Lipstick makes me dangerous

I have found that I have two distinct personalities. One is the "Regular Yvette" (sans lipstick) and the other is the "Look out here comes Yvette" lipstick personality.

The regular Yvette is fairly benign, she goes to the Wawa for cigarettes and cream, wears slippers in the house, and is an avid reader.

The lipstick Yvette drives terribly fast, shakes her ass when she walks, tosses her hair in a "f*ck off" kind of way, and gets into trouble. A lot.

When I go over the events of my life, I have come to the startling conclusion that most of the trouble I get into in life occurs when I am wearing lipstick. I wonder if I am having a chemical reaction to the lipstick, as it causes me to believe I am the sexiest creature alive, rules don't apply to me, and high heels don't hurt.

The regular Yvette isn't bothered by traffic jams, lines in the grocery store, or designated parking. The lipstick Yvette freaks out over all the above.

Someone should perform a study on the affects of lipstick. Or it could be explained that I am a native New Yorker. Hmmmm.

Dog Farts

Ok. This is the second post today, but I have to vent.

My husband and I put the 8 year-old yellow labrador "Chumley" on Purina ONE's Chicken and Oatmeal Diet about a week ago. Chumley has not stopped farting since. Chumley's farts are not garden variety "Oh my, that stinks" farts, they are more like Saddam Hussein's lost chemical weapons farts.

When it started, Chumley would look at his rear end and get up quickly and leave the area. (As if they alarmed even him) That generally resulted in the people remaining in the room looking furtively at each other (Who the hell laid that one!?!) After a few misquided and poorly received accusations among the humans, Chumley was nailed as the culprit.

Today my husband and I decided we could take this no more. He apparently is not moving past this gasseous and foul response to the food, so we are going to change his food.

However I am tired (from driving the parental units a total of 8 hours today, and the hubby changed the oil on both the cars and washed my SUV for me. However, as if knowing his farting days are coming to a close, Chumley is rocking out one hell of a last hurrah in the fart department.

The homeland security department could use this against our global enemies.

Getting older

When I was very young, I couldn't wait to grow up. Each year was a celebration of my approach to adulthood.

Middle age is not quite so fun.

Having been in the "Above average attractive" category for most of my adult life, watching doors slam in your face (literally, as young men used to vie to hold a door open for me) and suddenly becoming a persona non grata is rather a rude awakening as to what the rest of my life holds. Unfortunately, I am not ready to let go of youth. I am already looking at what it would take to "refresh" the face and bod (I gained weight due to an evil medication) and have been dieting and lathering up the face with moisturizer. Getting roots done at the stylist tomorrow, and looking forward to getting back into size 6 jeans. Unfortunately, none of this will ever make me 28 again. Alas.

So I plug on. I wistfully dream of a day when technology finds a way to keep the face and bod young, even as we age. The alternative at present being Joan Rivers, who looks as though her face was applied by Madame Tussaud.