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…)

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My child-bearing years are long over, but nothing can make me bawl faster than a baby. That’s why this movie looks awesome to me. I could barely get through the trailer from weeping, but it was worth the sobs to get to the very final scene.

 

I have been spending a lot of time this summer with a very special man. He is cute, funny, silly, charming, good-natured, slightly deranged and enchanting. He is my friend Tanya’s 14-month-old baby, Alexander.

 

To say Alexander and I have bonded this summer would be an understatement. In fact, I am in love with the baby. I pine for him when I haven’t seen him in a few days and long to nuzzle his sweet-smelling, downy head. I miss him when he’s not around. While in his presence, I delight in every giggle, every coo, every moment he reacts to the sight of me with joy and hugs me hard, and for as long as five minutes, while chanting his name for me over and over again: “Ga …… Ga. Ga ….. Ga. Ga …… Ga.” I don’t mind when he pulls my hair and bites my toes. I see it merely as a sign of his love for me.

 

It got so bad last night that I texted Tanya the following order: “Get that baby to call me right now. I want to talk to him.” She refused. Because she is jealous. And she fears that baby might dump her for me. And she is wise to fear that, because I would steal that baby from her so fast her head would spin if only given the opportunity.

 

I have not been so enthralled by a baby since my own children were babies. In fact, I didn’t know a baby could exist who was as wonderful as my babies. But my friend Tanya and her husband Rowbear have proven me wrong. They have produced a baby of utter excellence. The third-best baby ever. I love him, I want him, and I am pondering abducting him and taking his adorableness to DC with me.

UPDATED: With a photo of the real Alexander because his mother said so.

Saturday night, at about 8 p.m. Angelina Jolie gave birth to twins, a boy named Knox Leon and a girl named Vivienne Marcheline (named after Angelina’s mother, who died early last year).

The number of Jolie-Pitt children is now up to 6, as Knox and Vivienne now join brothers Pax and Maddox and sisters Zahara and Shiloh.

The pictures of the new babies should sell for millions, with the amount received expected to go to charity, as they were when Shiloh was born.

I really like both Angelina and Brad. In spite of the rumors and gossip as to how they ended up together, I have always admired them both. Angelina and her charity work are something that we might complain about: “Oh, there’s St. Angelina again!” but how many times do we rip apart celebrities for being self-involved assholes?

They seem to be utterly happy together and with their children. They spend their free time running around the world, helping the less fortunate and bringing attention to issues people watching them on Access Hollywood might never think about. And realizing the absurdity that a picture of their child will fetch millions, they turn it into a positive thing for the issues they care about. And who can hate on that?

A tip of the hat to my beloved Tanya (not that one, Kadinsk), who put me onto this hilarious website.