Francois de La Rochefoucauld observed that "Hypocrisy is the homage vice pays to virtue," and while that's a snappy one-liner that probably had them chortling in Madeleine de Souvré's literary salon and nudging each other under the table, at least until someone bumped the bloated foot of a gout sufferer, and the laughter was rent by screams, it's a little too Louis Quatorze
for our modern age, when the Divine Right of Kings has given way to the testicle-crushing powers of Article II of the U.S. Constitution. So nowadays, La Rochefoucauld's maxim would more aptly state, "Hypocrisy is the alarm lever behind the brittle pane marked 'In Case of Negro in White House, Break Glass.'" And it's just this kind of exigency that has allowed Newt Gingrich to buy a papal indulgence from Professional Moralist (and "frequent contributor to American Thinker
and PJ Media
") Kyle-Anne Shiver.
Why I'm Giving Newt a Pass on the Scarlet-A Factor
Ah, so what I've been mistaking for a Republican Presidential primary campaign is actually a TV reality competition. That explains the last debate when Moderator Joe Rogan forced the participants to drink donkey semen; I admit I was confused at the time, since in most Republican interactions with the press, the jizz traditionally flows the other way. Particularly with David Gregory.
Newt Gingrich is an adulterer many times over, which is old news.
And Old News is No News. Unless it's the Gospels, in which case it's Good News.
The second Mrs. Gingrich, scorned in favor of the third Mrs. Gingrich, is in the process of spilling the sordid divorce beans in her long-stated goal of stopping Newt's climb to the presidency.
I once traded a cow for some divorce beans. Worst deal I ever made.
But I decided a couple of months ago to give Newt a pass on the Scarlet-A factor, and I seriously doubt there's a single thing an embittered ex-wife can say that will change my mind at this point.
For one thing, it would mean rearranging all the hobgoblins.
Yes, I empathize with the 2nd Mrs. Gingrich.
The 1st Mrs. Gingrich, however, can apparently suck it.
Yes, I believe that adultery is a very serious offense. Yes, I wish the man I am supporting for president had a perfect track record in all aspects of his life, both public and private.
Ironically, the sign of a true Gingrich supporter in 2012 is they sound like a Clinton supporter in 1998.
I'm putting my country over the matron's sisterhood here, and a couple of my friends have already stared at me incredulously as I've explained my reasons.
Some of them have been so scandalized they've threatened to quit the matron sisterhood and return the traveling mom jeans.
How could I, outspoken defender of monogamy and premarital chastity, so compromise my own principles to vote for a man who has trashed his own wedding vows and, if he wins the presidency, would ensconce his former mistress as first lady?
Well, it's complicated.
You liked it as a Facebook Relationship Status, now you'll love it as a Presidential Campaign Slogan.
For one thing, I don't see red-blooded, healthy, high-testosterone men through a set of 1950s June-Cleaver glasses.
At first I thought Kyle-Anne meant the mother from Leave It to Beaver
, but given the hyphen, I assume that "June-Cleaver glasses" are some sort of gruesome, but innocuous-looking instrument of murder, like the booby-trapped binoculars in Horrors of the Black Museum
Newt's a Boomer, for crying out loud. He's a Boomer through and through, down to every one of his adulterous acts.
Just imagine how much richer our literary heritage would be if adultery had been invented before 1966. Georges Feydeau might have written a farce about it.
We Boomers honestly did believe that sexual morality could be separated from all other spheres.
Except the Music of the Spheres, because it didn't matter how cool your bachelor pad was, you weren't getting laid without a little lush cocktail jazz on the HiFi.
We heralded cohabitation as the commonsense precursor to healthy marriage.
Worked for me. Did Newt and the first Mrs. Gingrich shack up before tying the matrimonial slipknot? Might have helped.
We pushed the bounds of every sexual prohibition to its furthermost limits and insisted on the right to exterminate our young in the womb to offset female disadvantage.
Male disadvantage, on the other hand, is primarily addressed by adjusting one's golf handicap.
We've embraced serial monogamy so enthusiastically that we've made it mainstream. Kids from our broken families are everywhere now
Clearly we need better womb exterminators.
...and bonded step-families are now as commonplace as they were rare in June Cleaver's America.
Bonded step-families are fine, I had one myself, but as I've matured, my tastes have become more sophisticated, and I find myself preferring cask-strength single-malt step-families. It has a deeper and more robust flavor profile, which I attribute to all the extra hyphens.
In many ways, Newt Gingrich is us.
Great. Now I've got to figure out how to shave without actually looking in the mirror.
He is us in ways Mitt Romney doesn't even seem to know exist in the real world.
I think Kyle-Anne is saying she'd rather spend a drunken, sexed-up weekend in Vegas with Newt Gingrich than Mitt Romney. I say we pour some Canola oil in an inflatable kiddie pool and let her and Katherine Jean Lopez fight it out.
Not all Boomers bought into this now-quite-blemished idea of separating our sex lives from all the rest in terms of morality, but more of us did than didn't. And pretending that's not the case isn't going to put this Boomer-released genie back into its bottle.
Even as a child, I blamed my parents divorce on Barbara Eden.
America will have to depend upon the new generations' learning from our mistakes to even come close to doing that. And I doubt seriously whether these young libertarians want to go back to straight-laced, Christian sexual morality enforced by law anyhow.
So tough titty, Santorum! Newt's
driving the Party Bus to Spring Break!
The point is this. Newt Gingrich, like Bill Clinton, is a Boomer in this sexually liberated regard. And right this very minute, there are as many women who identify with Callista Gingrich, the mistress who became a wife, as will identify with the formerly scorned ex. In my own circle of close female friends, two of them were former mistresses.
And astonishingly, knowing these women personally has given you a fresh perspective on life and a dash of empathy that has actually encouraged a relaxation of your normally incoherent but inflexible moral outrage. Brava, Kyle-Anne. On the down side, if you accidentally make a gay or black friend, you're going to run out of material real fast.
As Boomers, we would have to do a whole lot of Scarlet-A shunning to keep the marriage vow-breakers out of our midst. Unfortunately, that would mean most of us Boomers would have fewer friends than we could count on one hand. Amongst the younger generations, the only place where one can beam solidly on the side of chastity is at church on Sunday.
It's been many years since I've been to church, so I can only assume they've added American Gladiator
style spectacles to attract the young, or perhaps "beaming" is the part of the service where the fornicators and the adulterers remove the lumber from each others' eye.
At any rate, fair is fair, and since the 2nd Mrs. Gingrich is now nursing her divorce-grudge in public...
Well I don't blame her. I was pretty pissed off when I threw those magic divorce beans I bought out the window, and they grew into a giant divorce-grudge overnight. And I wasn't even married.
... the public needs to remember just how it was that Marianne came to be the second wife of Newt Gingrich. She had an affair with him while he was still married to wife #1. Exactly so, dear readers. The second wife, now running to the press crying foul over Newt's adultery, was his mistress (in an adulterous affair) before she became his wife.
Far from crying foul, I think Mrs. Gingrich 2.0 is actually gloating that Mrs. Gingrich 3.0 wasn't nearly as good a mistress as she was. After all, Newt left
his first wife for Marianne, but with Callista he wanted to maintain a full-time mistress, but still keep a wife on the side (you know, for Bridge parties, progressive dinners, or those nights when you just don't feel like getting a blowjob).
Let's not forget that Newt Gingrich is a Southerner. And Southern men have long, long, long, long been known for their randy ways, which a great many of us women find as attractive as we find it nettlesome when we are ourselves scorned for more verdant female pastures.
When I worked in Alabama, most of the people I met were very nice, but it was often embarrassing to accompany my male co-workers to the local Hooters, where they'd get liquored up and shout, "Look at the meadows on her!" and, "How'd ya like to graze on that
Whether South Carolina women will give Newt a pass on his hound-dog history is up in the air, but knowing Southern women as well as I do, I will bet that they will.
I haven't seen breakdowns of the vote by sex, but this still marks the first time I have ever witnessed Kyle-Anne make an even remotely accurate prediction. I can only hope this isn't the beginning of a trend, or I'm
going to run out of material.
Many are thinking right this minute along the lines of Sarah Palin.
I realize not everyone can afford a mistress, let alone three, but it's sad to think of anyone being reduced to this when there's so much free porn on the Internet.
We've got bigger fish to fry at the moment, and when one's Country is on the line, it's no time to be indulging puritan fantasies about men. Many women are thinking that we've got a once-married, publicly chaste president in the White House now, and it's not working out so well for America.
While it's true that last time the U.S. enjoyed a vibrant, expanding economy, there was a blowjob enthusiast who also defined oral sex in a narrow, pettifogging, pubic-hairsplitting way in the White House, that might just be a coincidence. However, if Kyle-Anne can prove causation, one of you ladies might have to take one for the team and seduce Obama in order to strengthen the labor market (I presume this is what John Boehner means when he starts breathing heavily about the importance of the "job creators").
Southern women are not idealists wearing rose-colored glasses, especially when it comes to men.
However, Southern men are advised to avoid donning the June-Cleaver glasses if their wives suspect they're screwing around.
Even the most religious among us tend to see men as they are and not as we would wish them to be. Even in the Antebellum South, women turned a willfully blind eye to a husband's sexual romps in favor of financial security and the social status of marriage.
Even in the Antebellum South, when women had so many legal and property rights and so much social autonomy? Wow. And that's to say nothing of the white women.
Then, Civil War and Reconstruction deprivations only reinforced this already-strong survival instinct among Southern women, who quite often will put up with a mistress on the side and only get vengeful when the husband takes that mistress for his new wife.
Ah, that explains it -- Marianne is suffered from Post-Reconstruction Era Stress Disorder, which has been demonstrated to cause deviant behavior. I understand that Nathan Bedford Forrest was driven to found the Ku Klux Klan when he learned that one of his closest associates -- a man who had served under him at the Fort Pillow Massacre -- was seeing another war criminal on the side.
Southern women tend to believe that it's as much a woman's duty to keep her man as it is a man's duty to remain in marital fealty.
"I'm sorry, honey, it was your responsibility to keep me honest and faithful, but so far you've done a demonstrably unsatisfactory job. As I see from your file, you received a written warning after that intern tossed my salad. Yet, I also note that I've been banging a Congressional aide repeatedly in my office bathroom, and you have still failed to develop and execute an effective action plan to stop me. So I'm afraid I've got no choice but to let you go. Please clean out your nightstand and your half of the bathroom sink, and be out of the house by five."
So, I'm getting pretty darned fed up with men running around screaming that Newt will cause a gender gap so huge that it simply can't be ameliorated by other factors more important. I'm planning to vote for Newt myself. And I can guarantee you we women are a heck of a lot more complicated than this anyhow.
Actually, c-o-m-p-l-i-c-a-t-e-d doesn't even spell the half of it when it comes to women.
Actually, it does. All you need is a "w" and an "n," and you're good to go -- although I still think it's kind of a crummy anagram.
Someone should arrange a blind date between this twit and Dr. Mike.
Sit back and watch the Comedy of Manners ensue.
"I'm sorry, honey, but it was your responsibility to keep me honest and faithful" is pretty much the argument Hepburn's father uses in The Philadelphia Story, except he thinks it was his DAUGHTER who wasn't good enough to keep him from straying. It's an uncomfortable scene for most people; probably not for Miss Hypenhead, who must nod enthusiastically every time she watches it.
For all her tap dancing, or should I say tap-dancing, she still arrives at the same boring old conclusion: It was the woman's fault anyway, the poor man was just bein' a man.
1) Newton Leroy Gingrich was born in 1943. Which means that while he's a lot of things, "Boomer" isn't one of them.
(Jesus, why, aside from the inherent laziness of the person who typically thinks like a headline-writer, is this such a difficult concept?)
2) "Newt", as his ex-wives and fellow disgraced former government officials call him, therefore spent his formative sexual years in the June Cleaver-50s.
3) Which just happens to be when the divorce rate in this country exploded. (Lifelong monogamy being one of those rare traditional activities today's Southern flower has eschewed in favor of modern improvements, joining instant grits, automatic washing machines, and oxycontin.)
4) Newt Gingrich is from that little-know part of the Old South locals call "Pennsylvania". Didn't become a roguish cavalier until it turned out that Dixie was the only place where the locals call his brand of bullshit "academic history."
5) Bill Clinton, on the other hand, is from Arkansas. Which explains why Kyle-Anne risked her credibility to defend him so strenuously. That, or the fact that she has no credibility in the first place.
Newt and the first Mrs. Gingrich couldn't shack up before marriage because she was his high school math teacher. Would have made parent-teacher night a little awkward.
Um, June-Cleaver wore glasses?
Also, is it just me, or does anyone else think ol' Kyle-Anne has a few Polaroids out there that would, you know, be published on the Hustler website if they, um, popped up? The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Would have made parent-teacher night a little awkward.
What? She could have had it in the bathroom and saved electricity
I say we pour some Canola oil in an inflatable kiddie pool and let her and Katherine Jean Lopez fight it out.
To which I must second the projectile yarking of one Mr. Creosote.
Dayum, this girl could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch, the way she goes on. And all while assuming those intricate yoga-mater poses.
Yesterday I was remembering a phrase from the June-Cleaver glasses days, "pretzel logic" and trying to think of an example. Damn but Kyle-Anne smacks that definition head on, doesn't she?
"Red-blooded, healthy, high-testosterone men" is special code for "owners of submissive women", innit?
Southern women love Newt? Women in Florida voted overwhelmingly for Romney. Not because they like Mitt but because they hate Newt.
And don't say that Florida isn't the south. It most assuredly is.
I really, truly despise women after puberty who use this coy, flirty, sugary way of interacting.You know, "us Southern gals like a man who gets around". Oh, pleeze, b**ch.Those eyelashes get tired when you flutter?
Well, our writer has exhibited another characteristic of a certain type of "Southern woman": Being as crackers as Blanche DuBois....
Southern women tend to believe that it's as much a woman's duty to keep her man as it is a man's duty to remain in marital fealty.
This is why obesity is a real problem in the South. Women watching their girlish figures...go right out the door.
Civil War and Reconstruction deprivations only reinforced this already-strong survival instinct among Southern women, who quite often will put up with a mistress on the side.
"So help me God, I will nevah forgo a threesome again!"
"Hypocrisy is the alarm lever behind the brittle pane marked 'In Case of Negro in White House, Break Glass.'"
Dude. That's a little long for a sampler, but I think it might fit in cross stitch on the pillowcases.
So I'm not a Christian anymore, but I do recall something in the Bible about the son who agreed to do something and then didn't, and the one who said no but later did. Jesus seemed much cooler with the latter, and my take on hypocrisy has always been much the same.
Live your values quietly, or apologize and keep your lectures to yourself.
Particularly when, as in Newt's case, you don't even know what your values *are*. There's no virtue in making an act with no victim into a sin. A sin is repeatedly cheating on your wife. A sin is not being open with her that you can't support her in her illness. And, you know, a lot of relationships are broken on a catastrophic illness, I won't judge him for that. I will judge him for not being honest about it and helping her to find the help she needed elsewhere.
And I absolutely *will* judge him for this: there are a lot of gay relationships out there trying to do their best in the face of a catastrophic illness, and Newt wants to strip away what few legal and societal tools they have. So fuck him for that.
His stance on marriage is not a virtue, and his hypocrisy is not a tribute to anything approaching a virtue. It's self-righteousness, which is not the same as righteousness, and there's nothing admirable about it.
And it's not made any better by people like Kyle-Anne spinning Newt's hypocrisy in an attempt to justify her own.
That entire column is as filled with ersatz empathy as Newt's public life has been. I'm not taking morality lessons from either of these assholes.
And I dunno who defined it, but as someone in a poly, actually open, partnership that Newt would consider immoral on all sorts of grounds, I'm using "Swingrich" as a word now. Swingrich: Someone who pretends to be in an ethical open relationship, but who's really just a cheating liar.
"I say we pour some Canola oil in an inflatable kiddie pool and let her and Kathryn Jean Lopez fight it out."
Fine by me, I'll bring the matches.
What kind of hair-do is she sporting? Does anyone know? Is there a name for it?
“The Divine Right of Kings has given way to the testicle-crushing powers of Article II of the U.S. Constitution.” [Why is it called the “unitary executive” if there are two balls to crush ? Or is that just typical Republican math ?]
Kyle-Anne's Polaroids would only be "published on the Hustler website if" Hustler joined the Anti-Sex League !
"The 1st Mrs. Gingrich, however, can apparently suck it." No, because there wouldn't be a 3rd Mrs. Gingrich !
"We pushed the bounds of every sexual prohibition to its furthermost limits ...." What is this "we" shit ? Many Boomers had celibacy "thrust upon us".
It is amusing that the Mormon is the only Republican candidate who's had only one wife !
"Amongst the younger generations, the only place where one can beam solidly on the side of chastity is at church on Sunday." I think s/he goes by "Chaz" these days, and she makes many public appearances !
"nights when you just don't feel like getting a blowjob" ... right, what guy has those feelings ?
I would like to have known this chick in 1973, was probably fun. Now she talks about her youth as if it were a disease, and she's got this hairstyle that looks like Katharyn Hepburn in the front and Daryl Hanna in the back.
Keith Wonders (as do we all): What kind of hair-do is she sporting? Does anyone know? Is there a name for it?
I call it the "Charlie's Angel." Sort of the female counterpart of the male haircut of the same era known as "The Mullet."
I just got started on this, and have already intellectually absorbed WAY the fuck more than my Recommended Daily Amount of DONKEY SEMEN.
Not sure where it fits on the Food Pyramid from the FDA, but I'm pretty sure that ANY amount, outside of a Dave Chappelle skit (nope, the "Jackass" semen-gargling thing still makes me gag like Linda blair!), is TOO FUCKING MUCH.
And no, fellas, I do NOT want to navigate the road trip to Tijuana, y'all can get to the burro shows on yer own this year...
"I say we pour some Canola oil in an inflatable kiddie pool and let her and Katherine Jean Lopez fight it out."
Jeebush Aych CHRIST on a fucking cracker with a side of horseradish, Scott, what in the fuck have I done to YOU?!?!?
I'm going to try to go back to packing and eventually let the scar tissue that you have burned into my cerebellum eventually slough away... but mannnn, are you in for the SHIT LIST come October!!!!!!
BTW, Carrrrrlllll..., you made out a legally-binding last will & testament lately?
This is why obesity is a real problem in the South. Women watching their girlish figures...go right out the door.
Yeah, 'cause you'll never find a fat broad in QUEENS or in CHEESEHEAD COUNTRY, willya punkin'? No fat asses in Kahl-ee-fohrn-i-ay, right? CERTAINLY no fat bitches in them thar island nations that you enjoy, I'm sure, not once Murkin soldiers & sailors taught 'em that REAL curves, rather than the just-this-side-of-boy-shaped curvelettes on immediately-post-pubescent females --- all of THAT curviness was just GROSS, huh.
May the Venus of Willendorf haunt all your dreams, flogging you with cats o'nine saturated in K-Lo's pit-sweat.
Annti! I've been meaning to tell you -- and Scott et al. will be thrilled at this wild tangent -- that I got a dusty purple shade of eyeliner after you mentioned yours back in October or so. It DOES make green-blue eyes pop! You're a genius!
Also, and this is more on topic but still completely unnecessary, when I saw Kyle-Anne I thought she would be the PERFECT costume for you on Halloween. It would take two shades of hair dye and a vintage headband, but we could make it work.
Stacia, dear heart, I know that you mean well, but, um, NO. If *I* dressed-up as the psycho-cunt Stepford-wannabe from Hell, it would come off as an extra in the gawdless-awful "Broadway" version of "Hairspray"!!!!!!
Besides, since I'm being evicted this month, I haven't yet come up with this year's idea. I had no idea last year, and what happened was NOT pleasant. Basically, I was the spirit of Death that lingers over wealth-obsessed pseudo-"non-profit" so-called "hospitals" like TOURO INFIRMARY, who are perfectly happy to take my medicare & medicaid, but know nothing about Medicaid Transport services HOME from the fucking EMERGENCY ROOM, and ergo treated me like I was BUMMING MONEY OFF OF THEM TO GET HOME. You don't wanna know the whole ugly story, but it was one pitiful fucking costume.
I have until Easter-pseudo-Sunday that they stole from the virgin-feeding-trees Druids to come up with a doable costume, which will give me time to start working, by hand, on whatever I decide to be. You shoulda seen the crippling hand-stitching on the Mae West & Josephine Baker costumes for myself & my then-roommate. But we looked GLORIOUS, even though my dear friend Dorse' KEPT my purple tuxedo jacket, the fuck, AND my fedora, as he went as Steph/Josephine's zoot-suit boy-toy. He even got to use some of his California-flavored Cajun French (long story, true blood), though most of it was in cussing when I turned an ankle in a hellacious petticoat on those fucking cobblestone banquettes on Chartres Street and smacked my head on said slate paving. When I came to, the nice people of the now-gone Stage Door had me up in a chair, with icepacks on my head and an ambulance & EMTs shining painfully-bright lights into my eyes.
Sorry, got off track. But no, I couldn't be somebody THIS obscure, because then I'd have to stab idiot fucking TOURISTS whom SOMEfuckingbody TOLD ABOUT OUR ***ONE*** LOCAL HOLIDAY THAT ***THEY*** HADN'T RUINED YET, so now they COME HERE FOR HALLOWEEN (!!!!!)... When I went to excruciating trouble and wore one HELLUVA blonde wig to be the oversized Mae (she WAS only five feet in stockings!), morons saw only the costume's poufy skirt and called me fucking "SCARLETT"!!!!!!!!!!
At WHAT point in history has Scarlett O'Hara EVER been a fucking BLONDE?!?!?!?
This is why tourists should stick to the fucking TRADITIONAL holidays that we've sacrificed to them: Mardi Gras & Jazz Fest (only when a white boy carpetbagger took it over did it get oversold to the point that NO LOCALS CAN FIT INTO THE FUCKING FENCES AROUND THE FAIRGROUNDS!!!)!!
And yay that you proved my eyeliner technique! I'm so glad that it worked for you! If you tell me the specific colors that your eyes turn, if they change colors like mine, I can tell you the ideal colors to really make those mercurial eyes POP, but not pop OUT. And no, we don't have to over-do the eyeliner like those gawdless-awful, orange-liquid-base nightmare ads for CoverGirl or any of those "loud electric hooker colors" that are trying to destroy our eyelids.
Annti, I am SO sorry to hear about the eviction, and I meant no offense with the costume idea. A Kyle-Anne wig, bible in one hand and a secret file of her old Hustler photos in the other... that's hilarious to me. So is stabbing tourists. But I have an admittedly odd sense of humor.
It doesn't surprise me, sadly, that people didn't recognize your costume. I knew a lady who wore vintage 30s and 40s clothes and some guy shouted "Hey Happy Days" to her, because lotsa idiots don't know the difference between 1941 and 1957.
But back to World O' Crap Makeup Tips (tm): My eyes are mostly blue-grey but with dark green and slight goldish-brown flecks in the center. They turn all dark emerald green at times, usually when I have a headache but sometimes randomly.
No offense taken, sweetie. But that general Dallas/Metroplex Big Hay-urrh type of wig, bibul & up-past-the-pink photos wouldn't JUST fit this particular bibul-banging harlot. Remember Jessica fucking HAHN?!?! After Sam Kinison had been in there, Flynt could've seen up into her fucking PANCREAS without so much as a DIGITAL ZOOM LENS!!!!!! And considering the time span, they didn't even HAVE digital, so he would NOT have needed a 2/220 zoom, honey; he coulda used a fucking DISK CAMERA to see THE BACK OF HER MOLARS!!!!!! What he lacked in height, he more than made-up for in cunt-wrecking ENTHUSIASM.
Anyway, I love you to death for the Halloween enthusiasm (unrelated to the above, obviously... *hopefully*), but nahhhh, not me. If I'd been in NOLA when Tammy fucking FAYE died... OHHHHH, BABY!!! The height/mass differential wouldn't even have been a TOPIC, let alone a hindrance. I may not have the air-compressor to apply that kinda makeup in a car-part spray tent, but I coulda pulled it off manually, or as I usually put it, "ghetto-style medicinal talents." I am not a doctor and have never played one on TV, but I can fix some shit a helluva lot cheaper than an after-hours clinic. I *refuse* to tend to ER-quality injuries, though.
NOW: As to your remarkable eyes, here goes what I would use in the same color phases, or if I don't have that specific color, it's my best guesses:
Dark Emerald Green: cliche', I know, but matching gem-rich emerald green is the first choice, with emerald or gold-flecked metallic or glitter-infused mascara (especially for party dates/special events); for daylight hours, taupe liner & brown mascara, with taupe powder shadow on the lids, emerald green in the crease, and cream-yellow/gold on the browbone (PLEASE don't tweeze yer brows to fuck and back, that shit won't come back, especially after age 40!!) & upper lid.
GREY: Silver, grey, black or nude eyeliner, black mascara. Dark/slate-grey on lids & darker into crease, silvery grey/white-grey on browbone & upper lid.
BLUE W/GOLDISH-BROWN FLECKS: I don't get the BROWN part, but definitely have the gold flecks if I'm in happy/horny/up-to-mischief/bullshit/vandalism teal/turquoise-iris territory. TAUPE liner (as overpriced & evil as they are, Merle Norman makes THE perfect taupe/tan eyeliner that can NOT be replicated or outlasted by anybody else.), GOLD powder (NOT glitter! Save that for your lashes or hair!) on LIDS, MOSSY-GREEN or TEAL in the CREASE (depending upon the blue/green/brown ratios), CREAM, LIGHT-LIGHT YELLOW, OR PALEST-POSSIBLE NON-AQUAMARINE BLUE on the UPPER LID/BROWBONE. Depending upon the situation/date/party/event, brown mascara for subtle, brown-black with the teal/blueish tinges, and glitter-gold black mascara on lashes.
In all events, remember to buy brow pencil one shade lighter than your head hair at any given time (first guy who makes a "head hair joke" gets a ball-peen hammer in the throat!), never change the brow color to match the eye-shadow & liner colors. Also, try to match earrings & facial-piercing colors to eyeliner color; if all-metal earrings/barbells/noserings, silver & gold & purple-range titanium shades are your best beds, depending upon your combination of eyelash & eyeliner & eyeshadow. I'm too po' to replace the gorgeous titanium barbells that I used to have in my eyebrow (the carpet @ the Red Lion Hotel in Austin is TOO FUCKING PLUSH, DAMMIT!!!), so my brow & nose are both stainless steel, and they go with everything, even if you are in gold-tone eyes/clothes/earrings.
We now return you to your regularly-scheduled broadcast programming, as this concludes our cosmetic lecture. You're welcome.
37.6 degrees Celsius.
I BELIEVE, algore, I Believe !!!
Aaarrggh. Switch it off.
Suezboo (melted puddle)
Dear darling, way-the-fuck-too-far-away Suezboo:
Would that we could all find a non-fossil-fuel-fueled way to send industrial electricity in mass quantities to your neck o' the dying icicle woods. As well as to the other pole... they're both costing many magnificent birds & mamminals their homes, their food & their lives, along with the TONNES AFTER TONNES OF ABANDONED B.P., ROYAL HOUSE OF SAUD, GHWBUSH/CHENEYBORG, RAYTHEON & CHEVRON/SHELL DRILLING GARBAGE HAVE BECOME A fucking PART of the SOUTH POLE, petrochemical waste, dispersants, Gulf "spill"/INTENTIONAL OVERKILL SECOND GENOCIDE OF THE GULF SOUTH AND EVERY LAST REMAINING BLUER-THAN-RUSH-FATFUCK-LIMBAUGH'S-BALLS-STUCK-IN-CUSTOMS-INTO-THE-DOMINICAN-REPUBLIC FUCKING **GENOCIDE**, as they have been ABANDONING DERRICKS, THOUSANDS OF BARRELS OF CARCINOGENIC "DRILLING MUD," CRUDE OIL, METHANE & OTHER BY-PRODUCTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I feel yer pain and your bizarre sweat, even for your "summertime," so to speak, WAY too close to a TEMPERATE-ZONE SUMMER. Our flora, fauna & insects STILL ain't right since Katrina, Ike & Gustav!!! Migration patterns down to Central America are JACKED. I can only imagine what your tuxedoed little neighbors are enduring... and succumbing to... Breaks my heart, girl. As pushy as those jackass penguins are into the suburbs that ate-up THEIR beaches, and it's not always as comical as BBC flicks would have us believe, they are a precious commodity, like the near-extinction of LOUISIANA brown pelicans, NOW BEING REPLACED/REPLENISHED WITH ***FLORIDA*** brown pelicans, 'cause they're the closest/safest match, and imports don't make it from offshore/Asia/S. American rare pelicans that almost venture into your nearest archipelago.
And yes, dear heart, darling wunderkind, I know that that's NOT what you meant, but it hit a nerve, and despite stringent medical orders back in '95, I've been drinking an assload of CAFFEINE (yeah, I know, makes me sound all fucking Mor(m)on and shit...) so that I can get a few moving boxes started, and PROPERLY packed (won't bore y'all again with the personal, VERY personal agony of two-faced illiterate spoiled brats who think that they're enhancing their potential resumes' by "helping" junkie whores like ME, and WHAT, exactly, they made a fucking POINT of destroying...), and now I can't fucking turn it AND a Dayquil capsule OFF and into sleep tonight, for shit. Shoulda been in bed TWO HOURS AGO, DAMMMIT. Hence me glomming onto your brilliant brevity. Sincerely hope that I haven't pissed you off by trickling onto your loverly punchline...
P.-FUCKING-S.!!!!!: My super-secret decoder-ring word is, I shit y'all not --- "WAR I-SAUD"!!!!!!!!!!!! Dick Cheney owns Google, by damn, wasn't owning Wyoming & Montana **ENOUGH** for the evil motherfucker?!?!?!
PPS: Sometimes, I ***reeeeallllyyyyy fucking NEED colored fonts, dammit!!!
"abandoning derricks, by-products, etc., FOR WHAT, NEARLY 100 FUCKING *YEARS*?!?!?!?
That woulda worked-out SOOOO much better.
Sorry. Prolly innumerable typos/serrated thoughts/severed sentences/etc., but I'll shut the fuck up now.
42 outside now.
Annti, sweetie, Your rants work just as well in monochrome, believe me.And, just because I am at the moment wallowing in self-pity and sweat, I really DO care about the poor penguins, not to even speak of the riverine rabbit and the ZOMG rhinos and elephants and cheetahs and all the other fantabulous African creatures - Gorillas!and chimps! who are slowly disappearing.But I cannot take any more sadness on these - I just can't.
Hugs from over here.
Scott, I have an english translation of de La Rochefoucauld's "Maxims" somewhere here but as usual cannot find it.
Annti, noticed you mentioned Tammy Faye Bakker in your postings. Here's a story from the way-back machine.
Our family lived in deepest, darkest suburban Virginia in the late 60s-early 70's. The 'hood got even darker when we met our new neighbors, the Bakker family.
They bought a very nice ranch home on lakefront property but were not very sociable. Even though it was a somewhat affluent neighborhood, the Bakkers raised some eyebrows here or there because they were the only "two Caddilac" garage and they often argued very loudly with each other with the windows open.
One summer I met Mr. Bakker and contracted to mow his lawn (summer job). As soon as I revved the engine Tammy Faye came running out and ordered me off their property. She was very upset. I didn't get paid.
Later that summer we had an "ice cream social" because there were a lot of youngsters about the block with clustered birthdays, so some enterprising family came up with the idea. We bought a ton of ice cream. It was packed in dry ice. We had three or four cartons of dry ice after the party and didn't know what to do with it.
So we dumped it in the lake behind Jim & Tammy's house.
It didn't take long for the vapors from the dry ice to completely surround the Bakker's back yard. Once the chemical reaction got going, and it was really impressive, we ran off howling with glee. Tammy Faye called the fire department. I guess she thought there was a fire coming from the lake. It was a hoot & 1/2 and I'm always delighted to remember this story to anyone who cares.
Yeah, 'cause you'll never find a fat broad in QUEENS or in CHEESEHEAD COUNTRY, willya punkin'?
But it's not a real problem in Queens, Annti, because New Yorkers walk.
CARL, PLEASE. Walking??? Not in Queens, by damn, they all fucking DRIVE. That's where we always parked to take the train into "the city" when I was there in '98, and that porcine "Queen of Queens," Kevin whastisface was NOT the only portly gent to be sighted. Though, after he croaked, I kinda felt bad for deliberately snubbing that moustachioed movie reviewer Joel Siegel on that Times Square sidewalk... Ah, well, life is for regrets, apparently.
NOW: people in Manhattan walk IF THEY'RE WORKING-CLASS/POOR. The snots who LIVE there, but don't necessarily WORK there, they have DRIVERS, the people who DO work there take the trains and it's a far stretch between those damned things, *that* I know. When I had to hoof it from the West Village to SoHo to the loverly TriBecA Grill (nope, never got that autographed/framed 'Taxi Driver' poster, but I will SOMEDAY, dammit!!) and back to the right train to get back to Queens, my back wasn't yet broken (though it soon would be, on my way home from THE most-pointless JOB FAIR ON EARTH, agonizingly-ironically e-fucking-nough!), but I DID already have the sarcoid (soon to be diagnosed that year), was eaten-up by 'arthuritis,' and had no fucking cartilage in either knee, thanks to a lack of real doctors OR physical therapy when the left one was broken in the '86 wreck with the cut brakes. Benefits of arthroscopic surgery don't last that long, so the right knee wasn't thrilled, either.
But as many homeless, pseudo-homeless fake-as-Bourbon-street beggars, workers, yuppie-scum, chi-chi-wannabe assholes as nearly trampled my then 5'9.5" frame in Manhattan, I saw way more traffic than I did pedestrians, my pet.
(fucking TRUNCATED AGAIN!!)
(Keith, you OWE ME, son...)
Darling Suezboo, sweetie-pie, I would never intentionally make you sad, I hope that you know that. You are a brave soul for enduring the crimes against nature that somehow continue to happen (can you say "FUCK THE COCKSUCKING SHORT-DICK *SAFARI CLUB*?!!?"), without becoming a serial killer of megalomaniac million/billionaires who hunt treacherously-endangered animals for so-called fucking "sport." The only reason to HUNT is for FOOD, dammit. "Sport" is when you play with BIGGER BALLS and nobody fucking DIES.
I send you all good thoughts, cool breezes, the occasional jackass penguin trying to sneak-in the cat flap to share your a/c (I know, like you need MORE adventure, right?!?!), and better fucking law enforcement in Zulu Land, especially in protecting teh far-too-few critters. Maggots who hunt endangered animals or shoot lions solely "because they're on 'MY' property" should be put to work as stable-muckers at emergency-care preserves, large-animal vets' offices/ambulances for elephants, etc. FOR LIFE. And never be allowed to own a firearm, dart gun or any other weapon ever the fuck again. Let the kittehs eat 'em.
And Keith, he o' teh not-so-subtle e-mails:
Dood, I wouldn't wish THOSE "neighbors" on anybody but Darth Cheney. Colon cancer was STILL too kind for that racist, bass-ackwards illiterate WHORE-THIEF Tammy Faye, she got off EASY, compared to what she did to THOUSANDS OF RETIREES WHO WERE BILKED OUT OF THEIR EVERY LAST FUCKING DIME in hopes of having a peaceful "christian" place to spend their "golden years." And they never once got a fucking CENT back. Of course, I don't have to tell YOU that shit, but when you say that colon cancer is too easy a way out, sometimes ya gotta 'splain to the folks in the peanut gallery. Jim's still alive, ain't he? Monkey-faced little pussy-assed weasel. Nope, sorry, shouldn't slander PUSSY like that... But he still looks like one of those lionesque monkeys from SE Asia, except that the monkeys have CONSCIENCES and DON'T EAT THEIR OWN (chimps, on the other hand...). That beady-eyed monkey-wannabe neanderthal hillbilly had BETTER still be in prison, or he's going onto THE LIST. Y'know, if I ever get an actual DEPARTURE DATE for the sarcoid or the black spots in my brain or what-the-fuck-ever. There is a list of motherfuckers that I'm TAKING WITH ME, and THAT midget cocksucker has been on it for over 20 years. But you know, I *will* need somebody to help with the driving up to Wyoming, should the fortuitous day ever arrive... up for a road trip?
Nice trick with the dry ice... though it would've been funnier if you'd hosed Tammy Faye down and STUCK HER TO THE BIGGEST BLOCK OF DRY ICE YOU COULD FIND. The dry ice would eventually evaporate/melt, leaving the world's ugliest/graffiti-faced fish stick lying out in the morning dew... Can'tcha just picture it???
P.S. If anybody has a dime left over from tax season, as I *am* being evicted in two weeks, I could use a little help, if y'all aren't too put-off by me begging here, yet again. You don't HAVE to go to my blog ( http://seditious.org/annti/ ) to donate a "personal" PayPal thingy (it's in those tabs, the one that states what kind of send it is, if you want to keep them from charging the fee!), you can just holler at me on here, in e-mail or otherwise pass a good word, and I'll give you the e-mail address that goes with the PP account.
Sorry to be such an egregious whore, but moving ain't cheap, especially when you can't rent a storage unit in the mean-time to clear-out the boxes before the furniture, and HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHERE YOU'RE GOING OR WHEN. They TELL me that they'll find me "emergency housing," but I ain't heard a peep about it YET, and sure as hell ain't heard no SPECIFICS, except that I *had* to pay rent on this racist, agonizing HELLHOLE on the month in which I'm being EVICTED, which COULD have gone to a storage unit.
And yes, the folk who were SUPPOSED to "protect" me from this racist, illegal, immoral, breaking-several-federal-laws BULLSHIT but DIDN'T, were there to SUPERVISE *ME* when I paid the fucking rent, so that I didn't go to Orleans Parish Prison for mass homicide (even if it was only the Sasquatch possibly-pre-op linebacker tranny beast-bitch, shim's big enough to constitute one HELLUVA MASS!!!) --- but at least I had one small consolation, aside from my meagre little green valium...
Wore my favorite t-shirt, bald-open, to said bend-me-over-the-gimp-barrel event: One simple line, in typewriter font:
Fuck you. DIE.
If only it were a directive to the fates, eh?
(BTW, some people HAVE had problems wif my PayPal button on the blog, dunno why, it works fine for me, but anyway, the direct route is good too, if anyone is able to help. Thank you all for putting up with my shit...XOXOXO)
Annti, you are a doll. I'm glad you mentioned stainless steel jewelry, as my multiple ear hoops are stainless and I am loathe to give them up.
I don't get the brown bits in my eyes either. My eyes are all the colors of the rainbow. Like Skittles.
Sadly, I have reached the age where cheapass drugstore makeup no longer works on me, unless I'm going for the subtle Baby Jane look. Slowly I'm working up a stash of the so-called good stuff, but holy cow it's expensive.
Hard Candy has some good mineral makeup at reasonable prices, esp. considering how Wally World is trying to "upmarket" and steal Target yuppies, and their cosmetic prices have gone through the ROOF! That English line, the name escapes me at the moment, but they gave Kate Moss work when nobody else would... RIMMEL!!! Yeah, they're good, and cheap-ish (not as cheap as "Love My Eyes"/Lips/Face/etc." which is probably still made out of aquamarine fish scales), and are working on a mineral-makeup line.
I gotta tellya, as the deprivation of my birth-control pills @ age 36 (they blame it on my smoking, but it's really an uber-cathlick-state PUNISHMENT for NOT HAVING BRED!) kick-started the genealogical curse given me by the Fallen Uterus, the one that I refer to as being a "TRANSLUCENT WEREWOLF" --- mineral makeup has been a HUGE relief. Hard to keep the liquid stuff from beading-up or clusterfucking if you even DARE perspire even a fine MIST when your lower face has a full moustache, goat and mutton-chop sideburns of clear, fuzzy-like-a-puppy fucking FUR. With the powder mineral foundation, I can even touch-up with a retractable brush (also available at Dollar Tree!), and you'd never know that a single follicle or speck of makeup had been disturbed!
And don't let the cosmetic-marketers known as "aestheticians" or beauticians masquerading as dermatologists fool ya --- powder-based makeups, especially the mineral-based/mineral-only ones, last a helluva lot longer, SAFELY, than they tell you. You do NOT need to throw out good makeup because of a 2-minute hype-the-fear bit on the local news. As long as it's not moist, and it's kept cool & dark, it can last years and never lose a pixel of color. Lipsticks, despite my grandmother's and great-aunt's hoarding, do NOT last indefinitely, but they can go a good year or two if you keep them closed & clean. Lip gloss breaks-down a lot faster and can get plumb GRITTY, gross!
I hardly ever wear makeup anymore, there's no point when all of your front teeth left are 3 plastics attached to the cheap-but-way-too-expensive plastic partial that KNOCKED-OUT ALL OF THE OTHER FRONT TEEF, STARTING WITH ALL FOUR CANINES. Can't impress a lot of people with THAT grin, and even though ONE cute redheaded boy was brave enough to kiss me with and without my denture, he didn't stick around long after he'd seen the horror. So no, I am not, as of yet, out of retirement, and prolly won't be in this decade.
Anywho, what I was headed towards was, you can TOO look as good as you wanna look on drugstore/Wally World/Tar-jhay/whatever store makeup, you do NOT have to go to overpriced orgies like SEPHORA or MACY'S or ANY department store to buy their overpriced shit that's NOT **THAT** MUCH BETTER. Lancome IS L'Oreal, and one of the other chi-chi lines is owned by REVLON. Can't remember which one at this hour (been up all night, and way the fuck behind on the packing, so this is my last online bit of the day!), but it's one of the big ones.
Mary Kay, though, they STILL use animal testing and the queen that I once worked for who exploited exotic birds as a "breeder" and also sold Mary Kay on the side was USING ***SAMPLES*** FROM THE NINETEEN-FUCKING-**SEVENTIES** TO GIVE HIS OWN CLIENTS!!! Talk about DISGUSTING!!!!!!!!!! No shame whatsofuckingever. And nobody at Mary Kay did a damned thing to stop him, the tightwad freak.
Honestly, honey, don't waste precious dough on department-store or Sephora or Merle Norman (except that ONE eyeliner!) or anything ELSE expensive, you can do it all on the cheap and look WAY the hell better than spoiled hausfraus at the mall. E-mail me any time if you have a question, so that we don't take up entire threads on makeup tutorials. I still keep forgetting to finish the thought about me hardly ever wearing makeup anymore --- when The Dungeon was still THE Dungeon and Chicky would let me TRY to sell my homemade jewelry & purses (TRY being the operative word... fucking cheapskate fucking TOURISTS would spend FORTY BUCKS ON FUCKING MARDI GRAS BEADS *IN NOVEMBER,* but not TEN on a HANDMADE PURSE!!!), I'd get all dolled-up and wear my used-to-be-almost-slutty velvet goth-ish dress, and I'd wear makeup for that. Or funerals, weddings, that kinda shit. If either of my cute doctors were single, I'd wear makeup for THAT, but they ain't, so fuckit. I'm po', I'm saving my makeup for the good shit!
If you really want a good investment (and thanks to clutzy people, I need new halogen bulbs in both of mine!), get one of those not-too-expensive halogen desk lamps from Wally World or Target. Aim that solar-strength light on yer face, and you won't miss ANYTHING that needs attention, and you'll use a helluva lot LESS makeup and avoid the Baby Jane problem entirely. The better-lit that you are, the more accurate and delicate that your makeup will be. A good close-up mirror (lighted mirrors are a rip-off) and a halogen lamp will fix you up just right.
Going to try and get a nap now, before it's back to the salt mines. Thanks for the help, honey, and g'night!
BTW, I dunno why it didn't occur sooner for me to make note of the RHPS ref... maybe because a big-haired skank like this isn't WORTHY of such brilliance, even by association.
Darling, we walk to the trains. No one drives into Queens, unless they're fancy pants Republican elitists
*getting asbestos thong*
Welll, pumpkin, *I* did a week in NY on $365.00 in January, 1998, and back then, my teeny car's gas was cheaper than the L.I.R., 'cause I was staying @ a friend's house in Levittown, driving into the city & parking @ her gramma's house and hiking up to the fucking train.
And then UP and DOWN those interminable fucking STAIRS, over and over and OVER a-fucking-gain, with a bum knee and no cartilage in either. Miriam was used to hiking the whole fucking island, *I* was not. I'd had HCP license plates since 1987, if that gives you any fucking clue. The only time that I paid THROUGH THE FUCKING **ASS** TO PARK *IN* the city was when I actually got to go INSIDE one of my dream destinations (i.e., I got to SEE CBGB's, but I never saw the INSIDE of CBGB's. Spent all of $7 on clearance-sale used books in SoHo.) --- TriBecA Grill. 2ND BEST. MARGARITA. FUCKING. EVER. **Great** bartender, comping us appetizers and bisexual as all get-out (the man already had a job working for DeNiro but was wearing PANCAKE MAKEUP BEHIND THE BAR!!!), and his margaritas were second only to the dearly-departed Charlene's on Elysian Fields here, a lesbian bar that had THE. 2nd. BEST. BARTENDERS. EVER. Awesome cocktails and fabulous drink specials, but nobody will ever beat Heather, formerly BEST. BARTENDER. EVER. of The Dungeon, back in the "good old days." Oh, to be young and not tripping balls (cheap blotter w/no effects other than remarkable energy & bizarre friendliness with drunk cops in uniform... go fuckin' figure) through 56-60 hours of Mardi Gras, and only having to pay for EIGHT hours' parking @ Canal Place... *sigh* Y'know, back before I abdicated MG altogether in 2000, after I had to pull my knife on an entire city block just to cross Bourbon to get back to my fucking TRUCK on my way home from work. ONE more drunk tourist makes the mistake of touching me, ANYWHERE, and you WILL be seeing me on the national news.
Anyway, this ol' crippled bitch from way the fuck back ain't no fucking republicunt rich bitch, but the NYC train system AIN'T exactly fucking HANDICRIPPLE-FRIENDLY.
Has Mighty-Mouse Mini-Mayor Mikey fixed any of THAT shit, or does he only give a fuck about TURNING SMOKERS INTO SHOOT-ON-SIGHT FELONS???
And yes, I remember, you ARE older than me, but I dunno of any physical disabilities on your end, so spare me backlash on THAT score, granpa.
No, I didna get to steal the autographed "Taxi Driver" poster framed next to the ladies' room door @ TriBecA, though I sure as hell worked out the perfect escape plan. Miriam was SUCH a fucking BUZZKILL.
When I've slept sometime in the next day, remind me to tell me of the JOYS of being mistaken for a dumb-fuck-soft-touch-fucking-TOURIST by the beggars, stalkers and other assorted PAINS IN MY ASS associated with your loverly public transit system, PUMPKIN.
P.S.: Spare us the brain pain of you and thongs of ANY description, Carl. Seriously. I know that most of the attention paid your "special place" *is* of the hostile kind, even if you're paying a dom top-dollar to do it, but, sorry, no, punkin', NO FREEBIES FROM ANNTI. For nobody, no more. So there.
P.S. Did you miss the mention of that WORKING-CLASS NEIGHBORHOOD that could easily have been Archie Bunker's or Queen Of Queen's? THOSE houses, THOSE blocks. And yeah, they all have cars to go TO WORK IN, and the train is about 10-15 blocks away (I lose track after my mind leaves my body b/c of the pain level being that high, and if you make ONE joke about the outta-body pain, YOU ARE GOING TO EXPERIENCE IT, CARL.), so yeah, I'm sure that there are plenty of people in Queens who walk to the train, but I also saw first-hand how many of those houses had at least one automobile. Of course, this was before Cheney re-instigated/put-the-shit-on-steroids fucking REAGANOMICS-WILL-NEVER-DIE, so I'd wager that half those cars are gone, along with half the homeowners.
Annti and Stacia, I hope there's still some cheese & crackers & wine (oh please baby Jesus, let there still be wine)at your Mary Kay/Merle Norman cosmetic party so I'll throw in my 2 cents for what it's worth.
50fucking9 yrs. old next month and I've found that foundation just ain't for me anymore. It just settles into all those "laugh" lines (why doesn't anyone ever mention the FROWN lines I've got from living in a predominately Republican sewer area of Illinois?) Anyway, I found a marvelous tinted moisturizer that makes my skin look almost PERFECT! Much better than any foundation. TheBalm BalmShelter tinted moisturizer SPF18. Sells at Sephora and other pricey sites for $25 and shipping of course but I lurk around Ebay and I just got my 2nd tube for under $15 and that's with S&H included and no it wasn't outdated. A little goes a long way for a bonus and while they sell other cosmetics, I've not sampled anything else. AND they are certified as a PETA cruelty free company so no animal testing at all. Oh and those lighted mirrors Annti? If they're lighted AND magnified, they're great for honing in and destroying those random black hairs that mysteriously sproing out on your upper lip/chin the older one becomes. Sigh. Overstock.com might still have them.
Annti, I have printed out your replies and taped them to my wall, seriously. I do like Rimmel mascara but I get so much free mascara from Sephora I haven't had to buy any in years. I confess I do get those sets of sample sized makeup from Sephora, which come with free samples on top of that, so it's not that bad.
Gappy, thanks! I have TimeBalm by the same maker and it's good, but they give you so much in the tub the second half dries out which undermines the cheapness (relative) of the cost.
I have strange skin, I think, or I've got some kind of genetic deficit that makes me one of those rare women who can't do/understand/apply makeup. For years I used a little concealer and powder and looked fine, but the red splotches and bags under the eyes from various allergies and eye infections and sleep disorders are permanent now. So I need industrial super high grade comes-in-a-lead-lined-container makeup nowadays. I'm headed toward Edna Mae Oliver and/or Marie Dressler territory, I'm afraid.
Has Mighty-Mouse Mini-Mayor Mikey fixed any of THAT shit, or does he only give a fuck about TURNING SMOKERS INTO SHOOT-ON-SIGHT FELONS???
Actually, the MTA has gone to great lengths to retrofit elevators into the subway system.
You know, for out of towners.
Dear Stacia, if you want to avoid trying the redux of "Baby Jane," be kind to your face, darling, be kind. Moisturizing sunscreen/moisturizer w/SPF, gentle cleaner & toner, sleep on your back as often as possible (gravity ain't NOBODY'S friend!), and go as light as you can with the makeup. Keep to cooler tones of mineral foundation (doesn't fill-up and look all cruddy in wrinkles like liquid foundation!) to downplay the red areas, and when you want to make those mercurial eyes pop, do the color schtick like I said. Obviously, nobody wants to look like a deathbed Liz Taylor or Joan Crawford at ANY AGE, with the overdone mascara and great gobs of eye makeup, but you know how to balance all of that out, and how to NOT make your booful eyes into a liability.
Max Factor pancake went out with everybody but drag queens around 1985-ish. Never let that happen to anyone whom you love, most of all yourself.
And thanks for that loverly little update, Carl... so kind of Mini Mikey to condescend to us lowlifes who dirty-up his Giuliani-pretty little city...
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