Awesome foundation=dewy skin

Ready for me to tell you about the most awesome foundation in the history of ever? It's Laura Mercier's Illuminating Tinted foundation. I've tried about 842 foundations, and I'm not gonna get into a big foundation bashing party, because chances are you've also tried them, and you already know...


So, getting straight to Ms. Mercier's genius product-it has amazing coverage (no kidding-sun damage, age spots, other unpleasantries, disappear), it feels like a light moisturizer (which is remarkable considering the coverage), has sunscreen (SPF 20, yay Laura), and the best part...it has just enough shimmer to make your skin look dewy for hours, and when was the last time that happened? If you're like me, I'm pretty sure it was high school, or immediately upon exiting a steam room.


It comes in four colors: bare radiance, natural radiance, warm radiance and golden radiance, and will make you gorgeous for $42 plus tax. I wear it every day, and 1.7 fl. oz. lasts about 4 months-a little goes a long way...


So go get your radiant beauty on, girls. If you need it today, Nordstroms, Bloomingdales, and Sephora will hook you up. If you don't have time for mall drama, you can work it out right here at the source:

http://www.lauramercier.com/products/flawless_face/products/tinted_moisturizer/illuminating_tinted_moisturizer/


This message brought to you by me, cuz that's what I do.


You're pretty.

www.mollyanna.com

Swine Flu-No Need to Freak Out...

Check out this helpful tidbit about not panicking and whatnot...

http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/09/01/parents.h1n1.flu.guide.gupta/index.html

And? Everything's on sale, because fall starts in like nine minutes, and you should all buy a tank top.

Love you, you're all pretty.

This message is brought to you by me, cuz that's what I do...

www.mollyanna.com

College bound?

I was driving back to Atlanta from Myrtle Beach on Sunday, and I got behind the car we all hate. The one that not only drives slowly in the left lane, but makes it impossible for you to pass because, through an osmosis only dumb people share, they’ve perfectly timed their poor driving shenanigans with your buddy, the car in the right lane that’s also blocking you. You know these people, and you hate them as much as I do, so don’t go judging me judging.

When I was finally able to pass this one, here’s what looked over at me: giant Mary Kate glasses (that should have been consigned or donated in 2007), framed by a cotton candyish puff of blonde hair, complete with the orange glow of a bad spray tan, and the added touch of gum smacking.

It was clear to me she was on her way back to a college campus of some sort, and while part of me harshly judged, as I’ve nicely outlined here, the mom in me thought, she’s just a kid, don’t be so mean. But I think there’s something we all know here.

This girl can’t learn.

This mean-spirited message has been brought to you by me. Cuz that's what I do...

www.mollyanna.com

Those Golden Arches...

So we ate at McDonalds, because sometimes I can't be bothered with vegetables and healthy choices. When the meal was over, we made our way to the play area, which as you know, is a conglomerate of giant hamster-cage-like mazey tunnels overhead with the benefit of slides that serve as escape chutes. There are also other nooks and crannies with other puzzlish things to do, which, honestly, are pretty cool. So yay McDonalds for providing a fun, physically active place for kids to jump around with each other, scream and sweat, right? Old school.

But this time? We crossed the threshold into the play area, and my eyes were drawn to a glow. Since our last visit, a video game station has been added to the play area. So, where children were once running and jumping, they are now standing in line. And so are we. Awesome. It's finally Anna's turn, she takes the joystick in hand, and starts pressing buttons. Nothing happens. She looks up at me with that Mommy-will-know-how-to do-it look, and that’s my cue. I bow up and step in all cool like-I’ve played video games, I totally got this.

Here’s the thing: it’s not Galaga, or Ms. PacMan, or any other game from the 80’s, and I quickly realize I don’t got this. But, in that it’s the play area at McDonalds, and they are expecting a competency level that encompasses children from 2-11 years old, surely the games are fairly intuitive.

I start fooling around with the joystick and pressing buttons. I get it to start, I choose a level, I can see that it has now begun, I’m feeling encouraged (okay arrogant), but the object of the game eludes me completely. There’s a tree in the middle of the screen and creatures. I’m grateful there’s no boobs, blood or sex, but what IS this? Unrelenting, I continue to hammer away at the buttons, and rattle the joystick hoping that something will start to make sense. Nothing. As a back-up plan, I frantically look for instructions, which surely should be printed somewhere on the console, if not for the children, at least for the parents who find themselves in the predicament that I’m currently in. Nuh. Thing.

Defeated, I look back at the game, and then at Anna. Just as I’m about to crumble into some lame honey-Mommy-doesn’t-know-how-to-play-the-game-and-there-are-no-instructions-but-I’ll-go-ask-the-manager speech, she gives me an expressionless glance, and without a word, swishes away in her velvet dress.

I knew this day would come. The day when every girl decides her mother is a complete idiot. Here’s the rub, that shit's not supposed to happen until they’re like, twelve, or something. But thanks to good ole Mickey Ds, I came tumbling off the my-mommmy-knows-everything pedestal eight years early. In spite of feeling like a complete moron for the first time since, okay truthfully this morning, but that’s another story, I was just happy that she was heading back over in the “real” play area, to run and jump around, and get some exercise (things I understand). But a mother fallen is a mother fallen-without missing a beat, and in an instinctively desperate attempt to regain my maternal presence as all-omniscient-one, I heard myself shout after her, “be careful up there, and remember to leave your socks on!”

Thanks, Ronald McDoosh. I’m so not lovin’ it.

www.mollyanna.com

bathroom fun...sure, why not?

My crazy doctor decided my random weight loss a few months back (it was 10 pounds, let us not trip) coupled with constipation (reason for my visit-you know I didn't go seeking medical attention for unexplained weight loss) could be, ready? Intestinal parasites. First thought: is this the part where I vomit on your shoes? Second thought: if that's what's keeping me in my skinny jeans, we're leaving the parasites where they are. Third thought: I'm pretty sure Hollywood would warmly welcome these little weight-loss buddies...

Naturally, my doctor was more sober about it, and concerned about organ function, took roughly five gallons of blood to run every test in the free world. For added measure, she wanted a poop test. Thinking it would be the same kind we witness in the vet's office (easy in, with the little plastic knitting needle-ish thingy, and out in three seconds tops), I agreed. Little did I know her intention was to send me home with my very own fecal science fair project kit, wherein I, alone, would be responsible for collecting three specimens of my own poop, and sending it off to a lab in Texas. Um, isn't there some way I can be hospitalized for three days and have someone else handle this please? No...So I reminded her of the reason for my visit, and told her not to be expecting my lab results until after Thanksgiving.

Then fiiiiiinally appearing to have come to her senses, she recommended a hydro-therapy treatment. Thoughts of a trip to the spa, paid for by my insurance immediately lightened my mood. But wait. Hydro-therapy is the new word for colonic, which is basically a fancy way of saying you will have a garden hose shoved up your ass, they will turn the water on until you hope you die, or at least lose consciousness, then suck it out, and then repeat. For FORTY-FIVE of the longest minutes of your life. After that experience? I'm sinning all I want-the fiery pits of hell will be dreamy by comparison.

Oh, and? Insurance doesn't cover it.

BUT, in all of this drama, came two very good things: a) I learned I have no parasites (although I intend to learn more about being a parasite distributor-I'm thinking multi-level marketing shenanigans and a private jet) and b) the hydro-therapy torture gal (I mean really? who wants that job?) led me to the fiber capsules and magnesium supplement that have regulated the situation that started this whole freak show, and who doesn't want that? Ta da.

The links to said products are given thus:

http://www.shop-orthomolecular.com/store/ortho_fiber-plus-270.html

http://www.petergillham.com/locations/index.php

May the force be with you.

This message brought to you by me, cuz that's what I do.

http://www.mollyanna.com/

Don't do that...

Our order accuracy is around 99%. Unfortunately, a couple of weeks ago, we made a mistake. Here's the e-mail we got from our friend in Morrisville, NC:

"I ordered a tee shirt for my husband at my 5 kids request.It was supposed to be a Father's Day present.I ordered it on the 16th-we knew that it would not be here on Father's Day,so finally it comes today and we are all shocked when it is the WRONG SIZE!!!!!!We ordered a Large.You sent an XL.We are very unhappy!!!!!!I want the money back that we spent on this joke.We cannot use this shirt-it is enormous!We want a full refund."

Uh, if this is the tailspin your life collapses into when receiving a wrong size, you should probably stay off the internet.

Naturally, we apologized and sent the right size immediately, because that's who we are. But really, lady? Dramatic misery is so not pretty-don't do that.

Popcorn and tears...

I took Anna to see the Hannah Montana movie last night. I know. Don't even get me started. But here's something even more alarming: not only did I eat seven pounds of popcorn, I also got teary-eyed not once, but twice, while Miss Miley was singing. This can only mean one thing...

Dear Period,
If you could go ahead and start please, that would be awesome.
Love,
Princess fat-ass-weepy-pants




This way too personal message is brought to you by me.
And www.mollyanna.com