Haute Flash Contessa

Wrinkle Cream is Sooo Last Century

2011-08-23T10:57:00.004-05:00

Move over osteoporosis and heart disease, there's a new malady stiking those of us of a certain age. Cleavage wrinkles. Seems when women sleep on their sides, one big-ol-boob falls against the other (thanks, gravity), creating unwanted crease lines. And I thought worrying caused wrinkles! Thank goodness there's a solution called a "Kush Support".

According to those in the know, it's "firm enough to support yet light enough to not even feel it there."

Funny, that's what I say about my wine bra.

Planking in the Great Outdoors

2011-08-07T09:53:00.001-05:00

What camping trip would be complete without planking? I think it was her way of getting out of unloading the car!

Middle Age Planking

2011-07-29T08:07:00.002-05:00

"Planking" is all the rage with teens these days. My teen said it's hard and takes a strong core and rock hard abs to do a plank on top of an object. I gave it a try. Not so tough.

Summertime Lessons

2009-07-06T18:39:00.002-05:00

I drove into the middle-school parking lot and caught sight of parents huddled together, clutching each other in fear. Tears flowed. Peeking through windows, I saw knuckle-bumping, bear-hugging and dancing on desk-tops. Margaritas flowed.

Ah, school let out for summer.

After the initial shock - and bottle of White Zin - wore off, Contessa turned to Merlotta for help weathering the next couple of months. After all, Merlotta was the emergency relief block captain during Hurricane Ike. Her yummy tuna baked-bean and just-out-of-date cream cheese casserole saved more than a few from dry Cheerios.

"Keep 'em busy," she said, emptying my cat's litter box. "Establish a routine," she added, as I handed her the bag of Tidy Cat.

read rest of the column here

All For Cheerleading, Stand Up and Holler

2009-07-06T18:33:00.002-05:00

I was just telling The Big Guy how it’s that time of year when twisting and gyrating, jumping and yelling, turning back flips and cartwheels abound. In the end, there are smiles, tears and hugs of either congratulations or condolences.

“Time for Macy’s annual swimsuit sale already?” the Big Guy said, flipping the television channels during a break in the Rockets playoff game.

“No. I’m skipping that this year. Merlotta’s sewing ours. She got a great deal on slightly used blue tarps. It’s time for cheerleading tryouts and Cat is going out for the seventh grade squad.”

The Big Guy nearly spilled his beer. The last time that happened was when the doctor delivered Pinot and Grigio. After steadying his Pabst Blue Ribbon, The Big Guy channel-hopped back to the game just as the Power Dancers bumped and grinded their way onto center court. They sure had a lot of power but not much in the way of clothing. He looked at the screen, then at Cat, and then tried doling out a teachable moment.

“Real cheerleaders usually wear more than a handkerchief, and they don’t bust moves that make men dribble beer down their chins,” he said in his Cliff Huxtable voice.

“Dad, it’s a middle school tryout. Kids. Get real.” It’s amazing how far back into her head she can roll those eyes. “Oh, and two things: First, don’t say ‘bust moves.’ That’s so lame, coming from an old guy. Second, what’s a handkerchief?”

read rest of the column here

I'm a Big Boy Now

2009-04-11T09:19:00.003-05:00

Pinot & Grigio came in from college for the Easter weekend and were searching for food. The egg salad didn't appeal to them, what with all the green flecks on top. I told 'em it was ground celery but they weren't buying it. So we did what Contessa does best: head out to a restaurant.

Grigio got behind the wheel, Pinot jumped in beside him yelling, "Shot gun," and pointed for Contessa to hop in the back.

As if. If the bag of month-old dirty laundry wasn't enough to keep me out of the back seat, the take-out boxes marked "Hunan's Wok Surpeme" did. Since when did Chinese restaurants serve cottage cheese?

"Besides, we're adults now," Pinot said.

"Yeah, does that mean you're paying the bill?"

Pinot climbed into the back seat.

Learn a new language: Teenspeak or Menospeak?

2009-04-10T08:24:00.002-05:00

Cat came home from school and, mindful of feeding her a healthful snack, Contessa called out, “Grab a Mountain Dew and one of those deep-fried Twinkies.” Milk and cookies are soooo overrated. “Pull up a seat and tell Dr. Phil about your day. Oh, and me, too.”

“Pretty crunk until my BFF jacked my Dr. B to bust some waterfalling. Now she’s fremeny number one.”

Um, Dr. Phil, could you please…

“Cat’s day was awesome until her best friend forever took her soda to show off and poured the drink into her mouth without letting the can or liquid touch her lips. Now she’s your daughter’s friend-enemy.”

Gotta love that Dr. Phil.

read the rest of the column

Joking With Pinot & Grigio

2009-04-05T20:54:00.002-05:00

Last night we got to see Pinot & Grigio in action as masters of ceremonies at their A&M choir showcase. Identical from the curls on their heads down to their curling toes, they tossed back twin jokes and comments. The only glitch came when a problem came up backstage and they had to improvise for a bit. Running out of material, they asked if anyone in the audience had a joke.

Up shot a hand from the back.

"Um, what's your joke, Contessa?"

"What's more frightening to identical twins than coming home from college for the summer and finding the locks changed?"

"Coming home from college for the summer, finding the locks changed AND job applications with their names on them."

Funny, identical twins even cry the same.

Kitchen Remodeling Begins

2009-03-08T08:38:00.003-05:00

They come tomorrow tear out all my cabinets, appliances and counter tops. They say everything will be back in order in two weeks. Considering I won't be able to cook until they counter tops are installed, I'm all for dragging this out a few months.

Yesterday I cleaned out my cabinets. We have one over the double oven where we store our liquor. Not that we have much of the hard stuff, we both like our wine. I threw out the bottle of Greek rotgut, er, wine that was given to me at a company Christmas party in 1993. I'm hanging on to the Peppermint Schnapps and maybe the Creme de Banana. My sister bought the Creme a couple of years ago when she was visiting and whipped up Bananas Foster. That's the only time it's been used but I just noticed it measures 15% alcohol, or 30 proof. Pretty tough stuff.

The cabinet is deep, which I can barely reach even with a stepstool so stuff sorta got tossed to the back and forgotten about. That includes six corkscrews I didn't know I had, a dozen corks or so, two University of Florida shot glasses, two containers of margarita salt, and dozens of kiddie birthday candles and party decorations. Oh, yeah, lots of glueI don't remember getting any complaints from parents but from the look of that cabinets the boys birthday parties must have been the talk of Learning Tree pre-school. Chugging games, see who can open the bottle of wine the quickest, glue together the corks into a animal shape, banana splits and Greek lessons...

Inspirational Song

2009-03-05T10:23:00.002-06:00

Heard these words belted out, Polka-fashion, from my '40s satellite radio station:

"I don't want her, you can have her, she's too fat for me."
"We don't want her, you can have her, she's too fat for us."

That Arthur Godfrey could melt a girl's heart, couldn't he? Something tells me this won't make the Itunes top-10 downloads any time soon.

Victoria's Dirty Little Secret

2009-03-04T14:35:00.004-06:00

I bought a wonder-type bra a few years ago, not because I was in the mood for a little cleavage heavage but because it lifted the old boobs off my belly. Those lovelies were hand-picked off the shelves in Victoria's Secret. The boobs, not the bras. Not long afterward, I was throwing on my sweater and noticed nipples clinging to the sweater. I pushed, shoved, adjusted and the nipples wouldn't go away. Guess what? They weren't mine. They belonged to Victoria. Seems the company had built into the cups its own set of nipples. Nipples that didn't rub elbows with your belly button or tuck into your waistband, either. Nipples that wouldn't disappear. There they were, either for eternity or until the dryer ate them. And why? To make a point. Or two.

Bring Your Toilet Paper to Work Day

2009-03-03T12:21:00.002-06:00

Newsflash: In a cost-cutting move, a New York business has announced it has asked employees to bring in rolls of toilet paper to work. Betcha the company was an accounting firm. CPAs aren't exactly the biggest spenders in the bar. Maybe management even brought in the first rolls -- thin, one-ply scratchy stuff that falls apart and sticks to, um, as the nuns would say, "your privates."

Yeah, this is one move that's gonna come back and bite 'em in the ass. So to speak.

Medical Mystery Revealed: Why Hair Goes Gray

2009-03-01T09:19:00.002-06:00

New research reveals our hair turns gray because of a chain reaction inside our bodies. A chemical reaction causes hair to bleach itself from the inside out. That's sort of like what happens when your teen learns to drive. Every time he pulls out of the driveway, you slam back a brewski. Or two. You calm yourself from the inside out.

The Art of Aging Gracefully

2009-02-28T21:04:00.005-06:00

The doctor poked around a bit, checked eyes, ears and throat, patted the old rump and said, “Hmm, there seems to be a few extra pounds around the middle. Have you thought about exercising?”

“Hey, doc, I’ve been working out! Three mornings a week I’m tortured on the treadmill.” Called treadmill trekking, it’s like hiking part of the way up Mt. Everest and sprinting the last mile to the top, then jogging halfway down only to change your mind and run back to the top.

"Not YOU, Contessa. Bongo."

Oh, yeah. I was in the veterinarian’s office, not my family doctor’s. I get the two confused. They both wear white lab coats and dispense treats. Those pizza pup cookies go well with Cabernet.

Bongo, man’s best friend and Contessa’s personal wine caddie, has hit the age where AARP sends HIM notices. Every morning he wakes up with newly sprouted white hairs on his chin, groans when he crawls out of bed and limps around the kitchen on arthritic legs. Bongo, buddy, I feel your pain. At least he gets to spend the day lying on the couch in front of the television while someone shoves food under his nose. Oh, right, that’s Pinot and Grigio. Bongo gets the floor.

Rest of the story

Happy Birthday, Barbie!

2009-02-24T12:03:00.005-06:00

Wow, ANOTHER thing Barbie and I have in common - we both hold AARP cards! You'll have to watch this video to discover what else we have in common:

Cougar Barbie

And no, I do not chase after teenage boys. Okay, Pinot & Grigio, after I tell them it's time to pick up their dirty socks.

By the way, my first fashion doll was not Barbie but Miss Suzette, a cheap knock-off with bigger boombas. Here's a trio of Miss Suzettes; mine was the brunette.

When I finally got a Barbie doll, I wanted Ken, too. What I got was a doll with three curly-haired wigs that looked like Little Orphan Annie throwaways. The doll didn't have boombas, a waist or fake tippy-toes, either. I ditched the wigs and turned she into he. A tranny doll! Barbie wasn't impressed.

I finally got my Ken doll but Barbie wouldn't give him the time of day. Go figure.

Her taste in plastic was more macho.

So, Barbie dumped Ken for Joe, Ken ran off with she-man and Miss Suzette hooked up with her pals in a convent and went onto a successful singing career.

Again, in Florida

2009-02-22T08:35:00.003-06:00

At least the State of Florida has put the kybosh on this one: fish pedicures.

Seems there's a beauty trend in the making where women dip their feet, hands or other body parts into basins filled with tiny fish that nibble away on dead or decaying skin.

I dunno about this one. Remember all those times when Tarzan narrowly escaped being picked to the bone by schools of piranhas? When he barely made it out of the water, followed by the bad guy who didn't and ended up as dog food filler? Yeah, I'd pass on that one.

Next thing you know, they'll be offering pedicures for dogs. Oh, right, they already do.

Old Friends and Old Shoes

2009-02-13T09:35:00.002-06:00

A buddy from high school just told me how easy it was to be my friend. Sorta like an old pair of shoes, he said.

What? Like something you throw on at the last minute and hope no one sees you in? Something even the dog won't fetch? Something Goodwill won't take? Something you try handing to a panhandler and he gives it back, along with his change AND a free windshield wash?

Sheesh.

Helpful Haute Flash Hint

2009-02-10T10:28:00.004-06:00

Don't sneak up behind your hubby to plant a kiss on his cheek while he's snacking on trail mix and watching the final scenes of the movie "Jaws." Otherwise, you'll be picking dried apricots, almond slivers and granola out of the cat's fur for a week.

Middle School Dance Redux

2009-02-09T07:27:00.004-06:00

It's hard to believe, but I chaperoned another middle school dance. This time, I actually volunteered at the school's valentine's day soiree. Cat was not pleased when I followed her out of the car and headed toward the gym.

Cat: Where do you think you're going? Yikes, she used that same tone of voice my mother did the time she caught me coming in late after a football game.

Contessa: I'm chaperoning.

Cat: Why? It'll be just like the YMCA dances. Let's cut to the quick. She knows I'd rather sunbathe on a beach filled with Sports Illustrated swim suit models than chaperone another Y dance.

Contessa: No, it's not. It's your school and they need my help so you kids can have a good time. Some of us are serving refreshments, others are taking pictures. Some moms are running the shoe check. That's like hat checks in old movies, where men dropped off their hats and picked them up on the way out. Seems tweens think they're actually capable of dancing in five-inch stillettos. Oh, and medics are there to bandage sprained ankles. You need me there to help give you a fun night. What I'm really saying: I'm going to check out which girls try to sneak in not dressed according to school code, and the boys tailing them.

Late in the evening, I strolled into the gym where all the kids were hopping up and down to music. They call it dancing. Why they can't just flail their arms and wip their hair around like we did is beyond me. I spotted her and her peeps against the wall. She spotted me and broke out into a run toward me. How sweet of her to leave her friends just so she could hug me.

Cat: What are you doing in here? Again, my mother.

Contessa: Just looking around, watching the kids have a good time.

Cat: But you're standing in the middle of the gym. I wish mom would lay off the attitude.

Contessa: So are teachers and other parents.

Cat: Yeah, but I don't have a personal relationship with them.

I left the gym. I thought it important to preserve that special relationship between mom and me.

Tween Talk

2009-02-05T17:25:00.002-06:00

Overheard while driving Cat and her best friend around after a sixth-grade student council session:

Cat: Did you hear who likes me? Tory Smith.

Kel: Who's he?

Cat: You know, coconut-head with shaggy hair.

Kel: So, I heard Mace likes me!

Cat: Duck-face Mace? No way.

Cat & Kel: Eeeeewwwwwww.

Shoot Me, Please

2009-02-02T10:25:00.003-06:00

I just read last week's hints from Heloise and one reader wrote in saying how difficult it was for her to tell her right slipper from her left. Plus, it tired her out to turn them over before she put them on. Oh yeah, that right vs. left concept is a tough one -- and the exhaustion from flipping fluffy footies! It's a wonder she dares to take them off once she's got them on. I bet figuring out which hand fits her oven mitt sends her back to bed.

Who Needs Corn Bread, Anyway?

2009-02-01T12:09:00.002-06:00

Okay, it's a given the Contessa isn't much of a cook. She tries. Homemade dinners are sooo overrated. So are dinners, for that matter. But, every now and then, the Contessa trades in her corkscrew for a spatula.

Last week she gave homemade corn bread a shot. Yummy aromas filled the kitchen and it looked delicious. Well, it looked normal, except for that brown spot that fit right under a dollop of Country Crock Shed Spread. All right, it was edible.

Not.

Contessa's cornbread tasted like cardboard and was a tad dry. Okay, cotton-in-your-mouth dry, just not as tasty.

How did The Big Guy handle his disappointment? With gentle finesse. He scooped up the leftovers and lined the bench on our deck, as a treat for the squirrels. Our yard is overrun with the little buggers. They love ears of corn so The Big Guy figured they'd chow down on my cornbread wonders. Funny little creatures. One scooped up a mound of 'meal, stuffed it in his mouth and keeled over. I thought only possums played dead.

The little critters must be hibernating, too stuffed to move. I haven't seen a single one ever since The Big Guy put out the cornbread treats. Hmm, haven't seen our outdoor cats, The Yard Rats, either.

To Lose or Not to Lose? What Would Oprah Do?

2009-01-31T09:41:00.001-06:00

It may be time to get serious about dropping a few pounds. I’m getting more e-mails from The Chubby Farm than from that guy pitching ShamWows.

I could stand to lose a pound or two or 10 or 20 but an e-mail from The Chubby Farm looks like an invitation to sweat to the oldies in a corn field. I’m more likely to run on a treadmill than ride a John Deere, especially if coaxed there by Raoul, a hunky trainer equipped with Cabernet, chocolates and a ripped chest.

It’s not as if I haven’t given weight loss a shot. Or two. Or three. Ok, signing up for Weight Watchers is an annual event and Gold’s Gym has issued an all-points-bulletin for my whereabouts. The only working out I do is weight lifting – carrying cases of wine from the car to the house. My idea of jogging is tailing Pinot, Grigio and Bongo out the door after I tell them it’s time to bathe Bongo.

Read the rest of the article here.

A man and his thongs are soon parted...

2009-01-29T10:24:00.003-06:00

Just read the earth-shattering results of a Dear Abby survey where she polled male readers about their preferences for wearing thongs. On themselves, not women.

A whopping 55% said they wore 'em. That sure cuts down on the rag pile. The Big Guy would have to forgo those weekenders. Read here if you're confused....

I guess their reasons were valid. "Dino" said a man couldn't wear tight white jeans with anything else. The last time I saw a guy wear tight white jeans was, um, I don't think I've ever seen a guy wear tight white jeans. Oh, yeah, maybe at that Barry Manilow concert in 1978.

"Strung up in the middle" says they're under his work uniform. Makes me want to avoid the Post Office. He says they're great for casual and dressy wear, as well as lounging by the pool. Mark that reason number 20 for Contessa's boycott of public pools, right after that rule about no alcohol allowed but before bathing suit covers only one cheek.

"Confused" wrote that he just couldn't understand how women could wear such things, thinking thongs must be terribly uncomfortable. So he did what any red-blooded, reasonable male would do: he tried a pair on. Well, wouldn't you know, he thought they were so comfortable that he bought a few more pairs. Well this must've put his feminine side in overdrive because he said he was thinking about buying other ladies' underwear. What he saw in the lingerie section looked more comfortable and sexier than his boxers, he claimed. What next, Victor's Secret?

Scariest letter was from Jack, a 62-year-old dude who said he grew up with three good-looking sisters who always wore pretty ladies' nylon briefs. Um, little brother a peeping Tom? He hated the ugly bikini panties and is totally against thongs. Let's hear it for the granny pantie! I wonder if he's still close with his sisters?

Thankfully, only 9% of Abby's readers are male. Thankfully, The Big Guy isn't one of them.

By the way, I thought Dear Abby was dead.

Career Day at Middle School

2009-01-24T11:04:00.004-06:00

Career day at the middle school was a blast! I got to introduce 60 sixth-graders to a rewarding way of life. Lounging in my pajammas and soaking in Dr. Phil's advice as I wait for the clock to strike five has been good to me. When I told the PTA lady my plans of coming in wearing my robe and bringing a tv just in time for Kathie and Hoda she suggested I talk about a career, a JOB, that gets me off the couch.

No problem. I could bring a few bottles of red and white and demonstrate useful stuff like the safe handling of corkscrews or learning how to swill without choking. She nixed that, too. What's the big deal? It wasn't as if I was going to use the teacher's waste basket for dumping wine.

So, I relied on my backup career as an author. This was going to one tough gig. How do I help these kids sort out their direction in life AND entertain them at the same time. Writing words on paper is just one step up on the interest scale from putting numbers on a form. To make it worse, some of the classes actually got to listen to a zoo employee. Not only did she wear a snappy brown uniform with a cool jungle hat but she brought a snake with her. Last time I checked the want ads, there wasn't a huge market for snake handlers but I'll not be judgemental. Actually, it was a smart animal to hang around your neck if you wanted to keep from being stampeded by a couple hundred adolescents. You'd be dead meat if you walked in cuddling a Koala bear. Monkeys weren't an option. If they wandered into the crowd of kids, you'd never find them.

Nervous about my presentation, I grabbed copies of my book and newspaper columns and moaned to Cat, "How can I compete with the zoo?"

"You can't. Get over it." What a loving child. "Well, you have one advantage," she added. Oh, a glimmer of hope the little darling will come through with support.

"At least you won't poop all over the place." I wouldn't take that to the bank.

When I got to the school I was greeted by a student escort. Santiago. Actually, he was my own personal assistant. Santiago was great. He handed out my writers' notepads and pens to the kids, carried my books and even tried to carry my coffee cup. Hands off, Santi baby, no one touches my mug. Truth be told, I didn't want him to get a whiff of my "additive." Did I mention I was nervous?

Kids were exposed to a nice variety of careers. There was the editor of a local weekly newspaper, a pilot in uniform, a woman from NASA, a personal chef, a cop, a woman firefighter who tried selling me a girdle that's guaranteed to drop me three sizes, a professor, a Baptist youth minister (who tried bribing them with cool t-shirts), the snake handler from the zoo and me, the author.

Most of us shared something in common, which may or may not have been revealed to the kids. We don't make any money in our careers. Except for that firefighter selling girdles on the side.