Joanna was nice enough to offer me a free ticket, and I certainly wasn’t going to pass it up—thank you, Joanna! The new venue is awesome—not a whole lot bigger than the old Joint, but much nicer and you don’t have to leave the place to use the bathrooms, which is a big improvement.

LA-based rockers Hurt played a good, solid opening set and I actually liked them better than the headliner. Unfortunately, turnout for Hurt was pretty sparse, but the crowd thickened by the time STP took the stage. And holy cow, did it ever reek in there! My days of tokin’ are long over, but I have to admit, I love the smell of reefer. As I stood there taking in that lovely aroma, a couple of funny thoughts passed through my brain, like how I once I spent an entire afternoon searching the Internet for hemp-scented perfume.

Of course, I was at work. Don’t tell anybody, but several years ago I had a technical writing contract job that was a bit of a joke in that I really didn’t have much to do. But you know how it is—if you tell anyone you don’t have much to do, they’ll find stuff for you and I can guarantee it’ll be the crap nobody else wants to work on, so it’s best to keep your mouth shut and just look busy. And so one day, after telling a girlfriend at lunch about how much I love the smell of ganja, I had a mission and spent the rest of the afternoon “busy” doing research. There’s no shortage of products out there.

Oh, wouldn’t it be hysterical to show up to work some morning smelling like dope? Imagine chairing a meeting at the top your game, explaining product specifications and marketing predictions, emanating the sweet scent of cannabis and then going, “Sorry, I need to take this” when your Grateful Dead ring tone goes off. Think of the possibilities: baby showers, dental appointments, job interviews, business networking events... You’d be perfectly straight and totally articulate; you’d just freakin' reek.

I’m bad, but you know what else I was thinking about during the show? The time my daughter, Courtney, came home from her first unchaperoned concert and announced, “That place smelled like Dad’s jewelry box.”

Happy Fourth of July! My BFF Lisa Gioia-Acres invited me to a VIP party tonight at the Santa Fe casino up in the northwest part of town. I'll have a full report on Tuesday...

Techno-whine

I’ll come right out and say it: I’m sick of learning shit.

Every new purchase—whether it’s a TV, cell phone, or coffee maker—comes with a 100-page user’s manual. No more simply plugging stuff in and turning it on. Part of the reason I don’t buy anything is because I dread the accompanying learning curve; it’s not good for my blood pressure. I have all the patience in the world for people, but I could take a friggin’ hammer to a machine that doesn’t do what I want it to do.

I don’t know about you, but I am really starting to feel overwhelmed by technology. For a while I’ve been shamed into transitioning to Gmail from AOL (which I was perfectly happy with). “You’re still on AOL? You have to switch to Gmail.” So I gave in and now I have to learn the in’s and out’s of Gmail. Tuesday night it took me a good hour and a half to figure out how to send a mailing out to all the contacts on my mailing list, a task I could have accomplished in 10 minutes using AOL. And the worst part is, no sooner will I get Gmail down and I’ll be hearing, “You’re still on Gmail? That was so 2009.”

MySpace is out, Facebook is in. For now. You have to be on Twitter, you must be on Twitter. Well, guess what? Twitter can kiss my ass. I don’t give a crap that your bagel was delicious or that it’s raining again. You know scones, those overpriced bakery items that are supposed to be so cool they even sell them at Starbucks? Well, scones are shit; they taste like friggin’ dust. Totally overrated.

Twitter is just as overrated; it's the scone of technology. I'm not afraid to say the emperor’s naked: Twitter is a load of shit, for the most part, anyway. And “tweeting” sounds gay.

As a technical writer in a technology company (surprised?), I’m constantly learning in order to do my job. I don’t mind that; it’s to be expected. But I don’t appreciate having to learn technology so I can do other people’s jobs. In the course of a day, I can perform the duties of a grocery store clerk, bank teller, postal clerk, airline check-in clerk… Not to sound snobby (and I truly don’t mean to come across that way--those are all noble professions), but in high school we were advised to go to college so we wouldn't have to do those jobs.

Because I’m self-publishing my book, I have a ton to learn. There’s new software to understand, and now that I have my own publishing company, there are the nuts and bolts of setting up and maintaining a business. I also need to create a website I can sell books from and figure out how to get the thing in e-book and Kindle formats. I’ll also want to create an audio version. I don’t minding learning that stuff—that’s all aligned with my goal of getting my book out to you. But even so, I just want to learn it once and be done with it. Don't tell me the software I just spent two weeks learning is now antiquated.

I sound old, don’t I? I don’t care (as long as I don’t look old).

But what about you? Is technology making you mental? Are you sick of learning shit, too?

The return of Aging Nymphs!

Yep, we’re back and better than ever. After a brief hiatus, Aging Nymphs, the Blog Talk Radio show my sister Lori and I host, is returning to the Internet airwaves. Our guest tonight is my BFF and Las Vegas blogger extraordinaire, Hurricane Mikey.

Mikey’s been posting for many years and as of today he’s taking his first break from the blogsphere. He’s agreed to let us pick his brain about how he got started, how he built such incredible traffic and reader loyalty, and other topics of interest to both bloggers and blog readers.

To listen, simply go to our Blog Talk Radio website at 7:00 p.m. Pacific/10:00 p.m. Eastern and click on the show’s title. Call the number on the screen to join the conversation, or you can listen to the show archives anytime by clicking a link on the right sidebar of this site.

Talk to you later!