For realsies

Battle of the Brow Furrow February 19, 2014

Like me, you have probably spent hours pondering the qualities you share with Robert Downey, Jr., Hugh Jackman, and George Clooney.  Unlike me, you may not be a woman who has compared brow furrows with these giants of the silver screen, and won.

I’m hardly proud of this fact, but why not? I have not weathered heroin addiction, but I have compulsively raised an eyebrow throughout my adult life.   For this, I wear the battle scars.  For this, I must view ads for the likes of something called “Miracle Blur,” and wonder just exactly what would be blurred upon application. The post-40 eyesight decline provides the same luxury, if only for me.

Truth be told, I do harbor some resentment that guys with real foreheads are perceived as looking sexier and more interesting with their lines, while women run to shoot up some paralysis juice, or at least Miracle Blur themselves to near invisibility.  The eighties female rock stars that “look great” have been stretched and they look good to us because we can’t deal with our own aging and what it actually looks like.  Is looking like we looked in the 80’s really the process we should be undertaking?

We have this huge expanding force of older people, yet we remain youth obsessed.  Oh yeah.  The Fountain of Youth.  Even back when life expectancy was, I don’t know, 35– that quest was worth taking out a few native people along the way.

Excuse me while I order my free Lifestyle Lift brochure.



Peachy and the Purple Pedicure July 27, 2013

Meet Peachy’s Purple Pedicure.

This is about as close to a “selfie” as you are ever going to see here.  Besides, I read a snotty piece of advice on some snotty piece of social media that no one wants to see your location by seeing your toes in the foreground.  Rebel that I am, I take that as a challenge.  I may even take a beach one, just to be beachy about it. It is ever-so-slightly artistic, seeing as how the pedicure is such an ephemeral event.


Here, Peachy’s Purple Pedicure plans dinner.  Don’t worry, no food was foot-touched.

Finally, Purple Pedicure pumps iron.

It’s no garden gnome, but it’s not a fish face in the bathroom mirror, either.


When Showering is not Optional January 26, 2013

Filed under: Hair,humor,life,Style — peachyteachy @ 8:40 am
Tags: , , ,

It’s flipping Saturday and there’s an early kid thing I have to do and I had every intention of pulling the hair back, minimally decorating the face, and skipping the shower til later.  It would look like I came from the gym, I reasoned.

Then I saw myself in the mirror.

What the hell happened?  There is no WAY I can get away with not showering this morning. Granted, I watched a weepy show before I went to sleep, and I had a weird dream, but nothing that should render me frightening and bloodshot and puffy and ready for my close-up at my zombie movie audition.

Perhaps, after I have attempted to rehabilitate my face, I shall plan my next installment: When Showering is Not an Option.  It will be my breakthrough piece into the world of fashion publishing.  Dry shampoo, floral body spray, jaunty hat and bright scarf for a pop of color.  Boom.



Manicure Gone Horribly Wrong July 13, 2012

I rarely, rarely avail myself of that upper-crust indulgence: the manicure.  Perhaps it comes from my Depression-era raised mother, who would be downright embarrassed to do such a thing.  On the other hand, I do treat myself to the occasional pedicure from time to time, and Mom would sooner have pierced cartilage (I upset her farm girl sensibilities when I got my lobes pierced, let alone any of that other heathen puncturing–it really created a rift that she carried to her grave).  Mom owned some nail polish, yes, but I am quite certain that the striation in the bottle’s contents indicates a pre-sixties Avon product.

For those of you who have a life, my research on your behalf reveals that the image at left is an example of what we do these days when we want to tell the world all about our latest nail color: hand hug the bottle whilst displaying our fresh and perfect manicure.

Getting back to depression,  this is not about a perfect manicure.  I did give it a shot, due to the lure of an online mani/pedi coupon.  I was paired up with a nail technician who was all but silent while taking the better part of two hours to complete said M/P.  It was nice, you know, the awkward quietude that enabled me to pay close attention to the sitcom broadcast on four flat screens in the cavernous, mostly empty and orange salon.  And everything looked quite nice at the end.

Let’s just cut to the chase and put it out there—by the time I was in my car, I had dinged up no fewer than three fingernails, rendering me impotent as a fingernail model.  HOW is it possible not to do this, I ask you!?  HOW can a five dollar bill be so destructive? Clearly, I am not made for manicuring.  My fingers reject nail polish and respond with the equivalent of digit projectile vomiting.

BUT WAIT! I saw something going on in there that supposedly yields an indestructible result, even in the face of the abrasive and abusive five dollar bill.  Varnish? Veneer? Shellac!! It seemed that the main difference is that you have to “cure” your newly-shellacked (?) claws in a mini-kiln for a couple of minutes, then walk on hot coals, after which your nails are ready to return to the potter’s wheel and form the urn of a lifetime!  Surely that costs more. . .



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