Anti-Aging Secrets Revealed-Free Tricks the Cosmetics Industry Doesn't Want You to Know About!!

I couldn't get any aging B-list stars to do my infomercial, and I was also turned away by the Home Shopping Network. So, you can't buy this and pay in three installments like you did with your Thigh Master, Snuggie, FlowBee, or Rejuvenique Face Mask. But I promise you can afford it.

The answer to aging, the Botox substitute, the Everywoman's answer to wrinkles and the deep, permanent lines you had given up on erasing:

BANGS.

Did your mother ever tell you "your face is going to stick like that"? I'm here to tell you it's not an old wive's tale.
I worried, and my face stuck like that.
Now, even when I'm not worried, my face worries on its own. People constantly ask me what's wrong/why I'm mad. The muscle between my eyes has permanently contracted like one long Braxton Hicks, which is fitting since the worry is DIRECTLY related to childbearing.

And, just like after spending four years breastfeeding my barracuda-like male children when I wondered if I was "the sort that gets implants" (I was not...I was the sort that bought gel bras for a year and then gave up), the craggy crevice between my eyes had me wondering if I was "the sort that gets Botox." And, since I AM "the sort that buys undies in 6-packs at Costco and tinted Burts Bees chapstick at the health food store in lieu of makeup", you can imagine how that identity crisis ended as well.

It was only by fortunate accident that I stumbled upon the cure. I have a big head. You wouldn't be amiss in asking me if "I wanted some hair with that forehead." Yes, that forehead DOES go all the way up. When a very short haircut grew out and left me with long bangs, I realized that the answer had been right in front of me (or on top of me, as it were) all along. LONG BANGS COVER HALF YOUR FACE, and THUS, HALF YOUR WRINKLES.

No, they don't make me look like Camilla Belle, for whom bangs were obviously invented.




But I am channeling my inner Grace Slick (I'll give you one guess what she's doing behind the big red X) with some long, rounded, slightly punk-y bangs and I swear it's taken five or more years off.



A side-by-side comparison proves that bangs take years off a person. See how Slick looks at least 40 years older without them. This is not trick photography!



So put away your wallets. Everything you needed to know about wrinkle cures you learned in kindergarten. Bangs = eternal youth.

Just don't let my mom cut them for you. No matter what she says, she WILL nip your eyelids with the scissors, and your bangs WILL be three inches above your eyebrows when they dry. She will apologize and say she doesn't know how that happened, since she only took a tiny bit off. You will cry and feel very ugly, and it will be school picture day. Your jacked bangs will be immortalized in yearbooks many, many times before you can afford to sneak out to Supercuts on your own dime.

BFF

So I have a reader in Reykjavik, Iceland. I think we can safely assume it's Bjork. In fact, let's just exaggerate this story completely and say me and Bjork are really good friends now. And she's going to lend me her swan dress and we're going to go out together. And the next day the tabloids are going to report that they have finally found someone who can pull off the look, and in fact it will become a fashion craze. By this time next year, you will be shopping for a fowl-inspired outfit. Even Target will have a knock-off line of dresses cheaply made to look like the lesser fowls: turkeys and ducks and whatnot. You'll hear from a bunch of blogs that Forever 21 has a pretty good imitation of the swan dress for only $24.99, which you will sneak in and try on, and it will not fit in the hips because, you know, that's just how it works at Forever 21. And me and Bjork will drink vodka in the bar at the Ice Hotel and laugh and write the lyrics for our duet. Bob Dylan will reportedly call our music "transcendant". He will ask to work on our next project. We will have to think about it. Maggie Gyllenhaal will ask for my autograph. She will jump up and down when I give it to her.

I just have to finish the laundry first.

Hot Little Hunk

I try really hard not to be a blog regurgitator...you don't need me to chew up and spit back out everyone else's blog content, as I'm sure you're quite capable of digesting Cup of Jo and Oh Joy! all by your little selves. I personally hate going to ten blogs and reading the same thing on each one (remember that infernal rainbow layer cake that went blog-viral??)

But occasionally there are things worth repeating, and for me this usually involves a food post. See, I've been trying to come up with picnic lunch ideas; things that are great at room temperature, transport well, and can sit out for a while without becoming a salmonella farm (there was an enchilada incident, and that's all I'm saying about that, except may I say that "Enchilada Incident" would make a great fictional band name, a la Spinal Tap).

This hot little hunk of cheese and pasta seems to be just the thing. Like a Spanish tortilla, but with pasta as the starch. The only thing better than pasta is a pasta cake. I love that, when no fancy friends are around, you could just pick up a wedge and eat it with your hands. Who am I kidding? I have no fancy friends, and I will eat it with TWO hands. Great, hand-held pasta. Not even a fork to slow me down now! I think I'm going to add roasted red peppers for a little tang.

What do you like to make for a picnic lunch?


UPDATE: No offense to the discriminating tastes of Joanna Goddard and Martha Stewart, but the added roasted red peppers were the ONLY thing we enjoyed about this dish...the egg/ricotta/pasta combo was otherwise essentially flavorless (to us).



via Cup of Jo as appeared in Martha Stewart Living

Grubby

My thoughts are definitely turning to the outdoors; picnics, summer concerts at the park with a basket of chicken, summer rolls and cucumber salad from Saffron, stretching out in the sand.

My mom always said you need something green every day, and even though I think she meant to eat, I think we need to touch and see green, too. So here's your little bit of virtual green for the day, courtesy of the adorable and talented Flora Grubb.

Succulents are the new rose garden!!!!

But Mom recommends a few more servings, so get yourself outside if you can!

Baby DJ is in the Haus

Listen to today's favorite jam here.

Killer Whales

Design-wise, I admit to being pretty off my game lately. I developed some kind of rogue oral bacterial infection that got into the bone of a tooth (and made me sick as a dog), and will now require surgery and bone grafting. And cutting open the roof of my mouth so that it waves hello. And I get to choose: cow bone or human. Hmmm, do I want to be part Bessie, or part creepy dead person? But I'm assured they've been sterilized. Uh, duh.

So, enough about me. Let's talk about me and the pretty things I like instead. Between Don Carney's gorgeous ink drawings and this Etsy seller I met at the Brooklyn Flea a few weeks back, I'm developing a slight whale obsession (maybe I could get a whale bone graft!?)

When done right (not too cartoony, not too literal), I think it's one of the most charming motifs around.

Which is your favorite? I think the vintage Moby Dick book cover is mine. Or the wallpaper. Or the ink drawing...














Framed print of Vintage Moby Dick book cover by monstergallery, whale teething toy by littlesaplingtoys, best friend and anchor whale necklaces by iadornu, whale print tea towels by enormous champion, whale playsuit by Oobi Baby, tote by CharlieandSarah (I'm a huge fan of their "Wellies" print, too!), original ink drawing by Don Carney/Patch NYC, pillow by Don Carney/Patch NYC, whale wallpaper at Walnut Wallpaper

My Kind of Guy

Ever heard of a Dutch Oven? I'll give you a hint: I'm not talking about the $350 Le Creuset piece you've been saving up for. It has to do with blankets and, ahem, intestinal distress. The distress is, of course, compounded if someone shares your bed.

Until now. Enter, this guy. Now, we know this is a man's man for several reasons. One, he was inspired to invent this while bow-hunting for deer. This is where a lot of real men do their real thinking. They'll tell you they do it in the bathroom too. But they're lying. Even if they refer to it as "the Office" there is no legitimate work being done in there.

Second, he made this life and marriage-saving device out of military-issue chemical protective suits. Any guy who smells so bad that his only recourse is to enshroud his spouse in a blanket of chemical protective suits from the military, is, by all definitions, a real man. Or he needs to lay off the deer meat.

Third, when asked if his invention has improved his marriage in any way, he responded, "I don't wake my wife up anymore."
Wait. Did you really just admit that you passed gas THAT WOKE YOUR WIFE UP?!

So to recap: bow-hunting, military chemical protective suits, deer meat, dutch oven stink bombs. This is what a male-dominated house will do to a girl.

Watch the classy infomercial here...

How to Spend a Tax Return

(No longer available)
And a special thank you to Jamie, who was moved to expletives by the gorgeous Danish sofa. I feel ya, man.



SOLD

A Perfect Ten

What a 10-year old who is going away for the weekend says:

"Mom-can you water my plants while I'm gone?"

"Uh, sure."

"Underoos Are Fun to Wear!"

Proof that I grew up in simpler times: boys and girls singing and doing Vegas showgirl kicks in their underwear was the 1980s version of marketing products to children.

And it worked. A new package of Wonder Woman Underoos was always the highlight of back-to-school shopping. It made my earth shoes and unisex Garanimal bellbottoms seem like less of a fashion travesty to know I was properly girded underneath.

The Myth of Perfection

I think about this, A LOT. Why I'm not one of the lucky ones for whom "good enough" is just fine. Sure, maybe I wouldn't get as much done, or see as much of the world, of have as many accomplishments under my belt. But the disparity seems to even out in the end, when the "good enough" group still has their sanity and the angst-ing, grasping, overachievers are on our second nervous breakdown (or, if we're lucky, living our dream with a few nervous tics).

But what I'm really starting to resent as I begin to enter this "I don't have to, and I don't want to" phase of life is this pervasive propaganda that perfect EVERYTHING is achievable and that I must pursue it constantly, or risk being the WOMAN WHO DIDN'T CARE ENOUGH.

The perfect home (perfectly decorated, perfectly clean, and now...perfectly eco-friendly), the perfect meals (Omega 3s, flax, 98 servings of colorful vegetables, more fish and then less fish, and then more fish again but not that kind 'cuz it has mercury, and low fat, then no fat, then good fat, follow the food pyramid, the food pyramid is a lie, a little meat, no meat, only grass-fed meat, eggs are bad, eggs are good, free-range eggs, college-educated eggs), perfect child (keep an eye on those IQ levels, and make sure his self-esteem is intact at ALL TIMES! Teach him self-sufficiency but NEVER let him out of your sight!), perfect sex life (always exciting! always fresh!), perfect friendships, perfectly fulfilling and balanced career (or perfect contentment with forgoing the career).

And now, suddenly, again (for the first time since 1971), EVERYTHING has to be hand-made or you risk being a lazy sell-out. And I don't know if it's just that we are more susceptible to such pressure, but it seems that nearly all self/life/home/family-improvement programs are aimed squarely at us women. Notice that men's magazines don't feature the cabbage soup diet or "natural cleaning products you can make yourself!" on their covers?

Sure, men can be pretty ambitious, too. But this is usually in regards to only one or two things at a time; work and car maintenance, perhaps. Stopping hair loss and basketball. Being a good husband and dad. My husband tries to do well in his own small realm of influence; fatherhood, work, friendship, and spirituality. But he certainly doesn't angst over being "the perfect BBQ chef" or "the best lawn-maintainer in the universe" or the smallest waist-size in his group of friends, and he most certainly isn't working on attaining all three in concert.

Even when things don't work out in his realm of personal influence-i.e., the kids aren't listening, a bad grade is brought home, a friendship disintigrates, or he loses a job bid to another contractor, my husband doesn't usually pick up the full burden of responsibility and load it squarely onto his back the way I do. He never, ever gets teary-eyed and wails, "I can't do anything right!"

Things don't always work out. He's o.k. with that.

I don't handle disappointment quite so well.

It's for these reasons, and more, that I loved, I mean L-O-V-E-D, this article by Rebecca Traister. It's worth looking at for the title alone. She talks about the "laser focus" our society has put on achieving perfect happiness. Traister finds it "punishing that we're constantly being pushed to achieve it" and so do I. I'm here to tell you that you can't have it, and it's not your fault.

We've (read: I've) got to make room for the flaws, the flab, the underachieving child, and the bad date nights in our lives. The momentary lapses in good judgment and selfless friendship, the doughnut for dinner, the "wasted" time, the snarky comment, and the bad mood. Forgive yourself the "must-read" books not read and the dinner parties not thrown. The knitting never learned, baby books not filled out.

I mean, I'm not saying give up. Throw in the towel. You shouldn't work hard to achieve your goals. That's not true, either. It's just...egotistical and ultimately kind of damaging to believe you can get everything right, all the time. You'll always be disappointed, and that's the part that hurts.

Things White People Like in their Etsy sellers....

For making the 80s look so good, for teaching me that girls with pasty-white legs should wear high-waisted red sailor shorts, for convincing me that a silk equestrian skirt can and should be worn in 2010, and for having the cutest model and photography, I nominate Etsy seller Clevernettle for "Best Vintage Seller".

Mom, can you give me a home perm and your vintage JC Penney wardrobe??

Coming Attractions

Danish sectional/daybed/sofa with new gunmetal grey upholstery. Available in my Ebay store in a few days.

I know-I want it as badly as you do...

To the hipsters, with love

See the original "You're probably a hipster" list here!


The best wedding poem, ever.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

by Anne Bradstreet circa 1678

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persevere
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

All you need is love...

...but champagne and pulled pork sandwiches with pickled zucchini don't hurt a bit.
Tiny peek of the NYC hipster wedding at Freemans. Click for giant view.



See the original "You're probably a hipster" list here!

Light HAUS

Oh, the opportunity for horrible name puns seems endless, doesn't it?

Sooo, I have a friend. Let's call him Mr. Moneybags. He was a real estate investor and renovated Mid-Century properties in Palm Springs for years.

He obsessively collected huge quantities of Mid-Century lighting, but only the best of the best, to use in his projects.

We all know that the real estate market is lodged firmly in hell right now (I personally have $1 in equity), and Moneybags has been after me to liquidate his museum of lighting for a few years.

The benefit of his OCD collecting is that many of the lights are still in their original boxes, never installed, and in multiples in the event you want a cohesive look in your swank shack (some were taken out of Mid-Century banks and business in Palm Springs!)

There are chandeliers, pendants, sconces, etc. Many are conical pierced brass, but there are earlier 1950s pieces in turquoise fiberglass and other wild, experimental stuff. A majority of the pieces are by Lightolier, and I think I saw some designed by Gerald Thurston in there too!

No Nelson bubbles...that's just a pretty picture.

Visit the store for upcoming auctions, or contact me to preview.

the Big Onion

First, I'd like to mention that this blog became a centenarian two posts ago, and it still looks great and has all it's teeth! I had thought I'd give something away or have balloons and streamers fall down on your head when you clicked on my 100th post, but then I selfishly went to New York and stuffed my gullet foie gras goose-style with so much good food and forgot all about it.

Maybe you still want me to give you something?

Alright. I'll work on it. What do you want?

This trip was filled with pleasant introductions to all sorts of new things; music, neighborhoods, foods, restaurants, cocktails, and new friends.

Allow me to bring you into the fold.



Do you know Arancini? Allow me to properly introduce you two.



And Juliette in Williamsburg (Williesburg, yo!) would like you to know about grated zucchini salad, just in time for summer. Juliette and I both hope that you'll julienne your zucchini instead, and remember to add toasted hazelnuts. Crunch, crunch, slurp, slurp. No more coleslaw for me!

*house-made pickles* are the condiment of the moment (and I want this moment to last forever)!




Forget what Forbes or Money Magazine says; the best place to live in America is a brownstone mansion in the historically(?) Black neighborhood surrounding Fort Greene Park, where beautiful women close their eyes and groove to Aretha Franklin being played Brazilian jazz-style by the live band, and the French waiters bring you the best everything you've ever had, and families spill out into the sidewalk cafes on hot nights, and nice people tell you to "get home safe, now" and everything feels sultry and sweet and just-right.