Daily Life Daily Life

The End of an Era

Jan_CoverSo, by now I'm pretty sure the word is out about Lipstick. I was laid off on Friday, and the March issue will be the magazine's last. As to what my plans are for the future -- I have no idea.

At someone's rather insistent suggestion, I'm reading What Color is Your Parachute for some guidance. While I've learned a lot working for start-ups in the past few years, the instability is starting to get to me. Then again, I'm not sure I'm meant for life in a big corporation either. Supposedly, this book is going to help with my dilemma. No surprise here, I'm skeptical, but I'm also hopeful. Yesterday, there was an NCIS marathon on. Today, in its absence, I'm starting to feel the abyss that is deciding what I want to do next.

Read More
Current Affairs, Daily Life, Self-Esteem Current Affairs, Daily Life, Self-Esteem

The Missing

Laurel_missingEvery time an amber alert goes out or I see a missing persons bulletin, I, of course, think about the missing man, woman or child and his or her distraught family. But after I'm done worrying about what has happened to the poor soul and if he or she will ever be found, my thoughts always return to the same selfish, selfish notion: what pictures of me would my family post on television and fliers if I couldn't be found.

(I needlessly worry about what would be said about me if I ever died in a freak accident, too. I'm nice to my neighbors mainly because I don't want them telling some reporter "She was always walking that dog in a bathrobe and curlers" or "I never did see a man come around" should there be a tornado or flash flood. My friendliness on the block is about self-preservation and has nothing to do with block parties or borrowing sugar.)

Sure, if I was missing, my first concern should probably be rescue. And with my safety as the number one priority, you'd think that I'd want the most accurate and true-to-life photos out there. But I just can't have that many people seeing me without makeup, in velour pants, chowing down on a Krystal four pack.

(I haven't even mentioned the photos of myself that should never, ever, ever make the media rounds — nothing taken after midnight during my senior year of college, no pics from the summer I worked in a Mexican restaurant and devoured handfuls of fried tortilla on a daily basis and certainly nothing from the pixie cut years).

I can only think of a select handful of pictures incorporating good lighting and flattering angles of my very round face that I would want to have televised. (And they better get my weight from my driver's license and not the doctor's office.) While it might seem like these demands would hinder the search rather than help it, truth be told, I'm pretty sure people are more likely to look for an attractive girl than the one who might not have bathed in a week even under normal circumstances.

Plus, if my case made national news, I couldn't have Meredith Viera seeing what I wore for Halloween last year. It just wouldn't be right.

Picture with post is an example of what NOT to use when attempting to find a missing Laurel.

   

Read More
Daily Life, Self-Esteem Daily Life, Self-Esteem

Foot in Mouth Disease

IMG_0689I have a sense of humor that's not for everyone.

Anyone who has visited this blog before or picked up a copy of Lipstick probably knows this already, but the truth is that I tone myself down in print. If we were at the same cocktail party, I might be overhead talking about what differentiates my starting line Spanx from their second string counterparts or any one of a bevy of other topics that really aren't appropriate for discussion on a Monday morning in one's place of business. (Seriously, every example I just thought of to finish that last sentence cannot be entertained without more forgiving lighting and wine. My cousin and I were once engaged in a trading of jokes and one-liners that led to an argument as to who would be struck down by lightning first. Sadly, we agreed it would be me.)

I accept that many people think It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia is a terrible, terrible display of what I wrong with our society. I think it's hilarious. Again, my tastes/self are not for everyone.

Usually, this kind of self-awareness just means that I have to choose friends who are extremely, er, tolerant or keep my mouth shut in public. (And, since keeping my thoughts to myself only worked for about 20 minutes in 1994, if then, I mainly stick with the "picking similar friends" strategy.) For the most part, this means that my humor is appreciated, but being Southern, there's always one fatal flaw to this plan — showers.

As we all know, when you're invited to a wedding or baby shower, you don't just get to see your friend or even your friend group, you're going to be thrown in with people from all walks of your friend's life — be that elementary school, college, summer jobs, relatives or family friends.

This is not an environment in which I shine.

And this was quite clear yesterday when I made a joke about brides and heavy sedation at a friend's shower. There was some staring. And some nervous laughter. I even got an elbow to the ribs from one friend and a "did you really say that out loud to the whole room?" wide-eyed glare.

(It reminded me of the time that my cousins told me I could not say "butt" around their children because it was a bad word. I had been so proud of myself for remembering not to say "a%#.")

So, here's how I exited yesterday's event:
Bride: "Thank you so much for the cocktail plates."
Me: "I'm so sorry I said 'xanax' at your wedding shower."

Read More
Cassidy, Daily Life Cassidy, Daily Life

Walking the Dog

CassidyEvery morning, my adorable dog Cassidy and I go for a walk. (Before I go any further, I'll admit that if I had a fenced-in yard, these morning walks would never happen. As anyone who has every worked with or lived with me can attest, I am not a morning person. At my last job, I tried to implement the rule that if you hadn't seen me get up for a coffee refill yet, you probably shouldn't speak to me. I'm not fully human before about 9:30 a.m. — as evidenced by my tendency to growl and grunt as communication before then.)

Being that mornings are not my peak time, these walks tend to vary greatly in duration and rigor. Sometimes we make it a couple of blocks. Other days, Cassidy is lucky if we get to the end of the neighbor's driveway.

I'm also not the most coordinated person (please see bio under "about" for further details), and the more tired I am, the more likely I am to hurt myself. I've come back from many a morning walk with a bruise from tripping over the curb or scratches from sideswiping a holly bush. I once even broke my toe walking smack dab into one of those metal stakes used to anchor trees. (Yes, I am a danger to myself, but rarely others.)

Cassidy puts up with a lot, and I do my best to reward her with peanut butter treats because of it.

So, the other morning, I'm stumbling down the sidewalk in my velour sweat suit, eyes half open, plastic bag in hand when I hear shouting behind me.

"Eva Diane! Eva Diane!!"

Now, I'm expecting to turn around a see a small child darting into the street based on the use of the first and middle names as well as the level of panic in the voice.

Imagine my surprise when I look back and see a Jack Russell Terrier instead.

In the middle of the walk, there's one of my neighbors frantically screaming at Eva Diane, the Jack Russell, to get back inside the house. And, while at first, I thought this was a completely absurd name for a dog — I feel like "Eva Diane" is an aging socialite and not a terrier — I also quickly realized that I wasn't one to judge. After all, Cassidy also has a middle name.

Please keep in mind that I never intended to give my dog a middle name. I never even intended to give her a three syllable first name. As a rescue dog, she came to  live with me already bearing the name Cassidy. And, in addition to being more than rough-around-the-edges in the morning and clumsy, I can also be somewhat indecisive. I spent weeks trying to come up with another name for my new dog. (Since she's a redhead, I thought about Ginger because of the character from Gilligan's Island, but that seemed too girly. Gigi was also a contender, but seemed more suited to a Pomeranian than a mutt, and by the time I had considered all of the options, it had been a month and it seemed unreasonable to change the name then.)

Then, one day when I got mad at Cassidy for chasing after a cat, I found myself yelling "Cassidy Belle Mills get back here this instant."

I was as surprised to hear "Cassidy Belle" come out of my mouth as anyone, but it stuck. I guess I don't really don't have anything on old Eva Diane.

Read More