Some women are always stylish no matter how casual or dressy the occasion.

Some women never spill their lattes on their white T-shirts.

Some women don’t have mascara smudged under their eyes within an hour of putting it on.

Some women can apply lipstick and know it’ll stay on their lips—not around them or on their teeth.

Some women can pay to get a manicure/pedicure and not fuck it up when they walk the 10 feet from the salon to their car.

Some women can do their hair in the morning and leave the house confidently knowing that it hasn’t deflated a nanosecond after turning from the mirror.

Some women know that it’s not about the perfect pair of shoes, or the right dress or the IT bag.

Some women are able to hold smart, witty conversations with perfect strangers without feeling stupid or insecure.

I’m not one of those women.

This is how I look at the end of the day

I am a bumbling hot mess most days, no matter how hard I try to get it right. Every white T-shirt I own has been stained by coffee, Diet Coke or my lunch. I wear a lot of black T-shirts now, but that still doesn’t solve the problem. By the time I get to work every morning my mascara has already smudged—and not in a sexy, smoldering way. It’s more like I got something in my eye and rubbed it hard. My lipstick is worn off before I’ve even had my first sip of coffee.

I try to keep my nails looking neat and nice but inevitably I smudge my manicure when I get in my car or pull on my seat belt. If I do my nails at home I manage to smudge them without even moving. I’ve also had to pull the occasional dog hair out of my setting polish. My hair goes flat within minutes, no matter how much hairspray I use to glue it into place.

My awesome shoes and handbags are usually a little dirty or scuffed and my jeans are always just a little too long.

When it comes to making small talk, I become mute.

I am clumsy and bump into walls, bruising my legs and elbows with alarming regularity.

I’m THAT chick, you know the one: No matter how dressed up I am, something is amiss, a little disheveled.

At 40 I’m more comfortable in my skin that I ever have been, but just once I’d like to walk in the door at the end of the day looking exactly as I did when I walked out that morning. No stains, not disheveled, makeup sort of in place, hair not looking like I napped on all day.

Maybe some day when I grow up it’ll happen.

But I doubt it…

Ugh. If you subscribe you’ve probably noticed that I managed to publish a ridiculously rough, totally unedited draft earlier. Please, please ignore it.

Here are five things that I’m digging this week:

1. Corrine Bailey Rae’s “The Sea”

The Sea (image from http://www.corinnebaileyrae.net/)

Corrine Bailey Rae’s voice is smooth, mellow and soulful. She’s sort of jazzy in a cool way. She wrote this album after her husband unexpectedly passed away, but it’s not so much about mourning as it is about hope. It’s groovy music to listen to on a Sunday morning.

2. “I.O.U.: Why Everyone Owes Everyone And No One Can Pay” by John Lanchester

You'll feel smarter—and pissed off!—if you read this.

I like my chick lit most of the time, but I read a review of this and downloaded it to my Kindle immediately.

Lanchester is usually a fiction writer and he was doing some research for a new book and realized there was a bigger story here. He explains the global banking fiasco for financial morons like me. It’s sharp and funny—and it’ll piss you off.

3. Lost: Season 6

The Lost Supper

This weekend I’m going to re-watch the last two episodes from Season 5 to refresh myself for the new—and final—season that starts on Tuesday.

4. “Celebrity Rehab With Dr. Drew: Season 3″

Mackenzie Phillips, Heidi Fleiss, Dennis Rodman and Tom Sizemore. Need I say more?

I know it seems like they’re exploiting celebrities at their worst, but there’s usually some redemption in there. Watching Rodney King take responsibility for his actions and forgive those officers was incredible and moving. I’m not sure that anyone is going to have that kind of breakthrough this season, but I’m kind of rooting for Heidi Fleiss.

5. The Puppy Cam: Part 2

The Shiba Inu Puppy Cam has returned! There’s a new litter of Shiba Inu pups— two males and three females, and they’re all ridiculously cute.
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In October I moved my blog over here from a wordpress.com url. When The Daily Snark went live over here I put a big note on the old blog telling everyone where they can find me, and yet…

…and yet, I happened to check over there today and saw that I’m still getting tons of hits at my old location. I can’t take that blog down because I was lazy didn’t know enough to store my photos on another site—so in effect, it’s functioning as my photo library for the archives of this blog.

I could pretend like it’s a good thing—double the blogs, double the readers—but that’s not really how it works. I tried to strip it down to make it even less interesting than it already is, but it still seems to be a fan favorite.

So I put a big obnoxious note on it reminding everyone to update their links and subscriptions. Any suggestions about what else I can do?

I've moved, damn it.

I almost got on my hands and knees to apologize to Mother Nature for being so smug about the nice weather we had in Southern California while the rest of the country was freezing.

Because Mother Nature made Southern California her bitch.

It rained for six days straight. There’s just no way that 8 or more inches of rain in a desert — after a prolonged drought — will absorb into the ground. Not even close. The ground was so saturated that our backyard became Lake Farrar and Gracie needed a raft to go out to pee. She decided she liked the front yard better—it must not have felt as muddy—but she would only run out fast enough to cop a quick squat and then she’d run back inside. I don’t think she did more than pee for a week. The second it stopped raining she went out and crapped in every spot in the yard.

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I just discovered The. Best. Invention. EVER. The self-checkout at Ralphs. I can walk up to this with an entire cart of groceries—including weigh-able foods like produce—and check myself out without ever having to interact with a single person. No bagger to smash my bread and eggs. No surly checker flinging my foods up the conveyor belt. I can scan my club card, use coupons and even get cash back (however, those activities increase your need to deal with an employee). Lesley’s Albertsons is ahead of the curve on this—they’ve had it for a couple of years—but I never fully appreciated it until last night. I didn’t have to pretend that the schmuck in the 15 Items or Less line, who was shopping for his family of 22, had fewer than the prescribed number of items. And then wait while he wrote a check. I didn’t have to deal with the chick paying for a six-pack of Budweiser with quarters. I scanned my items, or typed in the codes for produce, swiped my card and was in and out of there in seconds.

I already don’t have to say a word in Starbucks in the morning. By the time I’m at the front of the line, my drink is ready, I hand over my gift card, mumble a Thank You and am out the door without really having to make eye contact.

I just need to find a way to make this happen in other areas of my life.

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I’ve been interviewing interns for work and it’s making me feel like a relic. These kids come in with some mad skilz in Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign and even Flash and Dreamweaver.

Most of the potential interns are pretty together—they come in with immaculate resumes, amazing portfolios and experience for days. But some of them can’t put a sentence together with glue and duct tape.

When I call them to set up interviews I ask for a portfolio and a résumé. I am surprised how many of them seemed shocked at the request. I don’t expect leather portfolios—just organized projects of interesting work—but some of the résumés that cross my desk are clearly an “Oh Shit. I forgot.” afterthought. There’s no rhyme or reason to work history, they are littered with misspellings and they’re missing crucial information—like their name.

When I graduated from college I sent out a gabillion résumés and cover letters. I had a good work history behind me, but my résumé was disorganized and I committed the ultimate sin—I didn’t proofread it so it had a smattering of typos. About a month after I started my job hunt, a thick envelope came in the mail. It was my résumée and cover letter (which I printed out on gray stone paper no less) marked up and returned with a lovely (anonymous) letter offering suggestions. It was the best gift I could have ever gotten.

So when I read these sloppy résumés, not just for interns but by seasoned professionals, I’m tempted to whip out my red pen and edit them. But I stop myself because I’m not sure they’ll take it as constructive criticism.

Then again, they’re coming to us for real-world experience, right?

What do you think?

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Just a quick update on my dad: He’s going to have some polyp-like things removed in a few weeks from the area between his prostate and his bladder. Sounds like a fun day, doesn’t it?! I like to comfort myself by thinking that if it were urgent the procedure would have been scheduled right away, but then I go to that dark place and get annoyed by our health care system and assume that doctors don’t really care as long as they get their cut from insurance. I hope it’s the former.

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Go check out Keely’s blog The Un Mom for more Random Tuesday Thoughts.

“I don’t have cancer.”

Relief washed over me like a tidal wave when my dad said those words to me last night.

For the past few months my dad has had some issues and has been submitting to a plethora of medical tests. Today he has a CT scan and tomorrow he has another scan, but the blood test came back normal yesterday, and when he called to tell me the good news it felt like a 1,000-pound weight was lifted off my shoulders.

I’ve been so blessed that my parents have been healthy. My 81-year-old dad and 77-year-old mom don’t have any serious health issues yet—some high blood pressure here, a little arthritis there, but nothing serious or debilitating.

They’re at that age, though, were I feel like I’m holding my breath, afraid to exhale just in case.

My parents live in an active senior community that’s more high school seniors than senior living. Their days are filled with Fox News (don’t even get me started on this one, but what is it with seniors and Fox News?) golf, card games, parties and clubs. My dad still goes to the gym five times a week. They spend their time with friends, and they still travel quite extensively.  I’m convinced the activity is what keeps them sharp and healthy.

Another day in paradise

But a week doesn’t go by when I don’t hear about who in their dwindling circle of friends has died or who has cancer or who can’t live alone anymore and has to move into assisted living—or worse: move in with their kids (apparently, that’s a fate worse than death). They like to talk about it—they probably need to talk about it—but I hate it. I feel like plugging my fingers in my ears and chanting “La La La La La” like a child. I don’t like to give voice to the idea that they may succumb to the same fate. My worst fear is that they’ll have to fight a prolonged battle—something neither of them wants.

I’m not in denial about my parents getting sick or passing away. In fact, Bill and I have talked about it because he lost both of his parents a couple of years ago, but I try not to dwell on it. If I did, I’d jump to the worst conclusions every time they had an ache or a pain. My mom has outlived eight out of her 10 brothers and sisters and her parents both passed away in their early 60s, so she’s doing pretty damn good. Her surviving sister has been battling health issues her whole life whereas my mom’s worse problem is needing some new teeth. My dad’s dad passed away in his 70s but his mom lived to be 86—so the gene pool isn’t too bad on that side. Bit I still keep my fingers and toes crossed.

As much as they drive me nuts, I try to talk to them every day. I probably don’t get out there to see them enough though—there is a part of me that expects them to be around forever. And really if they weren’t, I wouldn’t know who I was if my mom wasn’t nagging me about something!

But they’re at that age. And I’m really not prepared. But I guess we never are.

Please keep my dad in your thoughts and prayers this week.