Men and Mascara

Okay ladies, I’m going to give you a hot tip here. You know I’m not like some of those people who finds something really great but then doesn’t tell her girl friends about it because she wants to keep the secret all for herself. Like if I found out that eating copious amounts of Vosges Bacon Chocolate bars every day gave you a really flat stomach ~ I would tell you. I wouldn’t be the only one walking around with a flat stomach pretending like I got it from doing crunches.  No…I would tell you…eat Bacon Chocolate bars.  

If you are a guy you will probably want to quit reading right here. Unless of course you still haven’t figured out what to buy your lady for Christmas then you better just suck it up and read the rest of this. It’s important. It's about mascara. Yes, you heard me right…mascara. You’ll thank me later because she will think you are some kind of a sensitive genius who pays attention to makeup ads. Shhhh, your secret’s safe with me.

So buddy just trot yourself on down to Sephora and pick up a tube of this stuff.  You can print out this page if you want and then act like you don’t really know what you are looking for and then the Sephora ladies won’t be looking at you like you are some kind of drag queen because guys never go into Sephora. 

     Never. 

     Ever.  

     Unless they are drag queens. 

And I have a funny story about that. I was in Sephora in Las Vegas and approached the sales girl; a stunning blond with a boyish figure and flawless makeup. I asked her a question, not a dumb one mind you, but one like, “do you carry Clarins products?”  This by the way was before I started boycotting everything French, except for bread, manicures and fries, for their failure to support the US in the war with Iraq. (Did they forget about OUR support in a couple of little conflicts called WWI and WWII? Bastards! Pardon my French.)

    “Yes we do, let me show you,” she said in a sexy, raspy voice. That’s when I noticed her Adam’s apple. I tried to appear all cool and cosmopolitan like, hoping that she couldn’t tell that I was from Podunk. I'm sure my eyes were popping out of my head because I had never seen anyone so pretty wearing four inch heels and foundation with a five o’clock shadow.

 

But anyway, back to the mascara. I’m slapping on a little mascara this morning and Dr. Hook's Sexy Eyes starts playing on my iPod, don’t judge me, and I think damn, this mascara gives a gal pretty sexy eyes. I better share this stuff with my girls.

 Benefit brand (made in the USA) called They’re Real! is the shizzle.  I know, I know... I look a little crazy in this picture; that's what flashing a camera directly at your eyeball will do to you. Actually I think this look, complete with the eye roll falls somewhere between super model and crack whore, you decide, but keep in mind that my mascara is at least a few months old. It's getting dried out and this shot is after only one coat and no eye lash curler.  
     (Side note:  Some days I'm just bored and want to see if one shines a really bright light in ones eyes does it make one see stars and the back of their own eyeballs. Yes and only for a second or two. However it did give me the bright idea to write about the mascara.)  You're still judging me about Dr. Hook aren't you?    

Guys, if you’re still with me here, go to Sephora, or at least go online (Click right here) and buy this mascara along with nice bottle of your honey's favorite perfume and give it to her for Christmas. Important tip here:  DO NOT buy her the Wrinkle Cream, no matter how much the young, hot chick with no wrinkles pimps it to you at the checkout.  Adam's apple or not ~ quit while you are ahead. Trust me on this.

And ladies if your man is squeamish about buying mascara for fear of being found out that he's a tranny whore  just go buy it for yourself.  Oh, and if I find out that Bacon Chocolate bars = flat stomach I'll pass it on. (Pssssst, so far they don’t work but I'm still in the experimental stage.) Girlfriend, I am looking out for you!

It's not like I feel the need to pay homage to the French, but while we are on the subject, this little French Onion Salisbury Steak on Cheese Toast is pretty delicieux and easy to prepare. No snooty ingredients called for.  Go to the Beef-Pork-Chicken" tab at the top of this page to view it. Bon Appeit! 

*P.S.....Not my picture, I jacked it from the internet but mine looks EXACTLY like this only better.

SUP-ing ~ One Of Us Is a Natural, One Of Us Is Not

First Mate/Dinghy Captain, Haney Buffet (Jimmy's brother) remarked that I have the agility and the reflexes of a cat.  He went on to say that The Big Guy has the agility of an albatross. He could be right on both accounts.
     We got a new Stand Up Paddle Board (SUP) and a few days ago was my first time of taking it out for a test drive.  I'm a natural! I was practically born to stand up and paddle.

I spent about forty-five minutes cruising around on it and never fell off it once. Not even when I ran into the side of the boat which I hit hard enough for it to knock me down but not off the board. I recovered like gymnast on the balance beam. I may have the balance necessary to walk a tight rope but I definitely need to work on my steering. A little bit later I ran into a mooring ball and still managed to keep it under control and not fall off.  Yeah, I pretty much schooled it. 

The Big Guy...not so much.  I asked him if he wanted to try it, told him it was easy. I even cheered him on by telling him I thought he had pretty good coughbullshitcough balance. He was reluctant at first but then remembered that Haney had showed his prowess on the board so he said, "Yeah sure. I'll try it."

He started off on his knees, which is kind of his comfort zone.
 

 Here he is ready to attempt to stand up. Easy, steady, hold it,.......and drink.

 

Confession: I love ya honey but I know you can't clap your hands and tap your foot at the same time so I knew this was not going to be pretty. But you are really good at a lot of other things, like swimming.

 What a trooper. He tried it again.

And again. He then determined that the only reason Haney and I could do it was because we were "little."
Yeah, that must be it.

 Here's First Mate/Dinghy Captain, Haney Buffet (Jimmy's brother) making it look easy.

And here I am getting ready to make a phone call and have a pizza delivered before I head back to the boat. Next time I'm taking the dogs for a spin with me. They can hardly wait!

How To Screw Up A Dirty Martini

We have been in Puerto Rico for a week getting the boat ready and have been eating out every night so we have had the opportunity to sample many of Fajardo’s restaurants. We found a new favorite (more about that later) and we also found the Mother of all Crappers. This is about that. 

This is us at Di Yukas ~ our new favorite place in Puerto Rico

After a long day of working and cleaning on the boat, our crew, which included our favorite son-in-law, Aaron; our first mate and dingy captain, Haney Buffet (Jimmy’s brother) and Haney’s girl, Kataleena, we all got cleaned up and made a plan to find this little local joint called Rosa’s Seafood.  As we walked up the pier towards our rental car we remembered that the Marina had a nice restaurant—The Port House, which is Spanish for Really Bad Service.

“Hey Lar,” I said, “if you are too tired to drive into Fajardo we could always just eat right here.”  Our crew thought it sounded like a good idea and since everyone was pretty well spent we thought something quick would be nice.

We have eaten there a few times in the past years and the food is pretty hit and miss. One dish may be wonderful and the next horrible, but we were tired and thought we'd give it another try. Haney Buffet (Jimmy’s brother) reminded us that the last time we ate there we had some pretty bad mussels, which were a weird color of red. 

     “Why are they red?” Haney asked the server. She said she would have to go ask the chef. She came back and with a straight face said, and I shit you not, “because they are girl mussels.” After our dumb looks dissipated we came down with the giggles.

Anyhow, we walk in and stand around for about five minutes while the waitress ignores up. I check our image in the mirror to make sure we haven't turned invisible. Except for one other solo diner, we are the only ones in the restaurant. 

     Finally she seats us. 

     Finally she brings us menus. 

     And finally she brings us bread and takes our drink order.   

     Three hours pass. She sets Kataleena and my dirty martinis in front of us ~ huge glasses full of sleep medicine ~ sans olives, so Kat asks for olives. She says they don’t have any. 

     “So how’d you make them dirty?” I ask.  

     “The chef gave me some caper juice,” she says.  Huh? Caper juice? Who does that? Just take my word for it…caper juice can not, never, ever be substituted for olive juice in a martini. Even if you are dead tired and just want to get a little buzz going on before you fall into bed. I tell her, sorry but I can’t drink it and change my order to wine. 

     Three more hours pass. We eat the bread and watch as she stands in the kitchen, her thumb up her butt.

     The Big Guys says, “screw this—lets get out of here!” Well it wasn’t exactly “screw this” but something very similar. 

     So I go into the kitchen and tell her that I need her to come take our order now or we are leaving. She says she will be right there but that she is busy because she has to do everything. 

     “Are you the chef too?” I ask, afraid the answer will be yes. 

     “No, he is,” she says, pointing to a young guy who looks old enough to start shaving any day now but not smart enough to pull his own head out of his rear end.

     I just nod my head and back away and we all get up and walk out the door.

     “I am never going back there!” I say as we get in the car.

I dig in my purse for my glasses as Big backs out and we start to drive away.

     “Wait! I left my glasses on the table,” I say. “Damn, now I have to go back in there!”

     My favorite son-in-law hands me my glasses. ☺