First Product Review!

I find product reviews very helpful, and when I find a good product I love to gush about it, so it only makes sense to post a few reviews myself. So much false advertising comes out every second it blows my mind. Products that promise natural highlights end up turning my hair bright copper. Mascaras that assure me my lashes will grow ten times their length- (which would technically leave me looking like an avant garde runway freak) make my lashes clumpy and stiff. It's frustrating. One of the worse culprits in the beauty world tends to be tanners. They promise sun kissed skin but without fail, always, always leave my skin blotchy and orange no madder how meticulously I spread or spray or rub.

But at last! Jergens Natural Glow daily moisturising lotion! It's a daily lotion that gradually puts color on your body. And shockingly enough it works! I've used it for a little over two weeks now with perfect results. After about four or five days my boyfriend commented on my tan. Now I'm not a sun-o-phobe and do spend time in the sun, but I also don't have the patience to sit and tan so I fall somewhere in between. So I suppose some of the color is natural but I've never been one to tan easily and this product definitely raises the color and gives you a glow like it advertises. Since it's gradual there isn't any streaking or blobs or fake orange color. It does have a slight "self tanner" smell but it's tolerable. After using it for two weeks ( I use it every other day) I feel more confident, less ghostly and somewhat Hollywood- it's fabulosity in a bottle. Could be all in my head, but what difference does that make!

Vroom Vroom

When you turn 16 in my hometown, you get a car. There are exceptions to this of course, as with everything in life, but I was not one of them. Right around my birthday the car talk surfaced and the hunt began. It was a very short hunt. I fell madly in love with a red 1992 Volvo from Deluca Auto in Pleasantville. Deluca's was a car repair that had a lot full of unwanted, barley working hunks of metal. Most kids in my grade were settling into fresh BMWs and "lightly used" Acuras. But I was in love. Her $2,500 price tag didn't bother me in the least. She wasn't sparkling, and she didn't purr when I entered the highway but she was perfect. I called her the dinosaur because she was extremely boxy. Her tape player (yes, tape) didn't work so I drove around delightfully singing along with the crackling radio. I glued pom poms to her dashboard and quickly dressed her seats in plush cow print seat covers. Wooden butterflies dangled from her review mirror.

What an exciting time that is. It quickly dawned on me that I didn't need my parents to drive me to the mall. If I wanted to go, I could go. That was a feeling that is hard to explain in words. I was loose from the grips of my parents forever. I was unstoppable and this giant clunky Dino-box was my fellow traveler and passport.

Unfortunately, my big red companion (I should have named her Clifford the big red Volvo!) only spent a year by my side before she was laid to rest. On one of our spontaneous adventures to uncharted territories (A trip to A.C. Moore in an unfamiliar town 20 minutes up the highway) I failed to keep her safe. I was texting my mom for directions (that's my story and I'm sticking to it!) when I rear ended another fellow Volvo. Their car had minimal damage and they drove off but my poor friend's bumper was damaged beyond repair, and they declared her dead, or totaled.

At the time my heart was broken and I didn't think I could ever feel the same kind of love for another car. I was right, but time heals all and eventually I moved on. After a string of thousand dollar Deluca Auto cars I settled on a Toyota Matrix. My parents were sick of the cheap cars only lasting months at a time. The second one I got, another Volvo, caught fire while me and my boyfriend were only a mile away from the house. We pulled over once I noticed the hood was on fire and quickly gathered my purse, groceries and most importantly Bug! Minutes after the entire car was engulfed in bright red flames, and I kid you not, it burned to the ground leaving a pile of dust on the side of our local road. After that I got a purple Buick that ended up not having air bags (whoops).

The Matrix did it's job well. It was the perfect car for short notice camping trips and for toting the muddy mutts all over town. I was able to fit my entire dorm room in it when college rolled around. The folding back seats allowed for ample junk room. Perfect for side walk sales and trips to Ikea. The carpeted seats were easy to clean and never once smelled like the dog butts that so often occupied them. It seemed like the ideal car. But after going through so many cars in so little time I had become accustomed to the change. After about three years I began to feel the itch. The itch of wanting, longing and needed a change. After my first winter in NH I had found my excuse.

"Dad, I just don't feel safe in the Matrix up here in the winter. Since it doesn't have four wheel drive it just slips and slides all over the damn place."

Safety is a parents top priority so I knew this couldn't fail, and I was right. What I didn't know, however, is that my begging and pleading for a safer vehicle would result in my cruising around Rindge NH in a swanky little Mercedes Benz.

I had my eyes on another Volvo. A black C30. It's seats folded down just like the matrix, and despite being about 1/8th the size I was sure some how, some way, I would be able to fit dogs, friends, and luggage with ease. Or I would just tell my friends to walk from now on. Luckily, my boyfriend is a tad more practical than me. When my parents put a used Benz in the mix I was stuck. Cute little zippy Volvo- or hot used Benz? In a rare twist I actually wanted the Volvo more. Then Ryan intervened with his practical thinking.

"You'll regret it if you choose the Volvo. It will only be cute for so long before you realize you could have had a Benz!" He assured me.

He was right. I bit my lip and made the trip home to test drive the silver C280 Benz. It was love at first drive. Driving her home felt like winning the lottery. Every time I get in my car (now named Heidi- after the German supermodel) I feel like I'm winning the lottery over and over again. She is classy and dignified and sexy as all hell. It's hard not to have confidence driving her around. Even Bug feels cool hanging his head out of a Benz, slobber and all!

Reading's Like a Box of Chocolates

A good book is like a box of chocolates, a good wine, a best

friend, a video game (if you're into that) and a cute puppy. You don't want to put it down, you are thoroughly enchanted by it. This is a rare occurrence in my world, but a delightful one. I've only read a handful of books in my life that rose to such a status.

*Old Spotty Cow. The first book I read more than once. It was an old, frail, smelly book that I found in the attic and fell in love with. It is literally about an old spotted cow and his days on the farm. What could be better!!? ( I adore cows, we'll come back to that in a further blog)

* Rape a Love Story by Joyce Carol Oats. I picked this out at a local book store on one of my hunts for a summer book. I was far too young to read it, probably 12, but was engulfed from page one. It is written as though the reader is the main character in the story. I don't think I could read it again, being awfully depressing, but it made it onto my list none the less.

* P.S. I Love You by Celia Ahern. I grabbed this at JFK airport right before boarding a flight to Spain. At this moment I would like you to completely delete any opinions you have formed about this story due to that awful Hilary Swank movie. The book was surprisingly well written (I've found her other books to be let downs) and a real tear jerker. I mean come on! A man writes his wife letters on his death bed to help her rebuild her life after he dies!! Does it get any better!?

*Marley and Me by John Grogan. Technically I didn't read it. I listened to it on tape while I was having bouts of insomnia on a trip to France. Beautifully written (or spoken in this case) it was a really touching book. I am also thoroughly obsessed with Dogs so that didn't hurt. But really, for anyone who has had a deep relationship with their dogs it's a must read. And yet again the movie ruined it!! Bleh what a lame movie. It's about the cute dog, not about you Jen Aniston!!

* Davinci Code by Dan Brown. I know, I know-typical. But there's a reason that book has been on the best seller list for the past thousand centuries. It is engulfing to say the least. I don't even like thriller books but I couldn't put it down. I even read Angels and Demons (also amazing) just so I wouldn't have to say goodbye to Robert Langdon. Again the movie totally blew. I pictured Robert Langdon as one of those sexy rugged older men (early forties) with a a hint of softness in his wondrous eyes. I may have had a slight literature crush on him. but TOM HANKS!? Eiw. No thanks.

*A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon. This book can't be described in less than a forty-five minute conversation. It's brilliant. Sheer brilliance. I was forced against my will to read and report on a book for a writing class. I waited until the last minute (obviously) and was panicked when I found out it was not on sparknotes.com. Forced to actually read it I fell madly in love with it, to the point that I was hesitant to ever read another book because I didn't think I could ever love one as much.

Today I went to Toadstool Bookstore in Peterborough and bought three new books (one by Dan Brown- Oh how I do miss you Robert Langdon) Bookstores make me giddy, even though I've bought many more books than I've actually read. But luckily my pale skin is in need of some color and those lawn chairs are looking pretty nice, so hopefully soon I'll be adding on to this list.

Let me know you're favorite books!!

Foreign Mind

Do you ever speak in a foreign accent when you're alone? I hope someone out there (besides me) does! Ever since I was seven years old I have been obsessed with British accents. It's not that I find them particularly attractive, I much prefer a sexy french accent (who could resist!) or even a deep Irish accent. My fascination with the British accent is actually the fault of Lindsay Lohan. As an impressionable young girl I watched Parent Trap over and over and over and over again. I played hundreds of imaginary games with myself and friends and always insisted on being the British twin. I dreamed of my mother looking like the sweet Natasha Richardson and designing wedding dresses for blushing British brides. It was my favorite movie, and since my parents were not divorced and it was unlikely that I had a long lost twin (I came to this conclusion only after lots of research) I figured the closest I would get to being Annie James was to adopt her voice.

After my parents realized I was serious about becoming British, they bought me a few books on British words and translations. I no longer wore my boots on rainy days, I wore my galoshes. My new personal favorite term was "arse". As in "Get you're arse out of the way!" Every night I slowly practiced my pronunciation out loud. I read books to my cockatiel Fred in my new accent. I impressed my parents with such extreme dedication and amused family and friends. I even promised myself that when I entered middle school at Robert E Bell, I would use my new accent and become a British person. (I hadn't thought of the fact that I would be going to middle school with the same kids that heard me speak in an American accent for the past eight years, so that plan backfired.)

Now, over ten years later, the accent has lost it's perfection but it still tends to pop up when I'm alone. I wonder if I practiced so often and so hard that I had actually tricked a small part of my brain into thinking I was in fact British. When I walk my dogs in the woods I find myself narrating our walks in a British accent, like Victoria Stilwell the Animal Planet dog trainer. When I cook I find myself putting on a fake show with my accent. Sometimes I even think in a British accent. It makes me wonder what else I'm capable of tricking my mind to do!

House Hunting

"We really like old homes" My mom cheerfully told our new real estate agent.

By the end of my first semester I had convinced my school that for completely false medical reasons (extreme O.C.D) that I needed to live off campus. I wrote a very heartfelt essay about how hard it is to live with other people, and how I'd like to keep my raging OCD under control by living in my own space off campus. At my school nobody lives off campus. They want to keep everyone contained in the little circle that makes up my campus so that no one realizes how isolated we actually are. So that no one will realize that there is nothing beyond the Walmart. I didn't feel bad about lying because I didn't feel I should need a reason anyways. Its college, I was supposed to be free. But instead I felt stuck. Most of all though, I needed my dogs. One semester without my dogs was killing me. Instead of twilight posters adorning my 6 x 6 room, I had pictured of my dogs. Hundreds of them. They were even posted on the outside of my door, which looking back probably explains why very few people ever bothered knocking on it to say hello. So as soon as I got an e mail from the clueless but empathetic housing management I called up Tiger Reality to set up a search for my home away from home. My parents came up to foot the bill. However my Mom, not being one to stay quiet, decided to give my real estate agent a nice long list of her preferences.

"We like old homes. Old colonials. Or old farm houses! We love historic homes, that would be a big bonus." I could see her ruining our search before it had even begun.

"She likes old homes." I cut in. "She likes old, ugly homes and I like new ones! New, clean homes. An A frame would be a bonus."

Of course after figuring out a realistic price range for a second house we had very few old or new homes on the actual list. We had tiny, ugly, not new but not old cat piss stained homes that were practically begging to be knocked down. Hideosity after Hideosity. One house belonged to an old woman whose husband just died. It was a sad story, but the fact that creepy medical needles and ash trays were strewn around the house made me feel like cancer was creeping into my body just by standing in it. And yes, it too smelled like cat piss. Feeling defeated but not wanting to make another trip up my mom called a rental agency. They had one place in our price range and could show us in ten minutes, but didn't have the key. We signed the lease that night, on the hood of our car without having been inside the house. It seemed fitting though, since I had accepted my acceptance to Franklin Pierce University without ever having visited the campus. (laziness?)

It was the property that won us over. Our home in NY is nice, a cute old colonial (shocker!) but it's the yard that wins everyones heart. Best yard in town. This was no different. The house is a cute cabin like abode but the yard is a magical forrest. Plants grow furiously wherever the sunlight falls. There are three nearly endless fields that fill with dandelions in the spring, and sleep with a blanket of snow all winter. There is a little garden just for me outside the kitchen window and a thicket of blueberry bushes just beyond that. I'm about to sign the papers to lease it for another year, and can officially say it has become my home.

However there is the issue of a crazy land lady, but I'll save that for another blog.....