I Was On Conan Last Night, And Now I'm "The Audience Lady"

I'm also a super-slutty liar, according to YouTube comments. But more on that later.

I went to Southern California this weekend. It was my fifth wedding anniversary, and my husband friggin' loves theme parks. Like, nine-year-old-kid levels of loving theme parks. I attempt to be generous of spirit for 0.0343% of my life, so I decided to go to Disneyland et al with him, even though I was all:

I was LITERALLY like this while we were there:

That's me in the blue hat, in the fetal position. Like an actual unborn baby. On a ride created for small children. I hate theme parks.

But, on a more fun note, I got some tickets to go see a taping of Conan. My husband and I have both been big fans of Conan O'Brien since he started his show in the early 90s (#weold), so I thought it would be perfect for our anniversary trip.

We decided that I should make a sign for the show, because we had the idea that maybe we would get closer seats or some shit. You know I like to get Latarian in this bitch. So this is what we came up with.

The bottom one was my husband's original sign idea. I came up with the top one, because it's effing true. Nothing really more to that short-ass story. Except that I suck a big one at drawing (writing?) a block letter 's'. In hindsight, I should have just gone for a solid one of these:

The next day, we get to the taping and get really great seats. No one even took a cursory look at my sign. I still hadn't decided which side to hold up when Conan came out of the monologue. I'm a shitty planner. Here's part of what happened next.



We had a good time with it. I got to share a few of my unique crushes (King of Breakfast, anyone?) with America. We three-way hugged Conan after the show. It was a good day.

Today, I woke up to people texting me this screenshot.

THE AUDIENCE LADY?!? Did I wake up as a matronly 74 year old? Am I Dorothy Zbornak? Did I menopause overnight? Actually, maybe. I've been having the night sweats. We'll discuss that later.

I jokingly told a friend that I would rather be called a tramp than a lady. But be careful what you wish for, and all that shit, because then came the YouTube comments. Here are some of my favorites.

Well, that escalated MF-ing quickly.

It actually wasn't. At all. Unless you mean a script in my head, where I created a moderately interesting sign on a drugstore posterboard and somehow became a writer for Conan's show. That was my brain script.

"Shit cray." Okay. Possibly.

I can be a bitch. How did you know? Are you my mom? Now for the one that hurts the most.

Screw you, "I'll just pick random numbers as my screen name" person. Screw you.



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Allure Insiders Get The Look: Ariel Halloween Makeup Edition

It's almost Halloween up in here (up in here)! That's my ride-or-die favorite time of year, and to kick off ye olde costume season, I did a little tutorial for The Little Mermaid for my latest "Get the Look" Allure Insiders video.

I might have even attempted my own Ariel-esque hair flip in this video. You'll have to watch and find out how that turned out, although I'm sure that you can deduce the outcome, you little Sherlock Holmes.

Happy (almost) Halloween!



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My Three Favorite Mascaras Right This Minute

I'm a pretty fickle sister when it comes to mascara. I rarely am all, "Damn, I love this mofo!" But, I currently feel that way about THREE mascaras. Don't slut-shame me.

Watch and let me know if you feel the same. Or other ones I need to try. I'm always open to adding more to my repertoire. (I'm wiggling my eyebrows in a creepy way right now.)




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Watch Jessica Lange Pull An Us And Pretend That Lea Michele Doesn't Exist

JK, Lea. I follow you on Instagram for some inexplicable reason. And that dress is beautiful. And you have great hair. Okay, enough nice crap. Let's get to the bitchassness.

Much gratitude to Gawker, and more specifically Rich Juzwiak, for bringing the video below into my life. (And even more thanks are owed to Rich for introducing me to the likes of Grey Gardens and Paris is Burning via his blog FourFour.) I really can't imagine living my day-to-day life without seeing Lea Michele be completely ignored by the light of our lives, Jessica Lange, now that I've been exposed to its glory.



I'm sure this all happened because Ms. Lange was wondering the same thing that we all are: HOW LONG DO YOU NEED TO POSE FOR A HANDFUL OF PICTURES? That and Jessica was probably just trying to get inside and see if all of the catered pizza rolls were gone, like any sane human would do.

I will admit that it takes me 908543095 minutes to take a semi-decent photo of myself to use in beauty-related posts using a camera timer in my cave of solitude, but I don't possess TV-levels of attractiveness. I don't even have infomerical-levels of beauty. Not to mention, my eyes are usually mid-flutter and I look like this in every picture:

I would hate to be a famous. Most of your awkward social interactions are filmed and spread around like Justin Bieber's circa 2012 haircut in Alabama (I can say that, my family's from Alabama and I kind of enjoy Lynyrd Skynyrd) so assholes like me can make fun of you. I don't think that there's a video of me falling flat on my face in Wal-Mart while wearing slutty knee-high boots from Charlotte Russe in 2007, even though that really happened. I'll just stick to being a mediocre normal.





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Make Flat Hair Live Life to Its Fullest

My hair is naturally flat, fine (not even foooine) and sad. But at least I have a sparkling personality a lot of lipsticks. Most days I just let my mop air-dry and then style it later, if I find myself doing something that actually warrants having styled hair. Which I rarely do.

But here's the thing about having fine hair that isn't whipped into a frenzy with a hair dryer. It looks like this:

A sad-ass paper sack of bleh. That means I've had to learn how to take that bag o' sad hairs and pump up the volume into something that isn't so "I'm one of those people that wears a t-shirt on Halloween that says 'This IS My Costume', AKA I'm not even trying to try." And this routine isn't even that hard, so it's great for my people (the lazies).

Step One: Root Spray

I first spray the roots of my bangs and through the crown of my head with Sally Hershberger Supreme Lift. I've been using this stuff for years on years on years, and it's my ride-or-die favorite root spray. You're supposed to use it on damp hair, but f the system. I do what I want.

Step Two: Velcro Rollers

Velcro rollers are boss mofos, and if you don't know, now you know. They impart volume like woah, and are an essential part of this flat-to-full process. I put them in right after I spray on the root spray, putting them in at my roots, touching the scalp, and rolling backwards, wrapping the ends around the roller. I don't really care about incorporating the ends of my hair so much, because I'll deal with those crazies later. I secure the roller with one of those little silver hairdresser's clip things, and blast the roots a bit with a hairdryer. Then I leave them in for as long as I can while I do my makeup, ride a tiny Pegasus, pet a bunny, whatever.

Step Three: Make Some Waves

Straight hair is the opposite day version of voluminous hair. So that means after you take out the rollers, you've got to get some bends in those shafts. Hair shafts, you sick brain. How much wave and motion in the ocean you want is totally up to you. Okay, I'll stop with the innuendo. (No, I won't.)

I like for my hair to have a look that says, "I'm the middle-aged fourth Olsen sister that is meandering her way through life and the beds of European sub-royalty," so I wrap my hair around a big ol' fat curling iron and leave my ends out, to give it a messier look. If you like a sleeker, more curled look, feel free to use a smaller-barreled iron and include your ends. If you want a more pageant-y finish, use hot rollers. It's your life. Do you, and shit.

Step Four: Texturize

Now that we've got some shape happening, let's throw a little texture in the bag. I'm not going to harp on my favorite texturizing agents AGAIN, so just feel free to use whatever the hell you want. Just spritz/spray/shake on your product generously until you feel full and fabulous. I should write taglines for buffets.

That's it! We've made our way from limp noodle to at LEAST cooked ramen noodles. Minimum. I'm not at lasagne noodle-levels, but let's be honest, I never will be. Curse you, hair gods! I'm hungry.

Bonus Step: Clip-In Extensions

If you're still feeling blah-haired, there is one final solution: clip-in hair. I use the 14-inch EuroNext Remy extensions from Sally Beauty Supply. If you're looking for amped up volume, clip them in higher on your dome, and if you want length, clip them lower. You can also cut and dye/highlight/whatever them because they're real hair. From a person. Somewhere. I don't really like to think about that.

Okay, that's REALLY the end of this deal. This is as thick and voluminous as I get.

Do you have any tricks to get big-ass hair? Share them with my flimsy strands. I'm down for whatever, as ususal.



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Tori Spelling Might Not Know Where Babies Come From

I have to keep it honest. I haven't seen True Tori because I've heard that it's fakety fake fake and, more importantly, IT'S NOT MOTHER, MAY I SLEEP WITH DANGER. Or even anything remotely related to Donna Martin (or even Ray Pruit), so why bother?

Upon watching the trailer for the upcoming season of True Tori, I have discovered that there are so many issues with this show, which we are to believe is a damn slice of life from the Spelling/whatever-dude's-name-is home.

Namely, we are supposed to believe that Tori has never seen a picture of the (probably faux) mistress person? And it's been, like, a year? Pshaw, lady. Pshaw to that. You would have googled that mofo in 2.3 seconds. You would have probably set up a google alert in her name.

I'll take TS on the Maury show and lie-detect her ass to prove that that shit's not true. Not to mention, even if we're to believe that complete and utter nonsense, we are also to accept that you're walking around with 8x10 glossies of homegirl in a manila envelope? Unopened? Just one more pshaw over that, because it needs it. PSHAW.

But let's move on to the real meat and potatoes of this pot pie of ridiculousness. TORI REVEALS THAT SHE MIGHT BE PREGNANT.

Okay, so you don't even know? Are finances so dire that boo boo can't buy an EPT test? I'll send a check for $6, if that's the case. Or start a kickstarter. Or maybe steal a deluxe ribbon from one of Candy Spelling's gift-wrapping rooms and sell it on eBay.

Also, is it unclear how one becomes pregnant? Because she has four kids, so I would think one might have figured that shit out by now. Maybe get to googling that, too.

Bottom line, I can't deal with this hot mess express of a purported reality show. Someone just watch it and tell me what happens. And maybe let me know how fake it is on a scale of Big Foot (not fake) to Lindsay Lohan's head hairs (fake).

Instead, I think I'll watch the world's worst pseudo fall on repeat.



How do you talk to an angel? How do you hold her close to where you are?






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Jennifer Love Hewitt Sent Matt Damon A Bed, Reached A Solid 8.5 On The Creeper Scale

I haven't been shy about my feelings re: JLH being a super-kook. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovable brand of kook. It's not like homie is hiding in the backseat of gas station patron's cars with a hook on her hand, or anything. (Is that the plot from I Know What You Did Last Summer?) She's not that flavor of kook.

Side note -- can some decision maker-type from VH1 make Flavor of Kook into a Flava Flav franchise? I would 100% watch whatever the shit that show would be about.

Anyway, back to J Love's weird ways. The world's most beautiful creep was a guest on Jimmy Kimmel a couple days ago, and she shared a pretty Creepy McCreepsalot story about sending a bed (bed topper? it's unclear to me, due to my lack of fancy) to a lonely Matt Damon as a creepy salve to his sad heart.

First off, this was over ten years ago, so Matt Damon was in his prime sexy-ass days. Dude was most likely drowning in the women's bathing suit area parts. Like, all of the parts.

He probably didn't have a bed because he broke them all doing sex with people, Love.  I wouldn't worry.

Also, maybe save all of that Party of Five money. Scott Wolf might need an air mattress one day, or something.

Also (part II), please stop sending shit to other famouses that you don't know. It's unusual at best. Matt Damon probably thought the bed thingy was stuffed with a mixture of both of your hair clippings that you stole from his barber's dumpster and mixed together in your basement, like a weirdo hair Heisenberg. It's too much.

P.S. Scott Wolf is still pretty damn hot, in a Michael J. Fox's cousin type of way.



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