While I was home over Christmas, I had my yearly facial with the awesome esthetician I’ve been seeing since I was 15  (15, and then in the throes of dermatological unpleasantness).  She is the mistress of the art of extraction, and my first visit to her was as much a cultural touchstone of my entry into modern womanhood as my first trip to the gynecologist.  Though no less painful than my first pap, at least the esthetician rubbed my face and shoulders down with essential oils, and I had glowy skin a week later, once the zits she coaxed to the surface and the redness had subsided.  The gyno just poked me with a metal spatula and gave me the pill… which made me break out.  (Sudden stroke of brilliant idiocy – spas that also offer pap smears!  I am trademarking that business idea right now.  Whole Women’s Health & Beauty sees you inside and out!).

Sadly, after treating my skin for almost 15 years and my own mother’s for 30, our esthetician was hanging up her tweezers, imported creams, and bug zapper to retire.  This would be the last proper facial I will have in a while, as I’ve yet to find anyone half as good.

Lying back in the chair, listening to Enya, snuggled in my quilt, wholly safe in the hands of a professional, I was sad, and wanted to mark the occasion somehow.  What about… a lip wax?  I’d been annoyed at the downy hairs on my upper lip for some time.  Terri is the only person I would let wax and pluck my eyebrows, given her skill, and the only person I trusted to tell me if an upper-lip wax would be a terrible mistake, or a bold move forwards. (more…)

Dear Blog Diary,

Today was a pretty good day.  We had friends stay over last night and got up this morning to make a Sunday breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, beans, and hash browns, served with milk or orange juice.  I put roasted red peppers and goat cheese in with the eggs, and it was all really tasty, if I do say so myself!  Everyone remarked how fancy the gold napkins are that I used to set the table, and I think they offset the pale green placemats very nicely.  We put the BBC news on the television in the background, so that we could all learn about the Basque Separatists and watch video evidence of that cop in Wiltshire who assaulted some lady in custody, and I guess forgot that CCTV would capture him flinging her across a jail cell and busting her face open.  And now we all get to watch it, over and over again!  How silly!  There was also some tech piece about new trends in shopping, but it seemed pretty dumb so I didn’t pay much attention.

After breakfast, our friends went home, and I settled in to watch Gladiators in my nightgown and eat some ice cream.  Boy, that “Spartan” Gladiator is really sexy, but I wish they wouldn’t let him talk!  I like watching him perform muscle-bound feats, though, especially when he was wrestling with that cute teacher on the Pyramid.  Their shorts are so tight, I had to cross my legs and eat more ice cream to cool down!

Anyway, I was sort of annoyed because Boyfriend was using my computer to play his chess games, while I got stuck washing all the dishes.  That was so dumb!  I was scrubbing out a pan and not really listening to the TV, when the opening credits of this cool show came on, and we both stopped everything we were doing to watch!


I posted a week back about a certain resume that made its way to my inbox some time ago that remains a valued source of delight.  Favored commenter London_Calling was thus inspired to share this little tidbit from another jobseeker out there in the world, who introduced herself thusly:

What my resume does not reveal is my professional demeanor and appearance.  In a business environment, these qualities are of the utmost importance in dealing with clients as well as co-workers.   In me, you’ll discover a reliable, detail-oriented, and extremely hard-working associate; one who will serve as a model to encourage other staff members to demonstrate the same high standard of professionalism.

Alright, it’s a  tad arrogant, but I like her forthrightness.  She expects a high standard of professionalism from herself and those she works with, and believes in the importance of presentation – got it.  This is no bad thing and, personally speaking, if the rest of her CV fit the needs of the job for which I was hiring, I’d be intrigued.

I expect the potential employer who received this resume felt the same way.  Unfortunately, when her name was Google searched, one of the first things to pop up was this image from her Facebook profile: (more…)

I don’t get it, but I guess that’s what happens on the other side of 30, you stop squeeeing over shaggy haired pre-pubescent boys.  Well, unless you’re a junior high social studies teacher.  Anyway, BCP Reader Amoureuse showed us this site of Lesbians Who Look Like Justin Bieber.

Remember me? I embarrassed myself on VH-1 and tried to convince you Tila Tequila was bi!

Note: I am not snarking on this man, but would like to say that the BF's back situation is not quite so dire.

I’m heading off on Tuesday morning for five nights in Malta and a much-needed vacation after a stressful first quarter (what else is new? – oh, I mean that stress-wise, not jetting to Malta-wise – the latter is new).  Our flight is at the ungodly hour of 6:30 am, and we are requested to appear at the airport two hours in advance.  To cut down on travel stress, we’ve booked an airport hotel room for tomorrow night, and I intend to head there after work for the luxury of rising at 4:00 am rather than 3:00 am, and the avoidance of taxi/tube/train panic.  Worth £44?  You betcha.

Besides my typical packing freakout (present and accounted for, sir!), I took the opportunity today to engage in pre-vacation grooming.  I opted out of a bikini wax this time in favor of an economically advisable DIY razor-job.  While I have been dreaming of a sunshine and beach holiday, I fear that even Malta will be too chilly this time of year for sunbathing, so I don’t see any point in suffering through a wax when I will likely be clad in jeans and a monochrome tee-shirt for the majority of my visit.

Nonetheless, I have plucked, bleached, and shaved in anticipation – at the very least I am hoping for a Turkish bath and a massage, and, sadly, one wishes to conform to Western beauty standards.  But while I am responsible for my own grooming, it seems I am also responsible for that of my male vacation companion.  I’m not complaining, per se – if one was able to competently shave one’s own back, one would be something of a medical marvel.  But aside from my responsibility for sunscreen, bathing suits, itinerary printouts, and toiletries (all things he has/will forget without my prompting), I am also tasked with boyfriend depilation. (more…)


And just last week she had me so excited about the St. Louis Ram’s coif, damn you, Rihanna!  rams

BCP Reader Missbish asks:

I recently saw this photo of T.I. and there was a lot of commentors who were saying that he should trim that bush yada yada but I found his shrub to be hugely erotic and I could not stop thinking about it. I know – I need to get laid yo, but I wonder – is manscaping what most women want or am I old-skool?

What say you?


kadinsky: check this pic of TI and his crotch ‘fro.  Opinions on that much pube?

Tailfeather: I don’t know who this Mr. TI is, but he looks GOOD, and I am not afraid of his Bermuda.  I say wear it loud and proud.  Although, um, public dick-grabbing is a no-no in general.

kadinsky: is it grabbing if he’s offering?  I say no, there is another pic to go with this one that shows him damn near taking his pants off.  I don’t mind a slightly unruly nappy dugout but that shit looks long enough to floss with.  or braid a rug.

Trixie: There was also that recent EW cover or Ryan Reynolds looking really hairy and it was hot as hell.  I  am FOR. I like men to be manly and that means hairy. I am against all this waxing shit.

kadinsky:  Panda likes the girly men, I bet she is a NAY.

BiscuitDoughJones: Actually, I’m for it.

A) nothing is as gross/creepy as a dude who shaves or waxes.  I’ve been unfortunate enough to snag 2 guys who regularly bald-ified themselves down below.  It’s no coincidence that both of them mentioned how they thought that ‘scaping made the junk look bigger (it didn’t).  Uh, and the stubble down there hurts like hell.

B) The funny thing about pretty boys is that they have no hair anywhere, not on the chest, arms, even legs – but you take off the pants and a lot of times there is a giant power bush.  It’s fucking funny.  And kind of cute.  Like, most dudes I’ve known haven’t been ‘scapers I think because it’s the only upfront sign of virility they have, so they must nurture it.  Or something.


Well, it looks like I’m all alone on this one – BCP prefers their men au naturale.  What about you?


I think that Barbie Cougar video touched a nerve, because I am reminded that I am turning 45 in a month. ROWR!! Yes, it’s true — forty-fucking-five. A cougar in winter!

I thought that my impending birthday — one that will officially mean I am closer to 60 than 30, by the way — would mark an appropriate occasion to let you young bitches know a few things they may not tell you about aging. Sure, you know the general ones: face falls, tits and ass sag, liver spots appear, vagina dries out, hair goes gray, etc. I’m here to tell you some other stuff on top of all that stuff. You may be terrified to read it now, but store it away … one day you’ll thank me.

1. Tits sagging can be over-stated. It hasn’t really happened to me yet and my ass is holding on pretty good too. However, a layer of stomach fat appears and IT sags! Pretty! You know those female kitty-cats you see walking around with their little bellies sagging, even though they haven’t had kittens? Yeah, just like that!

2. Remember those older women you’d see with really bad makeup jobs? Lipstick outside the lines, mascara smeared on their cheeks, eyeliner line woefully askew? They aren’t drunks. THEY CAN’T SEE! They don’t know how bad it looks! They glanced in the mirror on their way out of the house and thought they looked dandy! They are making the fatal mistake of not putting reading glasses on to check their makeup all the time. Never do this. At 40, buy yourselves several pairs of reading glasses and magnifying mirrors. Always check your face with either the glasses on or with the mirror. Never leave home without them! Because people won’t pull you aside to say: Do you realize you have eyeliner on the end of your nose? No, they will silently think: “Joan Kennedy.” (more…)


So, I have personally been invited to my first British wedding!  Actually, that is not entirely correct – I attented one last year, but it was a distant friend of my boyfriend and we only were asked to the evening portion, so I was the “…and guest” and didn’t know anybody.  So I don’t really count that one, except that it was at a Scottish castle and included a traditional pipe band, so that was definitely nifty.

Anyway, this time my name is on the invite, and my presence has been requested for the full-day shebang, so this is my first official British wedding, and it’s another Scottish one at that.  I am excited, because it is a big to-do with folk I know, but I also have some anxieties.

PRO:  There will be lots of booze.

CON:  My boss will be there.

I haven’t actually been to a wedding in about ten years, when a high school friend got married at a local Indian restaurant.  Since then, I have been blissfully ceremony-free, as my friends are apparently not the marrying types, or at least haven’t felt the need to invite me.  So, while I believe I can behave myself in public and don’t scrub up too badly, I have some basic wedding etiquette questions I need to get some answers to.

Some things are a little different here, is the thing.  When this invite came in the mail, there was no RSVP slip.  It seems to be customary over here to go out and buy a card to respond.  The boyfriend and I went out this weekend to buy a card, but couldn’t find any “wedding acceptance” cards, which you’re supposed to use, so he was dispatched on his lunch break today to another store.  He scanned the card and emailed it to me for approval because I kept saying “Nothing tacky!  Nothing sentimental!  Nothing cheesy!  No mentions of ‘on your special day’!”  (more…)


In honor of ButtercupPunch’s one year anniversary, Ms. Gloria Steinem chose to turn 75 as a show of feminist solidarity.  To crib liberally (pun! Okay, by “liberally” I meant “entirely”) from Wednesday’s Writer’s Almanac:

It’s the birthday of Gloria Steinem, born in Toledo, Ohio (1934). Her father was an antique dealer and a summer resort operator who traveled all over the country in a trailer, looking for new business ventures. Steinem said, “He was always going to make a movie, or cut a record, or start a new hotel, or come up with a new orange drink.” She traveled around the country, never attending school, until her parents separated, and she moved in with her mother.

But her mother’s mental health began to break down, and Steinem had to take over all the cooking and cleaning and shopping. She said that her mother was “an invalid who lay in bed with eyes closed and lips moving in occasional response to voices only she could hear; a woman to whom I brought an endless stream of toast and coffee, bologna sandwiches and dime pies.” Young Gloria became obsessed with Shirley Temple movies, hoping to be rescued miraculously from poverty, just like the little girl on the screen.

She managed to get into Smith College because she scored so well on her entrance examinations. After college, she went to work as a journalist. She wrote celebrity journalism for a while, but she became more interested in feminism after she wrote an article about the prevalence of illegal abortions, and all her male colleagues tried to persuade her not to publish it. She was a founder of Ms. magazine, whose first issue came out in January 1972.

Gloria Steinem said, “Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don’t feel I should be doing something else.”

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