For many of us, it’s that time of year again.
Time to sift through the invitations that seem to be arriving daily and by the dozen, that “cordially” invite us to the “joyous occasion” where Friend A and Friend B “become one for eternity.”
Le Sigh. Continue reading
The perfect red lip color.
It’s the no-hitter of make-up.
Rare and only a few people get ever get to experience its attendant glory.
Not anymore!
As a (lazy) disciple of Gwen Stefani’s style and a fan of the Golden Age of Hollywood, I’ve wasted a lot of time and money searching for the perfect red lip color. One that is easy to wear (READ: did not end up on my teeth in 3 minutes), not too costume-y and most importantly, long-wearing. After extensive testing of dozens of products and numerous (and embarrassing) misses, I have found the perfect red lip color and it’s NOT a lipstick.
Tarte LipSurgence in Firey* will give you the perfect red lip. It has the perfect balance of blue undertones that are reminiscent of that perfect Rita Hayworth smile, NOT the Mommy Dearest grimace. It doesn’t require a separate lip liner and if you let it set for a few minutes after applying, it will last through a few drinks without requiring a touch-up.
Added benefit: Because it’s from Tarte it’s actually good for your lips, without sacrificing longevity or intensity. Lipsurgence is paraben, petrochemical, sulfate, synthetic fragrance and phthlates free. It’s also moisturizing and has a slightly minty taste. This is nice because if some individual is brave enough to lean in, knowing they will get a face full of red, they get a little bonus for their daring.
Because it’s a crayon, and not a lipstick, you also have far more control over the intensity of your color. One swipe gives you that “just ate the perfectly colored popsicle stain” a few more swipes and and you get this:
It goes on matte. If you want to vamp it up a bit you can layer a gloss over it. I like Kiehl’s colorless lip gloss, but Cover Girl works just as well.
Out of 5 possible Glitter Unicorns Tarte LipSurgence in Firey earns:
*The link takes you to Amazon, but please go through the Crasstalk Amazon store to feed the badger!
I used to have this theory about adulthood, that you aren’t actually a for-keeps, responsibility-driven, “adult” until one or two things happened.
It was a convenient theory because the day after my eighteenth birthday I moved to New York, three thousand miles away from anyone I knew. Normally, this would have the event that triggered entrance to the world of “adults,” but I wasn’t ready to claim that title and its attendant responsibilities (Who is at eighteen?). So, I crafted a sort of bill-paying, binge-drinking, working full-time and going to school full-time pseudo-adolescence for myself. It carried me through conservatory, college and almost a full year out in “the real world.” I could fuck-up (within reason) all I wanted because this was not yet my Official Adult Life. Nothing counted, yet. Given the fact that I was committed to never having children and my mom was still young, I thought this maturing theory would give me a couple decades of freedom.
Then, one spring night, my forty-four year old mother had a massive brain hemorrhage.
Looking back it’s insane that we all didn’t see it coming. Well, no, correction, I DID see something coming. She was having at least one nosebleed a day paired with crippling headaches and she kept going to the same doctor and urgent care provider who told her one ridiculous tale after another. My mom is a head-in-the-sand kind of lady, so she never sought out a second opinion. We had a huge fight about it, about two weeks before the stroke. But, like most fights between mothers and daughters, nothing was resolved.
I was in D.C. when it happened. I traveled for work and instead of going all the way home to Seattle, I decided to stay and spend the weekend catching up with some college friends. We got stunningly drunk. I made it back to my hotel room around three or four in the morning. Just as my beginning-to-pound head touched the pillow, my phone, that was on the desk, on other side of the room, began to ring. Before I could even make the decision to ignore it, I was asleep.
Two hours later it rang again.
Through the thick, pain-soaked, ears ringing haze I sensed the doom that goes along with all late night phone calls. I drug myself across the room to answer. It was my uncle’s voice, telling me to get home as soon as possible, the ER doctors couldn’t stop the bleeding and that my mom was probably going to die. Soon. My family is nothing if not blunt.
I could write several separate pieces about everything that happened in the next ninety minutes. How to arrange grieving flight travel. How to deal when the guy you’re dating, who is in the place you’re going, refuses to just pick you up at the airport and drop you off at the hospital so your family can stay put, because he has Laker’s tickets. How to not curl into a ball on the dirty hotel carpet and cry until you pass out. How to manage all of this when you have The Worst Hangover You Have Ever Had In Your Life.
I made it in time. D.C to L.A. in about eight hours door-to-door and my mom was still alive. My grandma and I lived in the ICU for the next few days. There are so many things about strokes you don’t know about until they hit you in the face. One of the big ICU recovery benchmarks after a stroke is a “swallow test.” My grandma and uncle abandoned ship. They couldn’t deal with seeing mom possibly choke on some water. It was just me, her, the nurse and about a gallon of my terror-induced sweat.
She drifted in an out of consciousness for the next few days. The only person she recognized in midst of her delirium was my grandma. That was fine with me. I don’t think I could have dealt with my mom calling out to me for help. It was bad enough being the unspoken point person.
Things improved steadily within the next ten days, except that her entire right side was paralyzed. Two different rehab centers, thousands of hours of therapy and time have not significantly improved the situation. She can walk short distances with a cane and take care of almost everything herself inside the house, but she is disabled, confined mostly to a wheelchair, and probably will be for the rest of her life.
There is only about a twenty year age difference between my mom and I. This seems astronomical when you are five, not so much when you are twenty-four. I love and like her dearly. This is a very good thing because she (and my grandma) will be living with me, within three or four years of my graduation from law school, for the rest of their lives.
I can count on one hand the years left of my life where I can just float around, sleep late, bring men home, study whenever I want, come home late, hell, just BE alone whenever and for however long I want. It’s like knowing almost the exact date you will one day wake up instantly married with kids.
I don’t mean to sound bitter; it’s just overwhelming to see it in writing. Mostly because, while I am a Type-A, obsessive compulsive, I am also a free spirit. I never planned to “settle down.” I loved being able to pick up and run back and forth across the country. I had hopes of being able to run across the world a few times. Sure, it still could happen, but it will require a lot more planning than just popping over to the North Face store for a large backpack.
However, the worst moment of my life was thinking I was going to be on some stupid fucking airplane when my mom died. I consider everything that isn’t that, the last three years of adjusting, the next decade of planning (and more adjusting), my accelerated membership into adulthood, all a fair trade for the continued presence in my life of the woman who regularly emails me pictures of baby koalas.
Seriously? Look at that! That is totally worth all the yelling at real-estate agents I’m going to have to do in Seattle, land of hills and stairs. ” What part of “HANDI-CAP ACCESSIBLE” do you not understand?! I’m not paying you a commission to show me fucking stairs!”
Until about two weeks ago a stranger could be forgiven for mistaking me for a raccoon.
Okay, not really. I would never let my mustache get THAT out of control. But ever since I was a kid, I’ve had deep dark circles planted firmly beneath my eyes. Teachers and coaches used to pull my mother aside periodically to ask whether I had a sleep disorder. Denying I had a drug problem was routine.
Not cute.
When I discovered the joys of concealer I learned to mask the problem. As I aged, late nights out, followed by early morning practices or classes only made the prominent smudges deepen into twin pools of despair. Concealer was beginning to fall short of its monumental task. I tried almost every eye cream on the market and while they all made the skin softer none of them worked for the circles.
Despondency loomed!
Then, about two weeks ago, on a whim, I decided to try, the Garnier Skin Renew Anti-Puff Roller (or rather its generic counterpart). I now refer to it as The Magic Wand.
I’d show you before and after photos but I have destroyed all evidence of my life BMTW (Before The Magic Wand). Being poor, I bought the Rite Aid version, for about $10 (roughly $4 cheaper than the name brand). I swipe a bit on in the morning and night over moisturizer and it soaks right into my skin. It does not effect make-up application. I noticed a significant reduction of my dark circles in two days and the situation continues to improve, even after several consecutive days of five hours of sleep or less. It also reduces puffiness.
On a scale of 1-5 Glitter Unicorns (hopefully the official rating system for Crasstalk product reviews) The Magic Wand earns:
*Thank you EthologyNerd, Honkifyoulikecookies, Alluson, Chad_Sexington and most importantly Tunamelt for your help with the rating system.
Sex is my hobby.
Not so much the having of it (lingering Catholic damage and a significant aversion to germs and off-spring killed any chance for promiscuity for me at an early age). But I am fascinated by the vast variety of ways humans have divined to get off. My “research” has taken me to some really interesting places and some really dark places, but all of it has been. . . rewarding.
My special interest is in pornography.
I’ve seen at least a few films from all genres that are not on-their-face disturbing (you know it when you hear about it) or illegal. To list just the kink genres alone would be a post in itself, so I will refrain. Remember Rule 34.
Let’s just say that I’ve done the leg work.
My pornographic life has seen its fair share of internal and external conflict. A common critique I receive (usually screamed at me after too many beers), particularly from my female friends, is that all porn exploits and degrades women; that there is no way the porn industry isn’t damaging the women participating and all women in general. I respect this opinion. I was once even persuaded by that opinion but as I have experienced more and branched out (way out) from the Vivid/Hustler/Playboy worlds of porn and seen some truly amazing (and H-O-T) work being done by smart women who are deeply committed to forwarding a feminist viewpoint in their work, I changed my mind. So, while I still agree that a significant portion of the business remains deeply misogynistic, I think it is an unfair and inaccurate picture of the entire industry.
I started this post thinking that I would make some recommendations about some excellent and incredibly hot work going on that you may not have heard of if your own pornographic life is restricted to X-Tube, pay-per-view, or trolling for whatever free genitals are bumping and grinding their way around the interwebz. But Lux Alptraum and the staff at Fleshbot (link is NSFW) have that covered and I cannot improve upon their work.
So instead I’d like to impart the some of the lessons I’ve learned about real-life sex after 10+ years (the beginning of my pornographic life was, technically speaking, illegal) of watching people have sex on camera.
Even if you are extremely porn-adverse, I think these lessons will translate. They are from the perspective of a straight woman (not on behalf all straight women). While I’d like to think they translate across orientations and genders, I don’t want to make any assumptions.
I hope this was illuminating for a lot of you and not too pedantic for the rest of you perverts (“pervert” is a term of endearment in sexxxy circles. I use it here with the utmost respect and affection.).
If you would like some porn recommendations and do not want to go to Fleshbot, ask away in the comments!
Governor Walker and State Senate Majority Leader Scott Fitzgerald (R- what else?) have tried to circumvent the court ordered injunction against the controversial union busting bill that they passed in early March, reportedly in violation of Wisconsin’s open meeting law. The court order enjoined the government from “any further implementation of the law,” including publishing it in the official state journal which is the official state vehicle for providing notice of new laws to the public.
The Republicans subverted the injunction by compelling the Legislative and Reference bureau to publish the law that would eliminate collective bargaining for state employee’s unions. There is significant dispute as to whether this actually implements the new law or not. Democrats contend that a law is not enacted until it is published in the official state journal and that additional steps need to be taken by the Secretary of State. The Secretary of State, like the official state journal have been specifically enjoined from performing the functions that would implement this law. Republicans argue that merely the act of publishing the law enacts the new law and that no further steps need to be taken.
There is going to be one pissed off judge reporting to work in Wisconsin today.
Source: TPM
It has happened to all of us.
You and your friend of another race/ethnicity/nationality etc. are having a good time then all of a sudden you say something, your friend looks at you like you are crazy and immediately excuses themselves and you don’t hear from them for a couple weeks. You’d apologize, except you have no idea what to apologize for and your friend would call you but every time they think of that last conversation they get so pissed off smoke literally rises from their scalp.
Well, I’d like to help put out the fires of discord.
Here is my attempt to address some commonly made mistakes that, let’s face it, predominantly white, straight, male people make, that make minorities of all colors, shapes and sexual orientations (critical race theory has some close cousins in queer theory) want to unleash the Kraken.*
A lot of us hate the entire song. It doesn’t make us want to dance, it makes us feel exposed and sexualized in a completely non-sexy way. So, stop talking about our asses unless you are trying to get us into bed and then only do if the individual girl gives you the green light. In regards to black men, a lot of them, at least in the United States, are big, strapping guys. Why? It is not an accident of genetics. It is because when black people were imported to the Americas and bred as work animals, like most breeds of work animals, the smaller individuals tend not survive the harsh conditions and are actively bred out of existence. It’s not a coincidence and it’s not really funny to joke about while watching football with your token black friend.
Know your own privilege(s). Are you educated? Rich? Male? Straight? White? One or all of the above? Well there are some handy things called “privileges” that go along with those characteristics. Pay attention to your life and figure out what they are. If you haven’t read this piece by Peggy McIntosh it is a great primer. Becoming knowledgeable about your particular set of privileges will help you understand the structural deficits that others operate under. So, when your friend says that they’d like to leave a place that is making them feel uncomfortable or when your girlfriend says someone said something disrespectful to them, that may have sounded completely innocuous to you instead of possibly discounting their assertions or feelings by brushing them off or asking them to “ignore” it (as if that were possible) you can help make constructive steps to remedy the situation.
Whew! After all that, we need some Aretha to play us out.
As always, I look forward to any additional suggestions to the list or critiques.
*I realize that I am largely speaking to the choir here at one of the last bastions of internet sanity and intelligence.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Welcome to CrassGossip for our first Holy Day of Obligation.
Before we get to the comings, goings of mere mortals, we must stop and pay tribute
to one of the OG HBICs:
Elizabeth Taylor
For this tribute you will need:
Black eyeliner, a trophy, your trusty AIDS awareness ribbon and a bottle of the best champagne you can afford.
white diamonds/White Diamonds are optional.
First, apply your eyeliner, Cleopatra-style:
Next, grab your trophy and savor a moment of personal triumph in the nearest mirror.
Finally, tie on your AIDS ribbon and remember the woman who publicly stood up for AIDS patients and raised a ton of cash for the cause, while most of the world was still treating victims like deviant lepers
Now, take your champagne and in classic gangsta fashion, take a drink and then pour one out for Elizabeth Taylor.
May we all be blessed enough to spit in the eye of convention and tha haterz and live and love in the manner of this fantastic woman.
Now, on to the lesser mortals.
Ugh.
In Fucking Awesome News:
In Woman Beater News:
Full Disclosure: I have experience with domestic abuse. I personally hate the terms “victim” and “survivor” so, let’s just say I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of habitual beatings. I’m not defending the actions of Chris Brown. I am saying, in comparison with other convicted famous domestic abusers, he has been grossly mistreated by American media.
I’m calling bullshit on the media’s continued social lynching of Chris Brown as The Worst Man Alive (Yeah, I used the “L” word).
Chris Brown is not a good guy. But by my standards he’s a pretty average variety of bad guy with worse judgment. A variety of bad guy so average that if he were white, his new album might be in the iTunes top ten by now and yesterday’s GMA performance might have been outside and accompanied by a throng of screaming fans and no questions about his battery of his ex-girlfriend.
There is something rotten in media land (what’s new?).
The inequity in media coverage of Chris Brown versus oh, say that colossal grade A asshole Charlie Sheen, (who has shot one woman, allegedly beat a UCLA student for refusing to have sex with him, beat and threatened to kill a porn actress he was dating, threw furniture at and threatened to kill ex-wife Denise Richards, threatened to kill ex-wife Brooke Mueller twice and terrorized another porn actress in the famous Plaza Hotel incident) is stark and startling and it has dramatically colored the public’s opinion of the two characters.
A number of great blogs have covered the contrast in coverage between these two total bastards, calling out TMZ in particular for their imbalanced coverage, but recent events demand a revisit.
Chris Brown went on GMA to shill his latest album. He performed and then sat down for what any other artist, not matter the level of scandal they were currently embroiled in, should have been a perfunctory and largely b.s. interview. GMA claims that they cleared all the Rihanna-centered questioning was approved by Brown and his people. Honestly? That seems like a pretty tall glass of bullshit. “Bad Boy” hasn’t been profitable for Brown and any PR flack worth his cell phone minutes would never have ok’d that line of questioning.
Was his temper tantrum and window breaking unacceptable? Absolutely, but part of me wonders how patient and mature I would be if I was still being publicly flogged for some of my more considerable fuck-ups?
ESPECIALLY when a dude, who has by all accounts done a lot worse was about to embark on a sold out one-man show.
Which brings us to that sad piece of shit a lot of people apparently are willing to pay a minimum of $79 to see (some reports have tickets in the sold out Chicago shows going for as much as $514) to see spew insanity, Charlie Sheen. 
Coverage of Charlie Sheen has focused on his substance abuse (Oh poor him! Won’t somebody SAVE him!) and his nonsensical verbal diarrhea (That lovable scamp!). He has never had his feet held to the fire of a public flogging, largely because he’s been so successful at painting all the women who accuse him of misdeeds as gold diggers. Either despite the statistics that state one in four women have been a victim of domestic abuse the American public is more willing to believe that six women in a row are all gold diggers, rather than victims of a habitual abuser OR the media has done a good job of helping Sheen sweep his litany of misdeeds under the rug by focusing on his ” male need to kill and to win.”
Every interview Sheen does is a softball. Can you imagine if Brown had shot a woman? He’d be living under an overpass. Yet Sheen has shot a woman, beat up others and threatened to kill a few and has a million Twitter followers and tens of millions in the bank.
Anybody have any theories about the disproportionate and unequal media response that don’t begin and end with “because Chris Brown is a black man?” Honestly, if you do I am dying to hear them.
Hi Crasstalkers!
1:33pm EST It’s ihatediamonds and I have a confession. Since 12/25/10 I have had exactly two glasses of champagne.
I know what you are thinking, I’m not about to reveal that I’m an alcoholic. I’ve just been training really hard in the gym and booze and 1000 calorie-burning workouts don’t really mix.
But today, all bets are off! I’m at the Extreme Beer Fest in Boston with a few of my nearest and dearest.
For your reading pleasure, I’m going to live blog this little adventure.
1:48 the only other black girl here and I just shared a knowing, hazy glance
1:41 beginning to sober up waiting in line. But there is carrot cake beer on the other end. I will not be deterred!
1:50 I’ve already fucked up my time line. Awesome. Also thank god for iPhone auto capitalization.
2:02 breaking the seal.
2:15 I love girl beers. Hatas to the left. There are a lot of bearded
dudes basically mainling Sierra Nevadas jelly bean beer. So
stout/porter snobs can fuck a duck.
2:25 just played a game of find the nipple with friends P and E while
in line. Classy
2:39 extreme beer Fest major pro amazing ladies room
3:06 so erd up a bit with header jalrpeno pretzel. Perfect drunk
food.
3:24 sigted pregnant person drinking, disturbed
3:28 drank gloden delicious. Pretty sure named for me
3:48 lost feinds in crowd. Drunk why are people wearing top hats?
4:15 favorite beer of the day Sam Adams Chocolate Cherry Bock
4:22 friend P, single male it’s slim pickings all round
4:34 Short break blogging will resume at Harpoon Brewey at 6pm
6:23 Tasty Burger in Fenway. It’s not In & Out and Burgerville but
om nom nom
9:01 at harpoon Brewey! Raspberry beer is pleasure. Trying to
upload photos. Failing.
9:43 drinking since 1pm solid 8 hour day of beer drinking. I’m ether
beyond drubbj of fucksing wasted.
10:40 waiting for the D line at park st. My feet are weeping. Soundtrack: Bishop Allen. Thanks for following today.
12:04am I would give someone the blow job of their lives for a foot rub… if I didn’t end up passed out on their crotch from exhaustion. Waking up with balls imprinted on your face can’t be a good look.
Sidenote: (oh god…I’m a little drunk already) this place is full of penises. Lala I’m going in for the kill… Maybe.
