One of the happiest childhood traditions which I enjoyed while growing up is still alive and kicking. The good old fashioned slumber party, now renamed the “Sleep Over.” It’s humorous to note, that in the very title of this American custom, one would assume that there would be plenty of sleep going on. Nothing could be farther from the truth. This rite of passage includes everything but the closing of one’s eye lids. If you are the hosting parent of one of these fine soirees, there is a big chance you might not be getting much sleep as well. The sounds of children running up and down the hallways, the banging around in the kitchen like a pack of rats and the argument’s that sometimes break out between your guests (“I told you I liked Josh, and now you’re texting him? You’re not my friend any longer; I’m blocking you on face time!”) can keep you up, well past your own bedtime. About one hour into most slumber parties, you’re going to wonder how you ever got talked into hosting this event in your home to begin with. It’s Saturday night and your pillow is beckoning you to lie down, but trust me on this. Keep your ears to the door and your eyes wide open. Remember when you were young?

Having the fine memory that I do, I can remember the havoc my friends and I would wreak upon my neighborhood. In the good old days, before homes were wired with cameras and anyone had ever heard of caller ID, a few little 11 year old girls could really stir up the pot. After our parents had gone to bed, we would quietly remove the screen on our bedroom window (before home alarm systems spoiled all the fun) and sneak out wearing nothing but our pajamas. Armed with a bag filled with rolls of toilet paper, we would set off like thieves in the night looking for the perfect home to decorate. I remember the thrill of knowing I was getting away with something and the adrenaline that pumped through my body made me giggle uncontrollably. Although I don’t think I ever qualified as the official ring leader of this mischief, I was most certainly a willing participant. Rolls of pink and yellow colored toilet paper (a very popular choice in the late 60′s) made our act of vandalism a beautiful display of creative adolescence.

Upon successfully sneaking back into our home, the night festivities continued with making popcorn and prank phone calls. I remember to this day, a gentleman listed in the phonebook named Clarence Bullwinkle. We would call him at all hours of the night asking him “Do you know where Rocky Squirrel is?”  I don’t know why this still makes me laugh! If one of my own children was terrorizing the city like we did, I would be mortified!

By the time I was 12, slumber parties became part beauty mentoring sessions, and part sex education. I remember my best friend Kathy telling me that she was now shaving her legs. I thought she was so lucky. Her mother had even shown her the proper way to do it. Since razors were still, pretty much a lethal weapon in 1971, I suppose Mrs. Sanchez was wise in instructing her daughter how not to slice off her legs. I was still begging my mother to buy me my first bra, and shaving my legs was not a discussion she was willing to have. Even if I didn’t really need one, I was humiliated in my first year of junior high school gym class with my white undershirt, advertising to all the other girls, my tardiness in becoming a women.

At one slumber party later that year, I invited a few of the really popular girls from school to spend the night (a bold move on my part) and to my surprise they actually showed up. I knew it was only because my older brother Richard was the most popular boy in 8th grade, but I was excited never the less. They showed up in full make-up (powder blue eye shadow and frosted white lips) sleeping bags with matching overnight cases and long dangle pierced earrings. Great, this gave me a few more things I could complain about to my mother. She had strict rules on piercing ears and wearing make-up before the age of 15.

After surveying my home, flirting with my older brother and watching the “Brady Bunch and Partridge Family” this restless group moved on to other activities that might amuse them. Instead of amusing prank phone calls (” Hi, is this Mr. Wall?  When they say there is no Mr. Wall living here, ask for Mrs. Wall. When they tell you there is no Mrs. Wall, you say “Are there any Wall’s in your house?”  When they reply no, then you say “Well, how does your house stand up?”) These girls had phone numbers of real people…mostly boys! Boys with who drove cars! I prayed that those boys wouldn’t show up at my house and get me grounded for life.

After 12:00 midnight, these girls became restless and decided to perform a make-over on me. Before I knew what hit me I was pinned down while they painfully pluck most of my eyebrows off. When they were finished, I was left with two thin arches, in which to express myself, and swollen red eyelids. There was a discussion about getting a needle and ice to pierce my lobs, but I pleaded with them to leave me alone. Then one of them (let’s call her Gina) causally told me about the birds and the bees (leaving out no details) then they all snuck out my window to smoke cigarettes.

During my spring break from school, I awoke one morning to discover that I had blossomed into a young woman overnight. My big brother transferred to a private boy’s school that spring and the popular girls (now cheerleaders) had no reason to be nice to me any longer so they started a rumor that I wore a padded bra.

I never invited those girls back, and in all fairness, they never asked to come back.

40 years later, I was attending a beauty convention in Los Angeles and as I was passing a booth advertising new waxing products, I heard a loud shrill voice saying “Jyl, is that you?” I turned around to see a middle-aged woman with platinum blond hair and enough make-up to cover a troop of Cirque du Soleil performers.”It’s me, Gina!” After a quick second (and a fast glance at her name tag) I realized that standing before me was The Home Coming Queen, Cheerleader and one time participant in my slumber party experiment. “Wow, you look exactly the same” she said. What are you doing here?

“I’m in the beauty business”, I replied.”I own a Internet site called ADiscountBeauty.com so I am here seeing new vendors. With the look of complete surprise and shock, she said “The online beauty site? Wow, who would ever have guessed!”

Sensing a slightly awkward moment, my trusty assistant jumped in to remind me I had a meeting in 5 minutes. Gina gave me two fake air kisses, and slipped me her business card.

I still have that card in my desk drawer, and every time I come across it, I rub my eyebrows to make sure they are still there!

Best wishes, Jyl

This year, the holiday rush, has made me dizzy! I don’t seem to get anything done that I need to finish, and my “to do” list keeps growing longer each day. A sense of panic boils up inside me as I look at the amount of “stuff” I still need to take care of with just a few more days left to meet that deadline.

I thought I had beat the system this year with home-made gifts. For my mother and each sibling, I made a movie out of recently discovered family reels that were uncovered by my son in the garage. These 8mm films, dating back to the early 1960′s are pure gold. My mother, looking so young and beautiful, has been a reminder to me, of how much I loved and admired her when I was a little girl. Her style, and elegance made her more of a movie star than anyone else’s mom in my neighborhood, and seeing her flirt with my father (the cameraman) was really touching. Editing these films together, and adding on the music of the era became a huge job. Without any sound (after all it was 1962 technology) I decided to spice it up with my own witty subtitles. It seemed like a good idea until I got through only 8 minutes of film, and ran out of funny things to write for the remaining 30 minutes. The rest of the film I banged my head against the keyboard, hoping for something hilarious to fall out.

When I was done (3 weeks and two days into the project) I had a lovely piece of family history, which was really the point anyway, but I promise you next year, I will not be looking to be “creative” with my gift giving abilities. I must say, the part I am most proud of is my tenacity to finish this gosh darn project, and get it sent to everyone. I almost gave up several times, swearing at my computer screen and vowing to go to the mall, first thing in the morning to buy everyone on my list a donut maker (My last meal of choice if I’m ever facing a firing squad) or a new pair of winter gloves.

The funny thing is, everyone is expecting a gift from my business. They start hinting early on how their old blow-dryer  is starting to peter-out, or inquiring if we still carry that conditioning treatment that transformed their hair last year. One nephew wants skin care for his girlfriend, another wants to surprise his parents with a blue Mohawk. I’m the magic Auntie that knows how to make it all happen and I don’t want to disappoint anyone. This year I will show up with all my goodies in tow, my creams and potions, appliances and make-up kits.

And, after all the gifts have been torn in to, hopefully we will sit down and enjoy my home-made family movie together, remembering the past and celebrating our futures together.

Best wishes for a happy and safe holiday season,

Jyl

P.S. I would love to tell you I’m the cute little girl in the front, but alas…I’m the one on Santa’s lap giving him a major migraine and distracting my poor brother. Needless to say, this photo never made it into a frame!

The famous architect, Frank Lloyd Wright (not known for his jolly spirit’s) once said, “Tip the world over on its side and everything loose will land in Los Angeles. Even though I’m sure, Frank did not intend this statement to be a compliment, I find it to be wonderfully true. Part of what makes the city, in which I call home, so strangely brilliant and entertaining is the collage of cultures and backgrounds in which the pool of my dearest friends swim. We are a loose, colorfully different, yet pleasant group who delight in sharing absolutely nothing, yet everything at the same time. Some are glamorous on the outside, but more shine from within. With some of us, our charm may not be so apparent at first, but with a mere scratch of our surface there is pure gold within.

When I was younger, I dreamed of the glamorous life I would build for myself under the swaying palm trees of Southern California. At some point, real life stepped in and life changed dramatically. In my dreams I would always be young, carefree and full of adventure and spunk, and in my twenties, my life was just that and more. But as all things grow and change, so must our lives and the expectations that the party will not go on forever.

At some point my life twisted and turned and morphed as I had a family, house payments, work, divorce, another marriage, a couple more children to raise and educate and on and on it went. If you have ever been driving in a car and spaced out, only to realize several miles down the road that you had no idea how you got there, then you will understand my next point. I was 19 yesterday and now I’m 53. How did that happen? When I woke up yesterday, I was brushing my beautiful daughters hair and today that same daughter lives across the country with a handsome husband and three children of her own. When did my life fast forward, like a DVD player? I have the pictures to prove I was there year after year, but I really can’t explain how it happened so quickly.

This past weekend, I gave a birthday party for my dearest friend who has now joined my club of “50 and fabulous” and we had a wonderful party full of celebration, good wishes and tons of laughs. When we met, over 20 years ago, she was the most beautiful women I had ever met. It wasn’t just that she was the most adorable, but her personality and sense of humor drew people to her, like moths to a fire. She made everyone laugh, and blush with the types of comments only SHE could get away with and as she moved about a room, it was clear to see that everyone felt the same way I did about her. She was simply, 100% authentic, kind and non apologetic about who she was. A true breath of fresh air, and I have been blessed to become her adopted sister.

She was raised in New York by religious, doting parents in a traditional style upbringing, and I was raised by two super liberal, card carrying California Democrats who gave us wings, then shoved us out the door. On paper, it would be hard to see what has brought us together. In our hearts it is simple to know we will never be apart.

All these years later, my friend is as special as ever. She is now a grandmother of three who wears large flowers in her hair, and black studded motorcycle boots. Her children adore her and text her loving notes of admiration and thanks, just because she is who she is. When she shops at my Beauty Supply  store she is like a child in a candy store, like an artist with a palette full of colors, ready to create a masterpiece, and I am in awe of her ability to keep moving forward through hard times and struggles.

She reminds me that it is never too late to have fun, to dress the way you want (instead of what others may think you should wear) to find the biggest flower you can, and tuck it behind your ear,  to just enjoy being original. After all, no moth has ever flown towards the dark!

Best Wishes and Love to my Ryna,

Jyl

For as long as I can remember, at least for the past 40 years, I have been blow drying my hair. I will admit, for a kid coming of age in the 70′s long straight hair was the envy of all teen aged girls. We went to any length possible to achieve a smoothed out look, and if that meant taking out the ironing board (We owned an iron that had no steam back then) with a super steady hand, we went for it. Even soup cans doubled as extra large rollers, pinned into place by jumbo hair pins. My sister and I got our first blow dryers around 1972 as holiday presents, and by New Years we were hooked. These bright orange, Gillette, hatchet style dryers, had two speeds. One for styling and one for drying. Both provided a huge break-through in grooming for our little household.

My older sister already had long, thick, wavy hair that fell perfectly without much fuss. The blow dryer for her was more of a tool to get out of the house quicker in the morning, and to school earlier so she had enough time to properly flirt with the boys, before the bell rang.

I, on the other hand had very thick, super curly hair that had a mind of it’s own. Before my blow dryer changed my existence, many a morning I would awake, to find that during the night, apparently, my “hairs” had all gotten together, and conspired to wreak my day. I used up all my sick day excuses on these mornings when it looked as if my natural hair had been attacked by a bad perm. To make matters worse, my mother kept my hair shorter and had layers cut, in an attempt to offer her youngest daughter a chance to have my very own look. She would say “Anyone can wear long hair parted down the middle, You have a more unique style that makes you stand out!”

“I don’t want to stand out” I would scream. Weren’t the awkward brown tortoise shell glasses and full metal braces enough? Did I have to have hair that resembled Albert Einstein instead of my 70′s beauty icon, Ali Macgraw?

When that dryer was given to me, I ran to the bathroom, tore open the box and read the directions (in English and in Spanish)  from start to finish. I even studied the illustrations to make sure I know what to do. There was a learning curve I had to overcome, for sure, and the fact that round brushes had not yet been invented meant there was a lot of extra pulling and tugging, but eventually I got the hang of it.

At 15 years old, I went with a girl friend to Vidal Sasson to get our hair cut and my first professional blow dryer, and the “Hair Gods” shined down on me that day. With a professional dryer, sectioning clips and a round brush I got my first glimpse into my future. As it turns out, I was pretty cute after all. As any woman will tell you, a good blow dry will make you feel like a thousand bucks! So here I am, years later, still drying, but with a few tools of the trade, the mystery has been solved.

This week, the news reported that “Dry Bars” are popping up all over the country. For just $35.00-$40.00, 2-3 times a week, women are having their hair professionally dried and curled. The average cost has become over $6000.00 dollars a year!

I am here to tell you, with a few good tools, some excellent styling products and a step by step guide. You can do it yourself, at home! I promise it’s not brain surgery. I start by combing  a quarter size of anti-frizz serum through my wet hair. I love Biosilk Silk Therapy. Then I use few firm holding sectioning clips and part my hair over the crown into 4 sections. I spray each section with my favorite product KMS Freeshape Quick Blow Dry  that makes my hair dry at record speed and twist the sections of hair up and out of my way. This makes it easier to get a smoother, even style. Release sections of wet hair from the clips as you dry .

My favorite blowdryer is the Super Solano 3500 Lite Dryer. It has a super blowing power and is much lighter to hold up. I know it is an investment to purchase a professional blow dryer, but it is really the key to a fast easy dry. Then, use a large round brush (I love the lightweight Ibiza brushes from Spain but Spornette also makes excellent round brushes) to dry sections smoothing while holding hair in a tighter grip. Finish with a tiny bit of serum to tame down any strays. This routine leaves hair smooth, but still full of volume.

If your hair is fine, or tends to become limp, you can secure Velcro rollers  in your dry hair (rolling them away from your face). Use your dryer to zap them with a blast of heat, then let them cool off for five minutes before removing.

If you want to added a little more defined curl, grap one of our Hot Tools, soft grip curling irons for big lush curls to finish off your, beautiful blow dry!  Best as always, Jyl

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, in a Buddhist Monastery, or grew up in the Amazon Rain Forest, surviving on just nuts, berries, and large insects, then chances are your eyes have gazed over a magazine cover or two. In fact, most women read an average of 2 magazines a month. Information comes to us in all sorts of ways these days, in fact it is almost hard to avoid! Do I really need to know how many pairs of shoes little Suri Cruise owns, or which actress has the worst cellulite in a bathing suit? Have reporters run out of ideas to report on? Can’t magazines come up with something new to write about or are we all destined to read recycled beauty tips for the next 100 years? This month’s headline reported that “Stress Can Be Damaging To Your Skin.” Seriously folks, are there really any earth dwellers who didn’t know this news already? In fact, stress is not good for anything! But can humans avoid it? Stress is like air…it’s everywhere!

While visiting my doctor the other day, I picked up one of my old favorite beauty magazines and huddled down on a vinyl and hard wood chair, for what has now become the normal wait time of 45 minutes before my name was called. Warning, the cover stated (In an all capital bold red font, as if it were yelling directly at me) “Stress, Doctor’s Now Report is the #1 Reason for Wrinkles and Signs of Early Aging!”  I let out a little laugh, and thumbed through the articles to see if there might be something interesting to read, something I might learn from. When I finally heard “Jyl, were ready for you” I was handed a plastic cup with my name printed on the side (In bold red letters, no less) and escorted to the restroom. I was then deposited into a lovely examination room where the temperature had been set to a cozy 32 degrees.

I was asked to strip down to my birthday suit (which, BTW looks NOTHING like the original one I was given 53 years ago) and handed a paper napkin to wrap myself in. As I hopped up onto the table to wait for the doctor, the paper ripped in half, leaving me with two tiny torn pieces of paper in which to do my best with. The torture continued with a slightly anorexic nursing assistant who weighed me in on the Doctors newest, high tech digital scale (including a fun little gadget that can actually measure my body fat…yeah!) “That can’t be right,” I let out with a louder squeal then I intended. The nurse didn’t even bother to react (Unless you count rolling your eyes a proper reaction.)

When the Doctor came into my room he apologized for the long wait, explaining that he was in training for another marathon, and gesturing to the many framed photographs of himself crossing the finish line. “How inspiring” I said, not meaning a word of it and feeling a headache coming on. Then I went through my short list of complaints…restless sleep, frequent headaches, tight muscles in my neck and shoulders as he jotted it all down in my file. “Mmmmm”…was all he said for a few moments, then ended with “I see your weight is up?” Like a deer caught in the head lights, I just stared right back at him thinking, was this a question?

This lovely interlude ended by having my blood drawn by another nurse’s assistant, who’s chipped black nail polish and smudged black make-up, completely (NOT) put me at ease. I guess at one point, I turned paler then normal, because she suggested I lay down on the table and take a few deep breaths. As I looked up into her eyes, I tried to make the room stop spinning by distracting myself with a little guessing game called “How many days has this girl been wearing the same damn make-up?”  She twisted her  jet black and blue hair extensions, with one hand while feeling for my pulse with the other hand, then pronounced me ready to sit up.  As she gathered up my samples of blood, she complained about not getting enough sleep because the “KISS Cover Band” she performed with, didn’t finish until 2:00 am and it was another 2 hour drive home, and then she had to drive around looking for a store that was open because her crackhead roommate forgot to pick up the cat food.

After my appointment, I left the Doctor’s office, got in my car and had to pay the parking valet $18.00 for the 69 minutes my car sat still in their parking lot (The first hour was $6.00 but since I went over the limit by 9 minutes the following time cost $12.00 more dollars!)  I drove home, only to find that I had left my cell phone back at the Doctor’s office. I drove back to pick it up, begging the parking attendant not to charge me again for parking, and picked up my phone just in time for my twelve year old son to call from school to tell me he forgot his lunch at home, and was now slowly starving to death. I drove back at my house, picked up his lunch box then drove to his school. When I arrived,  I immediately spotted him sitting at a table sharing a lunch with his friend Samson. When he looked up at me he shrugged his shoulders and said “I don’t need it anymore, Samson’s mom packs really great lunches! You should make me lunches more like his mom!”

A few days later my tests all came back normal. Diagnoses…STRESS!

Life is just stressful, and I have come to the conclusion that there is just no way to avoid it!  Between work, cooking, shopping, cleaning, laundry, supervising homework assignments, (doing my kid’s summer book report projects) trying to turn up the volume on the T.V. with the  TWO remote controls our “entertainment center” now requires (you need a PHD to use most remotes these days) and searching through all 400 stations only to find a rerun of Project Runway to watch, well even what was supposed to be relaxing has now become stressful!

I must be a glutton for punishment, because I drew myself a nice relaxing tub filled with Kneipp Lavender Bath, then picked up the same old magazine that had so thoroughly angered me just a few days earlier. I opened the pages and started to read an article entitled “5 Things I Must Have to Keep Myself Looking Young and Feeling Great.” They had interviewed supermodels Naomi Campbell, Christie Brinkley, Cindy Crawford and some other “Victoria Secrets” model. The story featured a picture of each of the women, when they were 20 years old, and a recent “photo shopped” portrait taken, no doubt by some celebrity photographer with a wind machine and perfect lighting.

Christie explained she drinks a healing tea of monk berries daily that defended her against free-radicals, along with her personal trainer “Chad” who demanded her to do 100 squats everyday. Then Naomi professed her fountain of youth to be a lemon juice and cayenne pepper cleansing fasts. Oh pleaseeeeeeeeeeee……….make it stop, I thought. These women have been supermodels, with pampered lives, live-in 24 hour help, in home visits with their Pilate’s instructors and private chefs. I haven’t even mentioned the fact that they were born with legs that started at my collar bone. No amount of tea, cream or squats is going to make me be able to walk the runway in my bra and panties. If I hadn’t stolen that magazine from the Doctor’s office, I would have marched right back to the newsstand, and demanded a refund!

So what is a real girl to do about stress? Some count to ten in a closet, others get a massage. I go directly to www.adiscountbeauty.com for supplies for the perfect relaxing bath! I love the Kneipp bath with lavender, a soothing candle from Seda and my Aromafloria Stress Less Inhalation Beads. But next time, I’m leaving the magazine where it belongs…in my doctors waiting room!

As Heidi Klum often says, “In fashion, one day your in, the next your out,” which is an all too familiar struggle women have endured since the Stone Age. I’m sure even Wilma Flintstone, an icon of her day, had to deal with the disappointments when animal prints went out of fashion. But one thing I have always wanted to know is, who’s the guy who gets to decide what is attractive this week and so passe the following? I can understand the arguments we have all heard about the media, fashion magazines and Hollywood influencing out choices. But hasn’t life really always been this way. I mean, treads have been haunting the normal size gal ever since history began.

For instance, who was the genius who came up with the idea of falsies? Apparently it was some guy back in the Victorian Era. He was so thrilled with his new invention, he even took out a patent on what was to be named “Bosom pads.” Now, if you ask me, these (un-padded) metal inserts that slipped over a women’s breasts and were held in place by their already tightened corset, sound more like torture, than fashion to me. This right of passage was then offered to young girls, upon reaching the age of fifteen! So, we clearly have learned from our past that there was already some major peer pressure going down between young women of days gone by. Even before man invented high schools and sexy billboards, women have been trying to enhance themselves like peacocks, just for the chance of winning over some guy! I hate to keep bringing her up, but poor Wilma must have had several ribs removed (Just look at that tiny waist) and in the end all she ending up bagging was Fred! Was all that sacrifice worth it? This is not looking to good for women kind if you ask my opinion! We have been jumping through hoops for over five thousand years, for Fred and Barney?

So, picture this. Victorian women, in-between embroidery and harpsichord lessons, running to their local blacksmith to have him forge them out a pair of metal falsies, and a few shoes for their horses (as long as you have made the trip, you might as well throw in some new hoof-wear for Trigger.) Then, shortly after, the winds of fashion changed, again. Which I’m sure was really a pity, since women were just, really getting comfortable with the feeling of cold metal domes against their skin, on a nice winter morning! Anyway, I’m sure you see where I’m going with all this because “poof”  small rounded boobies became all the fashion rage. Oy vey, what was a fuller figured girl to do with this problem now reversed? You guessed it…breast binding and even tighter corsets became the must have accessory that decade.

I just can’t figure out how grown women could have been talked into all these crazy fads, but that’s coming from the same person (me) that got her (already curly) hair permed during collage in 1979 when Barbra Streisand made the look so desirable. BTW, it looked better on Barbra then yours truly!

I guess, the bottom line is women will be women and trends will come and go. One day you’re in and the next day you haven’t got a bloody clue. Best to stick with trends that don’t harm, are not permanent and can be changed easily (like the hair style above) because in twenty years, everyone looks back at a picture of themselves and says “I cant believe I wore THAT.”

Speaking of bigger breasts, If you’re thinking you “just don’t fill out your neckline as well as you wish” there are much better alternatives. At ADiscountBeauty.com, my beauty supply site  you can find a wonderful option to visiting the plastic surgeon! Check out the “Hollywood Fashion Secrets” page for a pair of cozy Hollywood Silicone Breast Enhancers. They do the trick, are comfortable and you can remove them when smaller boobies come back into fashion, and trust me they will!

Best Wishes,

Jyl

When I was around sixteen, my girlfriends and I always started our summer preparations a few weeks before school ended.  That was our time to start dieting, shop for the latest “two-piece” bathing suits and start soaking our hair, with the popular hair lightener ”Sun-In.” This watered down peroxide solution just turned our hair a brassier shade of whatever we started with, but we thought it looked looked totally cool. Somehow our slightly lighter, orange tinted hair worked well with our Farrah Fawcett haircuts and platform wedgie sandals. Of course, we all lied about the fact that we were using this stuff, and instead claimed that we only applied lemon juice, but we all knew the truth.

This year, with our youngest child away at camp, my husband and I started to push around some ideas for a summer get-away. With an empty nest for 4 entire weeks, we wanted to at least be able to say that we attempted to be spontaneous, peel ourselves out of bed and put on some real clothes. We were both in the mood to see the ocean, relax and do nothing more than enjoy some peace and quiet. We decided to head down to Laguna Beach, stay with my parents and basically bum off of them for a few of days. What a beautiful plan this turned out to be. We woke up late, let my mother spoil us by making us breakfast, then spent the days being lazy in someone else’s house. My mother was a wonderful sport about the whole thing, and didn’t even seem to mind that our beds were never made the entire time we were there. I would rate the vacation 5 stars for service, location and food. In fact, it was better than any bed and breakfast we had ever stayed in, and much cheaper as well. I even scored some books and and a cute pink robe my mother no longer wanted. I guess we are lucky my parents decided to retire in such a picture perfect place.

We wandered around the local art shows, browsed the beautiful produce at the farmers market and ate homemade ”Gelato” (sweet corn and basil no less,) splashed around in the water while the sweet ocean breezes intoxicated us with the sense that we were much further away from home then we really were (we only live one hour away.) At one point, I noticed that I had completely ignored my feet since summer began, and hadn’t even bothered to have a pedicure before we left. Lucky for us, I spotted a nail salon and grabbed my husband’s hand, and lead us both into “Nice Nails” for two deluxe manicures and pedicures. I had never had a manicure with my husband before, so this was truly a new experience. We sat in two huge massaging chairs, with the built-in tubs that had been filled with swirling blue water, heated to the perfect temperature and ordered up two rounds of “Pamper me please because I have forgotten how wonderful it feels” specials.

We each had two manicurists working away on us, trimming and filing,  buffing and scrubbing, oiling and massaging each little toe and finger with such expertise, that we both started to giggle in pleasure. It seems my husband’s feet are more sensitive then I had ever known, as he let out a laugh that sounded more like a 13 year old girl, then a 59 year old retired police Sergeant.  With our chairs in a reclining position, the rolling massage balls went up and down our spines and stopped only for a brief moment, as it reached the base of our necks. At that point the robotic arms lightly squeezed the tension away from my neck and shoulders while it hummed and vibrated to the point of nearly putting me to sleep! Oh, and did I mention the large screen T.V. playing my favorite show on Bravo while all this was happening?

Well, ever since that day my husband has repeatedly asked me to feel how soft his legs are now, and his toes look like they came off a totally different guy altogether! I will have to file this experience under the “do it again” category and the “why wait so long, we deserve a little more pampering in our lives” list (the one I keep in my head) so that we can try not to wait so long in between mental tune-up’s!

So now, at least my nails are summer ready, and who knows? Maybe my new beauty ritual will include my husband!

Now, if you don’t have time to run out for your own pedicure, let me direct you to the products that will deliver that same deluxe feeling, minus the massaging chair.

 1. Flowery Callus Liquidator works like a miracle, I can”t believe how the calluses just melted away!

2. Flowery Swedish Clover Fot File  is well worth every dime. I have one I now keep in the shower!

3. The CND Marine Sea Salt Scrub had our feet and legs feeling so smooth, my husband made me feel his skin every 10 minutes.

4. follow up with the CND Marine Cooling Masque , I can’t tell you how amazing my feet felt after the scrub was then followed by this minty cooling masque!

5. End with the ever so soothing Gena Pedi Soft  and spend some time really massaging this in. Or better yet, ask your partner/anyone you can talk into it, to massage your feet. I’m not above begging for this favor!

Best wishes for a wonderful summer,

Jyl

Happy Birthday to America and Happy Birthday to…me! I share my birthday with the entire country in which I was born. It’s a great day to have a birthday and hardly any of my family or friends have ever forgotten the date. It is a nice feeling to hear the phone ring off the hook, and everyone does their best to sing on- key as they warble out the birthday song. This year my 5 year old grandson did a fantastic job with his own set of lyrics and a home made card. My daughter, who is fond of checking out my Facebook traffic was so excited to let me know how many wishes had been posted there. As I logged on to my computer, I must admit I was touched. I know what you’re thinking, Facebook has a feature on their site that reminds your buddies when it’s your birthday. I really don’t care! I’m an easy push over and I liked all the attention.

As a 53 year old woman, the type of attention you get becomes different in the world. It’s not the head turning attention one might have gotten in their 20′s and 30′s (and still some in their 40′s) but it is more of the “You need help out with your groceries, Lady?” attention that can sometimes remind you that even though your brain says you still feel 16, your outside appearance may not be in sync!

The recently deceased Nora Ephron (one of my all time favorite writers) had written a book called “I Feel Bad About My Neck” and other thoughts about being a women. I read it when it first came out in 2006 at the age of 47 when I still heard people say things to me like “You! You’re 47 years old?  I just can’t believe that! You look about 37!”

But these days I understand Nora’s book on a deeper, more intimate level.

To quote Ms. Ephron “Every so often I read a book about age, and whoever’s writing it say it’s great to be old. I can’t stand people who say such things like this. What can they be thinking? Don’t they have necks?”

With all kidding aside, it does take me longer to look presentable, before leaving the house. There is a bit more effort involved after you reach a certain age, even if it’s just to go to the market. I call it the “just in case you run into someone who knew you when you were younger, so you won’t have to hide behind the smelly cheese section until they are out of site” list. You get the point.

So here is my check off list I try to hold by, before heading out the door.

1. I check for unwanted hairs. In the “olden days” I use to get a monthly bikini wax, but now I have shifted all attention to the hairs on my face that seemed to have appeared from NO WHERE. If Vegas had an opening for a Menopausal Woman Magician, this would be my opening trick! These chin hairs sprout up overnight, while I’m sleeping. I hate it. If this happens to you as well, You will need some special equipment for this task. A pair of excellent tweezers and a 12x magnifying mirror because my eyes can’t see what is really there anymore. In fact, I think I should graduate to a 15x mirror as a birthday present to myself. Now, a warning about a good magnifying mirrors. You will see everything, and it will scare you. If you have a obsessive type of personality, maybe you should pass on the mirror altogether.

2. Moisturize. Everybody looks better when their skin is hydrated. Just a fact, well maybe it’s my opinion, but not because I want you to rush to my site and buy moisturizer! Trust me, a good heavy cream works.

3. Concealer, Sunscreen and Lip Balm, brush hair and teeth!

With this check list, I’m pretty sure you can walk down the aisles of any supermarket and hold your head up high!

Best Wishes for a great week, Jyl

I loved the years when my children were young, sweet and innocent. They believed every story I told to them. Some of my favorite tales still make me smile today, almost 30 years later, when I think of their little faces. My oldest daughter thought our mail box was magical when cookies appeared as she chanted “Abracadabra” three times (her father would run outside and drop a cookie through the slot) and every-time she lifted that mail flap and saw her “magic cookie” her eyes would open so wide, you would think we had made an elephant appear right there in the kitchen. I also told her that when she was born, she was no bigger than my thumb and we gave her a bath in a tea cup and dried her off with a single sheet of toilet paper. I told her that mommy had grown up in the circus, as a tight rope walker, and I had many wild and exciting tales I had concocted around that theme alone.

Two days after her birth, my nephews who were 4 and 5 years old at the time, called to wish us congratulations. I asked them if they would like to talk to their new little cousin on the phone, and the 5 year old said “Auntie Jyl, babies can’t talk” to which I replied “Mine can!” For the next few nights I did my best not to break into laughter as each of my sweet nephews took turns, talking to my one week-old baby. I must say I missed my calling, working as a voice-over artist, because each night that week my brothers little boys were raptured by their infant cousins detailed conversations on what it was like to be born.

After about 7 nights of the adventurous stories my baby told (O.K. it was Me) little 5 year old David decided to share the news with his kindergarten teacher and class at show and tell. His teacher was quick to point out that baby’s cannot possibly speak at that age and that he was the victim of some sort of scam (That “B” probably told him that there is no Santa Claus as well as Magic Cookie Boxes) but I set him straight. I told him his teacher was an old bitter woman, and babies hate speaking around “kill joys” like her! While I was at it, I told him how his toys all came alive while he slept, so he should try to sleep with one eye open!  I was happy he believed me, and not that so called “teacher” of his.

When my son was small he loved to hear the silly stories my grandmother had told me (The reason it rains is because the angels are crying, and always make a wish on a rainbow) but it didn’t take long to learn I had a sneaky little boy on my hands. He was the cat who ate the canary, the cookies and the box of popsicles (Costco size) with big innocent blue eyes he would never have given up his side of the story. I swear I could have had the military “water-board” him and he would not give up the truth. So my little stories developed into ways to keep him on a straighter and more honest path.

I told him all mothers are born with eyes in the back of their heads, so we can see everything, and I also told him that the entire house was rigged with hidden cameras, including the eyes of the stuffed dog he slept with. Oh, and I told him that if he ran off at the mall one more time, I would take him over to the doctor to have a chip implanted in his ear, like our dog.

Now that they have grown, my daughter has been kind enough to bless me with several grandchildren so I have a new crop of innocent children that believe everything their grandmother tells them is the truth. We have secret hand signals and a magic closet where presents appear and best of all, Rosie our golden retriever speaks to them on the phone. And let me tell you…If you think my baby voice was good, you should hear me speak “DOG!”

Sometimes I wish my stories would be true, How simple and fun life could be. But, alas…my dog cannot speak and there are no eyes in the back of my head.

Best wishes, Jyl

P.S. If you can’t see behind you (sadly I only have two eyes after all)  we offer at ADiscountBeauty.com the Swissco Neck mirror that allows you to see exactly what is going on and style or curl your hair hands free!

“Your Sexiest Summer Ever!” That was the headline on the cover of my “once” favorite magazine. My immediate response upon reading this was “when did this magazine lose touch with their readers?” I use to read this publication from cover to cover. It was like the holy grail of fashion and beauty magazines. I would scan each page making mental notes of the latest lipstick trends and the must have accessories that every girl should own. I would dog ear the pages that contained the super important info, and tear out the latest diet advice. Now as I searched the cover, looking for a subject that might interest me, I was feeling a bit like the bride who was left at the alter. I mean REALLY…this is all they got for me, their loyal follower? Besides, what women my age has the time, let alone the desire, to think about looking sexy, and in beach attire? Oh, PLEASE. This subject had not even been on my radar lately, in fact I had really only been shooting for the “Gee, she looks good for her age” response not the “Dammmmmm…that women’s HOT!”

Then I had an epiphany of sorts. Maybe the magazine was not the one out of touch. Perhaps, as the years advanced forward, the idea of even trying to be “sexy for summer” had simply fallen by the wayside. As summertime is approaching, and my youngest son will go to sleep-away camp, perhaps I need to put a little more thought into what “alone time” with my husband might look like. As with most couples who have been married for many years, we have become perhaps a little TOO COMFORTABLE with each other. Instead of planning a romantic getaway, I have been dreaming of all the extra sleep I’ll be able to get, and all the quiet time to read instead of yelling “DO YOUR HOMEWORK” until my vocal cords are bleeding. I have relished the thought of perhaps not even stepping out of bed…at least not for the first week.

I don’t want breakfast in bed, or even conversion in bed. All I want, is to bath in nothingness. Now THAT sounds like my version of the sexiest summer ever! No breakfasts to make, no lunches to pack , no homework sheets to sign, no grocery lines or car pools. All I need is to be left with my new low expectations. Ahhhhhhh…..I’m smiling at the mere thought of all that bliss.

You might be thinking to yourself, yikes, this lady is in a real rut, she should be setting higher goals for herself! She should get a plan, start working out, join a gym, perhaps train for a marathon or the Iron Women Competition. Maybe develop a hobby, with her husband. How about bowling, or hiking, or they could climb Mount Everest together. Think of all the great picture albums that would come with a summer like that! Life is passing quickly…get out of bed!

O.K, I heard you. So, I made my plan on Saturday night and I was determined to turn over a new leaf. With baby steps, I moved forward. After all, I should be able to squeeze a few more good years out of myself!

Sunday morning I awoke early and instead of heading down stairs for a three hour pajama and coffee party (in front of re-runs of Tardy for the Wedding) I decided to started the day with a good long shower. While in the shower I filed every callus that dared to set up house on my toes and heels with such a sense of renewal, that my feet were as soft as a newborn baby’s when I was through. Then I covered myself in my favorite body lotion, head to toe. I put on a layer of nail strengthener on my nails after a quick buffing, and finished with a brush AND flossing session that my dentist would be proud of. Instead of pulling  my wet hair back into a sloppy bun, I blow-dried it into pure silky perfection. I was so inspired at this point that I even even dusted my face with bronzer and finish the look with a touch of tinted lip balm.

I must say, after all this I had a certain bounce in my step as I headed downstairs. Both my husband and son were still in their pajamas, one playing Wii, the other looking at motorcycles for sale on Craigslist (My husbands latest mid-life crises!) Since I was feeling rather cute now, I was motivated to think of something fun for all of us to do (rather than sit around in our sleepwear in three different places of the house) besides it seemed such a waste to stay home with such good looking hair.

My son has always wanted to check out Chinatown, located in our downtown area of Los Angeles. He gathered his dog walking money together while I convinced my husband that he could have fun, even without his pajamas on. As we got into our electric car my husband turned to my son and said “My girlfriend is cute, isn’t she? ” and gave me a wink.

My 12 year old son thought we were gross as we walked hand and hand through the streets of Chinatown, but I think the effort paid off and everyone had a wonderful afternoon. So who knows, maybe it will be my sexiest summer after all!

Best wishes, Jylly Beans