Brow So Hard

You may recall that a while back, I was the victim of a horrific crime against brow-manity.


You can read all about it here, but in case you find that too traumatizing, here’s the cole’s notes version: some b*tch named Tina at The World’s Worst Salon waxed half my eyebrows off and burned me like a blank CD.

Not that I’m bitter or anything.

Anyhoo, it’s been nearly four months since that fateful day, and with the help of countless dollars’ worth of miracle growth products a little patience, regular exfoliating and nightly prayers to Saint Jude, the Patron Saint of Lost Causes, my eyebrows are FINALLY starting to grow back.  

The only problem is, now that I’ve been burned once before (quite literally), I’m a bit gun-shy. I’ve been scared sh*tless to let anyone else touch my brows lest I suffer the same fate.

And let me tell you- four months of regrowth ain’t pretty. My brows began to slowly take over my face like misshapen, wayward caterpillars.

When she heard my harrowing tale of woe, a friend recommended that I check out the Brow House in Yorkville, a salon dedicated exclusively to eyebrow maintenance in Toronto’s most chi-chi neighbourhood.

“They put me on a ‘brow plan’,” she told me “I love my eyebrows now”.

A brow plan? Well if that isn’t exactly the type of ridiculous, first world sh*t I live for, then I don’t know what is.  Sign me up!

I booked a “consultation” on Saturday afternoon, right between my hair and nail appointments (the struggle is real), and spent the rest of the week with visions of full brows dancing in my head.

The salon is tucked-away in a brownstone walk-up on a quiet Yorkville street. Inside, it is is minimalist and chic: all white with a few, well-spaced red salon chairs, mirrors, and a coffee table stacked with aspirational lifestyle magazines.

I was introduced to my “brow artist”, Natalia.

“How can I help you today?” she asked.

I proceeded to recount my traumatic experience.  “That is horrifying” she said, taking my hand and looking in my eyes seriously. “I am so sorry you have gone through that. You have come to the right place. ”

She proceeded to explain that, despite their current Anthony Davis status, my brows were actually in OK shape.  She drew a line on my face to show me where my brows should be, and said that for the most part, they were growing back nicely. After a couple more months, my arches would be good as new.

As she waxed away the stray hairs, she told me about the Brow House philosophy. “We take a lot of factors into consideration when providing a brow recommendation,” she explained, “your hair texture, color, face shape. If you have a round face, you will need longer, more arched brows to balance it out. For a longer face, we recommend flat brows with a low arch”.

I nodded enthusiastically, amazed by this brave new world of brow theory.

Like me, the ladies at the Brow House are firm believers in the “full brow lifestyle”.

“Have you ever considered getting a tint?” she asked. “That way you won’t have to fill them in every day?”

I was skeptical. What if I looked like one of those old ladies who colored in her eyebrows with a Maybeline eyeliner?


“No no, it will be subtle” she promised. Reluctantly, I consented, and held my breath as she coloured in my brows with a miniscule paint pot.

The result was, just as she had promised, natural and awesome.

“I feel like a whole new person!” I squealed, taking in my (arguably incrementally) changed appearance in the mirror.

I paid my bill (yikes) and booked another appointment in four weeks. Hook, line and sinker.

Exhibit A: Awkward After Pic I made Colin take of me in front of the microwave.


The price of beauty apparently knows no bounds, but god damn if I just bought me some good lookin’ brows.

Question of the Day:  What’s the craziest thing you’ve done for beauty?

Featured post

Haircut Regret

My entire life I have coveted long, luxurious hair.

straight-hairstyle2.jpg (1066×1600)

Maybe it’s because of my childhood obsession with Barbie dolls, or maybe it’s the steady diet of Saved By The Bell I consumed as a kid, but for whatever reason, I grew up thinking  that shiny, cascading locks were the consummate and only ideal of female beauty.

Unfortunately for me, my impossibly thin, pin-straight hair refused to achieve great lengths. I blame bad genes. And the two unfortunate “perm incidents” I had in grade three.

This llama knows

No matter how hard I tried to let it grow, I could never achieve anything beyond shoulder-length.

….Until I got to law school. I’m not sure what changed, but after more than 20 years of feeble growth and breakage, my puny hair suddenly began to grow like a weed. By second year, it was halfway down my back. What can I say? I guess a steady diet of Alexander Keith’s and 3 a.m. donairs does a body good.

I felt like a whole new person with my long hair, and for almost two years I reveled in its glory. But then, I went and ruined it all.

For Halloween in third year, I decided to dress up as Snow White. I had a hairdresser pin my long locks up into a bob to complete the look, and the results were, in a word, spectacular.

You guy- I was the fricking FAIREST.


So true was the likeness that random people came up to me and suggested I apply for a job at DisneyWorld.

I was so in love with the attention I was getting that I started to think that maybe a REAL bob would be a good idea.

And that’s where I should have pumped the brakes.

But I didn’t. Instead, I made an appointment the very next day with the same hairdresser, and allowed her to chop off of my long beautiful hair. I was convinced I would love it- that when I looked in the mirror I’d see Snow White and her glossy black mane staring back at me.  But instead, when she turned around my chair, I was like:

Not only had she cut it about 2-3 inches shorter than I intended, without all that extra hair pinned up underneath, it just looked flat, puny and lifeless. It was actually so thin that you could see through it.

I immediately started to cry (apparently crying in salons is a thing for me), while the poor hairdresser tried to convince me it looked great.

But I knew in my heart that it didn’t. I mean, you know a haircut is bad when NO ONE compliments you on it. And it’s not like they didn’t notice. I cut 8 inches off! 8!

Even when I asked my mom what she thought, her mouth said “it looks great!”  but her eyes said:

My self-confidence plummeted, and I’ve been trying desperately to grow it back ever since, while at the same time dealing with the  awkward in-between stages that follow a short haircut. I’ve tried everything- vitamins, special oils, prayers to Saint Agnes, the Patron Saint of all hair.

I even tried gluing hair on a vodoo doll. (I think I might have been doing it wrong.)

I was beginning to fear that I was destined to spend the rest of my days looking like the sad, “before” girl in Pantene Pro-V commercials:

But just a few months ago, it miraculously started to grow again.  I guess Agnes must have snuck into my room while I was sleeping and sprinkled some chia seeds on that noise.

Anyway, I won’t question it- but I know that the next time I get the ridiculous urge to cut my hair, I’ll remember one thing:

Question of the Day: Have you ever regretted a haircut?

When It’s OK To Ask A Woman If She’s Pregnant

On the scale of most embarrassing things that could possibly happen to a woman, being matched with your coworker on e-Harmony is probably about a 6.

Having a “wardrobe malfunction” in front of millions of people, on the other hand, is a definite 10.

What happened to me fell somewhere in the middle.

My boyfriend and I were on our way to his parent’s house for dinner, and due to (yet another) subway closure, we were crammed onto a clown-car like shuttle bus with hundreds of other disgruntled passengers. All the seats were occupied, so we were forced to stand and hold onto the hand-rails.

This was particularly challenging for me, as after imbibing a bit too much at a wedding the night before, balance was not exactly my forte. I was minding my own business, trying not to topple over, when suddenly the young man sitting next to us took his headphones out of his ears, and looked up at me.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “please, sit here”.

“Oh, no that’s ok” I said awkwardly, not wanting to leave my boyfriend to stand alone.

“No, really-I was on my phone, I’m sorry I didn’t notice before” he apologized.

I looked back at him, perplexed at his polite insistence.  He must have been about 20, with a head of shaggy, unkempt hair and a complexion resembling the lunar surface. He wore ill-fitting khaki pants and a t-shirt with an anime logo; possibly Pokemon.  He didn’t immediately strike me as the old-school-Southern gentleman type.

And then I noticed him gesturing towards my stomach, and a wave of understanding rolled over me like nausea.

Oh my god. I thought, Homeboy thinks I’m pregnant.

“No really, I’m fine” I stammered, struggling to hold back tears, “thank you though”.

Realizing what had just gone down; my boyfriend led me by the hand to another area of the bus, far away from my the Pokemon-sporting perpetrator.

“Are you ok, babe?” he asked tepidly. (It was clear that he was terrified.)

“I’m fine” I mumbled, “just give me a minute”.

For the remainder of the bus ride, I tried to maintain my cool as I cycled through the five stages of grief.

1. Denial

2. Anger 

3. Bargaining

4. Depression 

5. Acceptance 

I looked down at my slightly protruding belly. It wasn’t impossible to see where he was coming from. In my hung-over state, I had chosen one of those long, flowy maxi-dresses often sported by pregnant ladies (or Mrs. Roper). And I had overindulged quite heartily at the wedding the night before (late-night burger bar much?)

I would have said this was the most mortifying moment of my life……….. had it been the first time this happened.

A few years ago, when I was an articling student at a law firm, I had pretty much given up on putting myself together after a particularly bad stint of late nights. It was 11pm, and I was hunched over my desk, trying to finish a memo when the night cleaning lady came by to empty my garbage.

“Oh!“ she said, smiling and pointing to my ever-expanding midsection “Congratulations! You are pregnant, no?”

If two mistaken pregnancies aren’t enough to get your ass in gear, then I really don’t know what is. In an effort to “lose the baby weight”, I’ve started a new diet and exercise regime, which includes a horrific bootcamp class featuring countless burpees, tire flipping, and smashing things with a sledgehammer (which I imagine to be Pokemon dude’s face).

So for those of you who were wondering just when IS it ok to ask a woman if she’s pregnant?

The answer, my friends, is NEVER.


Although you may be well-intentioned, it’s just not worth the risk.

Not only will it be super f*cking awkward if you get it wrong,

You could also cause some serious damage. At the very least, a slight ego bruise; but it could be much worse. You never know what that woman is going through.  Maybe she can’t conceive. Maybe she just had a miscarriage. Maybe she’s just having a really hard time right now and is coping with a family-sized jar of Nutella.

…. I know all about that  not that I know anything about that.

So mind ya bidness, ok?

All this being said, it has come to my attention that people will never, ever stop being idiots.

Which is why I have developed a few potential responses you can use if this extremely unfortunate situation were to happen to YOU.

BreezyK’s top things to say when someone asks if you are pregnant (and you’re CLEARLY not):

  • Yes and your husband is the father.
  • No… are you?
  • Nope, just fat
  • No, pregnancy would require me to stop drinking
  • I’ve been possessed by an alien lifeform! *Run screaming* It’s alive!! It’s alive!!!
  • Only if you count food babies
  • It’s an immaculate conception. JESUS HAS RISEN!!!

Question of the Day: Have you ever been mistaken for / mistaken anyone else for being pregnant?

When Bad Brows Happen To Good People

When it comes to eyebrows, my philosophy is “The Bigger The Better”.

Elizabeth Taylor, Cara Delevigne and Lily Collins are just a few of my big-browed Icons.

I trace this preference back to my mother, who instilled in me from a young age the importance of a strong brow. I was taught that eyebrows frame the face, and to fundamentally distrust anyone with thin, sperm-like brows.

Turns out I’m not alone. Thick eyebrows have long been thought to connote youth and status; so much so, that in 18th-century Western Europe, upper-class women stuck mouse hair above their eyes to make their brows appear fuller. A recent Financial Times article also noted that brows can reveal a surprising amount about the economic climate. In boom times, eyebrows are dense and thick (think the 1960s and 80s), and during recessions they become thin and highly arched.

Given my strong opinions about brows, it should come as no surprise that I am extremely particular about my own. I go to the same salon religiously every 3-4 weeks where a lady named Gia takes care of my every waxing need. Despite having a club foot and limited English capabilities; Gia still manages to give the best damn brow I’ve ever had. She knows exactly what I like, and always succeeds in perfecting the full but manicured look.

So this past Saturday, after realizing my brows were crossing over into Anthony Davis territory,

I decided to pay Gia a visit. Much to my dismay, however, Gia wasn’t in that day.  “Kim can do for you!” said the manager, “Kim is great!”

This was a conundrum. My instincts told me not to chance it; but I had a party to go to that night, and was really hoping to leave the furry caterpillars taking over my face at home.

“Ok,” I said reluctantly, following Kim into the back room. “But just clean them up- don’t change the shape!”

Kim nodded and smiled. I had a sneaking suspicion Kim’s English skills were even worse than Gia’s; but I had no choice but to put my faith in her.

Within seconds of the first strip, I felt scalding pain. “Ouch!” I screamed “Oh… Too hot?” she asked,

Well, this is off to a great start, I thought.

The next few strips passed without incident; until suddenly, I heard those two fateful words- the words that no girl wants to hear while in the esthetician’s chair:

“Oops. Sorry!”

A rush of panic ran through my veins. “OMG what?? what happened?” I screeched “Let me see!!”

I rushed to the mirror, and was horrified at the reflection staring back at me. Not only had the b*tch taken a full chunk out of my right eyebrow, she had also burned  the skin under my left brow so badly that it was flaming red and raw.

I immediately began to bawl like a baby.

“uhh.. wait right here” she said “I’ll get the manager”.

After what seemed like a lifetime of crying into a sheet of industrial strength paper towel and envisioning my inevitable future as a circus freak show performer, Kim finally returned with the manager, Tina.

“Why are you crying?” asked Tina, a little too harshly; “Don’t worry, we can fix for you!”

Tina took the reins; and spent the next 10 minutes tweezing my eyebrows aggressively; pausing only to snap “Please stop crying!” at random intervals. I knew I was causing a scene; that I was likely traumatizing all the poor girls out there just trying to enjoy their $35 mani/pedis in peace; but I didn’t care. If I was going down, this whole Salon was going down with me.

“There. Much more better” Said Tina. I tepidly checked my reflection once again, only to discover that her definition of “fixing” meant tweezing my brows into impossibly thin twigs.

Also, as a nice bonus, she had made my left brow approximately 2 inches higher than my right and insanely arched. Which is great, because who doesn’t want to look like the Joker at his own surprise birthday party?

Cue second crying sequence.

I literally looked like I had developed Alopecia overnight.

You know on America’s Next Top Model, when Tyra gives girls makeovers and bleaches their eyebrows to look more “Editorial” but in reality, they just look like freakshows?

Yah, That’s what I looked like.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to pay” said Tina, accurately reading my horrified expression.

“Uh I won’t be!” I responded, gathering my things and storming out. I felt the heat of a million eyes on me (or maybe that was just the third degree burns) as I walked out of the packed salon and home to do some immediate triage.

Luckily, with the help of my Chanel Brow Kit, some trial and error, and a few prayers to Saint Jude (the Patron saint of Lost causes) I was able to make my brows look somewhat close to normal again. (Seriously ladies, if any of you are considering buying this product, do it. This puppy is worth it’s weight in gold).

My friends at the party told me I looked fine- but I’m still not convinced.

So, to recap: not only can I never show my face in my regular salon again, an extra 10-15 minutes of my morning routine must now be set aside for “eyebrow realignment”.

I spend large portions of my days now just staring at my brows in the mirror, thinking:

Thankfully, I found a sympathetic ear in Mindy, the Shoppers Drug Mart sales associate who had been through a similar brow mishap. She recommended RapidLash, an eyebrow and eyelash growth serum which I have been applying religiously every night,

She also gave me a free sample of some anti-scar cream for my viscious burns. So, if all goes well I should be looking good as new in……. 8-12 weeks!

Question of the Day: Have you had any bad salon experiences?


Fancy A Spot of Tea?

I don’t know about you guys, but I love a good tea party.


As a little girl, I hosted them on the reg. I had a miniature table and chairs in my bedroom solely for that purpose, and had no fewer than 6 different tea sets on rotation at any given moment. I would serve “tea” (Sunny Delight) and “crumpets” (cut up Toaster Strudels) to my distinguished guests; a rotating cast of my favourite toys du jour. Regulars included:

  • my Cabbage Patch doll Celine Ilse (apparently she was French Canadian??);
  • a talking Teddy Ruxpin, that, looking back was completely terrifying;
  • an incredibly sexist Teen Talk Barbie that said things like “Math is hard!” and “Will we ever have enough clothes?”;
  • myriads of My Little Ponies;
  • Quints;
Remember these weirdos?

…and just to add a little masculinity to the mix, several of my brothers’ G.I. Joe figurines.

Yep, it was a real equal opportunity affair. 

Since apparently throwing lavish gatherings for your stuffed animals is no longer “socially acceptable” after the age of 12, I’ve experienced a marked decline in the number of tea parties I attend in my adult life. 

That’s why I was beyond excited when one of my coworkers invited me to an afternoon tea party at her house last weekend. With real live humans!!


The invitation indicated that the dress code was casual, but that “Fascinators were encouraged”.

Challenge: accepted. 

Somehow, despite being neither British nor fancy, I have managed to accumulate a sizeable collection of obnoxious head pieces over the years. (I don’t know what this says about me as a person. I don’t care to find out.)

I thought about pulling out this one from the tickle trunk:


But instead opted for this more understated headband variety:


….paired with a giant (faux) fur vest and a fancy-ass brooch with a horse on it.

What? Don’t be such a neigh-sayer. 

I also upped my accessory game with my new bracelet stack; because nothing screams
class  like 18 lbs of gold-plated joo-ree you bought from the Shopping Channel.


I arrived,dripping in elegance, to discover that the hostess had prepared an amazing spread of treats:


Seriously-  it was insani-tea!! (Sorry. I’m done with the puns now).

Besides all of this glorious food, she also brewed some delicious loose leaf tea which she served in these fancy little cups.


There were seven girls in attendance, and we snuggled up in the living room and spent a few cozy hours munching on macarons and dishing about men. The weather outside was terrible and rainy, but I didn’t really mind, because it sort of made me feel like Carey Mulligan in The Great Gatsby.

Because I am delusional.

………..And then the Chardonnay came out. And I think my story ends here.

Question of the Day: Have you ever been to a tea party? High Tea?

Road Tested: TopBox.Ca

So today, I’m going to talk about beauty products.


Guys, I’ll give you all a minute to peter out slowly.

All gone now? Ok, good. Now I can feel free to post this highly unflattering/terrifying picture of myself:


Yah, I went there.

Let me back up a minute. About a month ago, I signed up for this service called TopBox (I know- the name is a bit unfortunate. Especially if you’re a 15-year-old boy like I am) where for $12 a month, you get sent four beauty products to try out from a list of great brands.


Pretty sweet, right? TopBox is only available in Canada, but there’s a similar service in the States called Birchbox, so no need to feel left out my American friends!

About two weeks before my first box was scheduled to arrive, I got an e-mail asking if I’d like to choose from one of the March “specialty” boxes. One was a collection of Aveda samples, another some Jurlique products, and something called “Lippy Girl” which I think was lipgloss. Anyone in my family will tell you that I’m lippy enough already, so I decided just to go with the standard four product mix.

I got home from work on Friday to this lovely little gem in my mailbox:


I thought it might be fun to test out the products and do a little review of my experience- so here goes.

L’Oreal Mythic Oil

I was really excited about this one- mostly because I thought it was some sort of actual magic potion.

mythicMy initial excitement waned a little when I found out it was just a hair product, but I was still willing to give it a try.

According to the website, this product “leaves even the finest hair looking shiny, feeling nourished and supple.” I did as the instructions said and put a few drops in post-shower/pre-blowdrying.





*I may have edited the after pic slightly. Slightly.

As you can see, it really did leave my hair feeling softer and shinier. It also smells wonderful. I wish you all could scratch and sniff the screen right now. Not sure if it’s as great as Moroccan Oil, but I’d definitely try it again.

MaskerAide Hydrating Facial Mask


Given that this product is described as “Pre-Party Prep”, it’s only fitting that I used it on a night when I was doing absolutely nothing at all. Gotta look good for my books, peeps!

When I took this mask out of the package it had the weirdest consistency- gelatinous and a little slimy. It reminded me of something you’d eat at Chinese Dim Sum. I did my best to just ignore that and put it on anyway.

Looking in the mirror with this thing on was a truly horrifying experience- like Friday the 13th meets The Skin I Live In.

Quad_Skin I Live In_AW.indd

I did, however, enjoy texting the pic of me above to all of my friends and freaking them out.

The instructions said to leave the mask on for 10-20 minutes and relax, so I did just that. I lit a candle, put on some Youth Lagoon, and read a magazine. I was so relaxed, in fact, that I completely forgot I had that sh*t on. It must have been like, 40 minutes before I realized. Panicked, I ran to the bathroom, expecting to find my face completely disfigured a la Freddy Krueger, but luckily, all was in tact. I was a little red the next day, but I’m not sure it was because of that or just because I have sensitive skin. Either way, i don’t think this made much of a difference, but it was still kind of fun to try.

Aveda Caribbean Therapy Moisturizer

I’m usually a big fan of Aveda products. I get my hair done at an Aveda salon and love their shampoos and the fancy Aveda brand tea they give you in the waiting area.

That being said, I thought this moisturizer was kind of whack.


The texture was thick and clay-like and the colour was very unappetizing. (Go ahead, say it: TWSS). It also didn’t spread very well and left me feeling like I had covered myself in baking grease.



Despite my subsequent deliciousness, I would still classify this as a non-buy.

Marc Jacobs Fragrances


This cute little case contained samples of Daisy, Daisy Eau so Fresh and Lola by Marc Jacobs. Of course, being the genius I am, I broke the Lola one because I thought the top twisted off when clearly it was a spray cap:


So I never got to try it. But the two daisy ones were nice and fresh. Not sure if either will be my new signature scent though. Choosing a fragrance is a big deal: just ask Snooki:


Overall, I was a little disappointed with this month’s selections. I was really looking forward to there being some makeup products and I was kind of bummed it was all hair/skin stuff. That said, it was still really exciting to get this package in the mail. It reminded me of when I was a kid and used to buy those $1 Grab Bags at the corner store. You kind of knew everything in it was going to be crap, but there was still the thrill of the unknown. I also had a lot of fun reviewing everything (this is literally how I spent my Saturday night), so if you guys are game, maybe I will do another post for next month’s products?

Question of the Day: Have you tried out any new products lately that you love? Any bad ones?

…. or are you low maintenance and think I am incredibly vapid and vain. Because that is also a fair assessment.

Who Keeps Stealing All My Hairbrushes? And Why?

I lost another hairbrush today. That’s two so far this month. Three if you count back to December.


I keep forgetting them at the gym; leaving them behind after I’m done getting ready. By the time I go back, they have inevitably vanished- the lost and found box holding nothing but bitter disappointment.

This concerns me for a couple of reasons:

  1. Who is keeping these? And why would they want some random stranger’s hairbrush? Isn’t that kind of gross?

……Unless he or she is using it to make a hair doll in my likeness. In which case, this may be the last post I write to you.


But more importantly,

2. Because it exemplifies a broader pattern of behaviour.

While I would like to blame these missing items on some sort of mystical, nefarious hairbrush elf, I have to admit that my general lack of conscientiousness is probably part of the problem. A quick mental tally reveals that over the past few months, I have left all of the following items at the gym:

  • Two bottles of dry shampoo
  • One pair of iPod headphones
  • One MAC eyeliner pencil in “Ebony”
  • Two earrings (alas; each from a separate pair)
  • One bottle of Dermalogica face wash (I cried real human tears over this one. Sh*t is ex$pensive)
  • Three single socks
  • A banana I planned to eat later that afternoon
  • One glove.

I now moonwalk everywhere.


This list doesn’t even include the pair of perfectly broken-in Saucony’s I left at my local YMCA in 2003. I’m still pining over those bad boys.

Sadly, this is more than just a gym-related problem. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t permanently glued to a reality TV show. (Or however that expression goes.)

While jewellery, clothing and personal items all seem to vanish under my watch, I have a particular knack for losing really important documents. When I get an official looking letter in the mail, I immediately take this as a cue to haphazardly discard it onto my desk. It invariably gets buried under a stack of US Weeklys, or old concert tickets I planned to file in my Museum of Innocence (aka: my memory box), never to be seen again.


Doing my taxes then becomes a nightmare, as I have to call every single person who has ever given me a T4, Student Loan, or charitable tax receipt (ha. Just kidding, I don’t get any of those) and ask for a new one. Sometimes, I try and be all “well you never sent it to me in the first place” but they never buy it. They’ve seen my kind before. We’re flagged in the system.

I also have no idea where my birth certificate is. But I do carry my Passport around with me at all times. Even when I go to the bar. I’m basically an identity theft victim waiting to happen.

I guess I take after my mother, who is a bit of a Linda Loses-sh*t herself. She misplaces at least 5-6 Christmas presents every year, and the whereabouts of her reading glasses is a perpetually unsolved mystery. She will spend hours frantically looking for them, only to find them dangling inconspicuously from the chain hanging around her neck.

Come to think of it, that chain thing is sort of a good idea. Maybe that’s what I need: a series of tethers attaching all of my worldly possessions to various parts of my body.

Like this, only instead of the pole, it's my body. And instead of the ball, it's all my stuff. Napoleon Dynamite may or not be there.
Like this, only instead of the pole, it’s my body. And instead of the ball, it’s all my stuff. Napoleon Dynamite may or not be involved.

I might look a little weird, but at least I won’t lose any more sh*t.

And to the person who stole all my hairbrushes: I forgive you. I understand that the lure of an impeccably coiffed mane can be nearly impossible to resist. But should you ever change your mind and decide to return the treasures you have taken, know that I, and my limp, lifeless hair, will be eternally grateful.

Yours in styling,


Question of the Day: Are you a Linda or Larry Loses-Sh*t? Or are you more of an Organized Ophelia? A Conscientious Connie?

The Business of Nails

As far as girls go, I’m a little high maintenance. I can say this definitively, having recently discovered I have more beauty appointments per month than social engagements.

I spend a solid hour getting ready in the mornings, and use so many different gadgets, lotions and potions that sometimes, I feel like I’m performing a series of magic tricks alone in my bathroom.


I’m not very good at it.

My most recent beauty obsession, however, is Shellac nail polish.


For those of you who aren’t familiar, Shellac is a manicure technique that gives the same effect as gel or acrylic nails, without all of the damage. It goes on your nails just like regular polish, and then is “cured” by sticking your hand inside a little UV light box for about two minutes after each coat.


When you’re done, you get a sweet manicure that lasts for up to two weeks.

Since Shellac was first launched about two years ago, a multitude of similar products have been released trying to capitalize on its success. The one I’ve been getting lately is called Artistic Nail Design. It has more colours than Shellac, a shorter drying period and uses an LED rather than UV light. (It still looks like a microwave to me.)

The shellac or shellac-type manicure is great for a few reasons:

  • It’s really shiny. What? Like you came here for deep thoughts.
  • It doesn’t chip. Somehow, I always seemed to chip my regular manicures within one hour of leaving the salon. This literally brought me to tears once. It had been a very long day.


  • It dries immediately. No more sitting around, watching TV on closed caption while you get yelled at to “be very very careful!!”

But Shellac also has its downsides. For example, I used to use my fragile lady nails as an excuse to get out of unwelcome/arduous tasks, like washing dishes, opening pop cans and placing keys on a key ring.

Like a modern day Lisa Turtle
Like a modern day Lisa Turtle

Now, at brunch, I have no choice but to open my own miniature jam and creamer packages myself.

The other downside to shellac is that you have to go back to the salon to get it removed.

Since it’s made from the blood of 8,000 glamour unicorns who sacrificed their souls in the name of beauty, it’s almost impossible to get off yourself. You have to go back to the salon, where they place little cotton balls soaked with acetone on your nails, wrap them in tinfoil, and let them soak.


I will admit, it sort of makes you feel like a crazy homeless person trying to pick up radio signals.

But just imagine how those poor unicorns felt.

Soon you’re done; and you’re sitting there looking at your jaundiced, scraggly-assed nails, when suddenly you spot the little plastic colour sampler on the table next to you. I didn’t know they had tturquoise! You think to yourself. That would totally go with the new circle scarf I got for Christmas!

……. And BAM. You’re $40 in the hole again.

In the words of the great Prophet MackLemore “I call that getting swindled and pimped”.

Yo! $50 for a manicure?
Yo! $50 for a manicure?

But you know what?


Because anyone who comes up with a kick-a$$ business strategy like that deserves the money we suckers pay.

I’ve been going through the whole shellac relationship cycle for about 8 months now; and while it’s ruining me financially, my nails have never looked better.

Currently, I am rocking this extremely professional shade of Easter Egg Purple:

Umm.. can you say promotion??

My nails have also been growing like weeds. I brought this up with my manicurist the other day, and she told me that your nails actually grow faster with nail polish on them. Apparently they don’t like foreign substances on top and try actively to “push it off” by growing.

I find this idea somewhat distressing. Here I thought my nails enjoyed being a fun, vibrant colour. I thought they appreciated the creative statement they were making. But apparently, I was wrong. They hate it so much, in fact, that they will their little nail hearts to grow at an accelerated pace just to be rid of it.

I’m not sure I can keep exploiting my nails like this. When it comes to the price of beauty, the buck’s gotta stop somewhere.

Question of the Day:

Ladies- Do you get your nails done regularly?

And in the unlikely event that any male reader has made it this far, first off, I apologize for the incredibly first-world-problem that was this post. Secondly, I applaud your resilience and tenacity.

So I will now ask you this:

Have You Ever had a manicure? Would you?

What to Do with All That Leftover Yarn (and other helpful holiday tips)

The holiday season is filled with a plethora of emotions: from the excitement and anticipation of Christmas Eve, to the rush of Christmas morning, to the inevitable food coma and the boxing day hangover blues. (Stick close to your Russell Stovers for this one, folks.)


When all is said and done, you’re left with that long stretch of  idle time between boxing day and New Year’s, where the days  feel 80 hours long and it’s a struggle just to get out of your PJS, let alone think about anything besides those delicious scotch cookies your mom hid in the downstairs fridge (ostensibly, from you).

Don't eat me, Breezyk!
Don’t eat me, Breezyk!

So what’s a girl to do with all of this free time on her hands? I tried filling the empty space where Christmas used to be with  daytime TV; but I could only watch Kathy Lee and Hoda drink so many glasses of pinot grigio before I got too jealous tired of it. Then I tried watching Holiday films, but they just made me angry.  Like, what classifies The Sound of Music as a Christmas film anyway? Cause I’m pretty sure it’s about Nazis.


And why there is so much conflict in the Polar Express? I tried asking Tom Hanks this directly on twitter, but he never got back to me.


Thankfully, I’ve found a new way to occupy my time: by perusing my mother’s seemingly endless  collection of  women’s magazines.

Women’s World, Chatelaine, Best Health, O. Her collection is enough to make Martha Stewart weak at the knees.

I decided to begin with the December 24th edition of First for Women magazine, since it featured my #3 life model, Marie Osmond, on the cover.


I was immediately struck by how this publication seemed to really identify with, and understand the plight of today’s modern woman. It contained so many helpful time-saving tips! Not to mention all of the groundbreaking,  empirically proven, scientific studies and weight loss plans.

And since many of you are modern, self-actualized women yourselves (or at least have one in your life) I knew I had to share to share them with all of you.

So let’s get started, shall we?

First off,  if you’ve been searching for a way to remedy that dusty holiday wreath of yours, then look no further, Cause First for Women has got you covered!


A paper bag and a salt shaker! Who knew?

If you’re anything like me, then while doing your daily 8 hours of lady-cleaning this Holiday season, you’ve thought to yourself: “Gee, I wish I had a festive use for all these piles of extra yarn I’ve got lying around!”

Well sister, you’re in luck- because I’ve got not one- but THREE festive uses for that yarn for you!


A picture frame! How delightful.

And it doesn’t stop there. First for Women is FILLED with time-saving tips: from Stain-Proof recipe cards, to 10 brilliant uses for orange peels, to decorative napkin folds, to a selection of “OH WOW! Holiday appetizers”, these tips will save you so much time, you’ll finally be able to get back to all of your other important lady tasks: like pumping out babies, honoring your period,  and talking about your vaginas.  Just think of how much  more time you’ll have for Pinterest!

Not only does First for Women contain countless household time-savers, it also features some fail-proof diet plans.

Looking to shed a quick 5-7lbs to squeeze into that holiday dress of yours? Try the “Grapefruit diet!” So simple it’s foolproof; this involves eating nothing but grapefruits for several days. But won’t I get hungry? You might be asking.


Not according to Dr. Al Sears! “A grapefruit fast is surprisingly easy to do,” he assures. “Since grapefruit contains a fulfilling combo of carbs and fibre, I’m totally satisfied on 3-4 hours a day!”

There you have it ladies. And if grapefruit’s not your bag, how about the “Christmas Cleanse”? This involves drinking nothing but a combination of unsweetened cranberry juice, water and cloves for 24 hours before the big event. You might pass out after your first cocktail, but the results will be worth it!

There’s also a Q&A section, targeting some of your hardest-hitting women’s health issues. Like “What’s Causing my Itchy nipple?” and  “Do PH-balanced tampons really make a difference?”

There is even a  fashion section, featuring countess Holiday glam looks that can be achieved with items right from your own closet!

Like this timeless fab look, for example. Just start with “your own monochromatic pantsuit” and add some chunky accessories!


The only problem will be narrowing down which of your monochromatic pantsuits to choose from! I’ve got 8 just in the purple family alone!

Off to get started!

Question of the Day: How have you been combatting post-holiday boredom?

Blog at

Up ↑