I've always been lucky to have inherited my Grandmother's beautiful skin. Words can't express how grateful I am now for those genes, but during my teen years, I could have cared less. And it was only a few years ago that I started paying attention to products for the face.
In a past blog I wrote about Olay's line filling miracle cream. Well, move over Olay. Sisely of Paris has entered the room! I was introduced to their night cream by accident after spending a certain amount of money at Neiman Marcus and receiving the complimentary gift.
The cashier handed me my new leopard print bag, the free gift when you spent $100, and told me how much I was going to enjoy the samples inside. Okay, I thought to myself. A few perfume testers, a tube of lipstick, a moisturizer packet...yeah, yeah.
When I got into my car, the anticipation was just too much. I was a kid in a candy store. So, I pulled out the variety of freebies and began sorting through the delicious choices right there in my car. I almost missed the fifteen minute window for getting out of the parking lot with my paid parking ticket.
The inventory of the bag was really quite impressive. Prada, Givency...but the best sample had to be Sisley's anti-aging night cream. Later that evening, I decided to try it out. I washed my face, opened the miniature gold tube, squeezed out a small amount and applied it to my face. Within seconds I could feel the effects of the cream working. My skin tightened in all the right places and the cream was not only smooth, but it smelled great.
Like most of us today looking for information about something, I Googled Sisley to find out how much this was going to cost me. Are you sitting down? Because I was and I still almost passed out from sticker shock. For a mere $775 you can purchase a 1.7 ounce supply of this heavenly manna. And the disclaimer read...there is a six per customer limit. Really?
Needless to say, I won't be purchasing that product until my singles profile on Millionaire Match attracts a sugar daddy. In the meantime, I did find some on sale on eBay. Cost...$27 and free shipping for three sample size tubes. But I'm worth it!
This is what I found inside: nside I found perfume samples from Prada and Givency.
September 27, 2011
September 5, 2011
My Back Porch
There's just something about a back porch that makes a house a home. Maybe it's because when I'm there, I feel like everything is the way it's supposed to be. Right now I'm sitting on the back porch of my new place - a very quaint two-bedroom apartment in the sprawling metropolis of Baytown.
On my back porch sits a comfortable white wicker chair and a side table where I put my cup of coffee or glass of wine depending on the time of day or rather the kind of day I've had. My visits to the back porch are therapeutic. At dusk the sky parades brilliant colors across the horizon reassuring me that although this day has ended, another one will follow in the morning.
Tonight I was thinking about how I ended up here on this particular back porch. I recently moved into the apartment after my long-term relationship went south. I saw it coming about a year ago, but I guess you don't expect it to happen to you...a second time. I just knew this would be different. I really thought I had cast the perfect prince charming for my fairy tale movie. Okay...so it turns out he wasn't.
After that, I decided that an intervention was what I needed. Enter my therapist. When I go for a session, she often just smiles and listens as she scribbles notes on her 8 1/2 X 11 yellow legal pad. I would love to know what she writes on that thing. If it were me, I'd be doodling stick figures.
I know I could never do what she does without at least once telling my client that I wasn't serving any cheese with that whine. But, she never does. She simply listens and writes on the yellow notepad.
Her office is worth a visit even if you don't get any help. It's beautifully decorated in rich hues and the walls are dotted with paintings that scream femininity.There is a couch that doesn't even remotely resemble the ones you see in the movies, but you'll find a comfortable chair with a side table. There isn't any coffee or wine, but a box of tissues if the need arises. The most intriguing piece in her office is this little bowl of stone figures, each one representing an emotion.
The first time I went, I noticed them. After my second visit, I asked what they were and learned that she uses them to help people who can''t verbalize their emotions. Really? That's a new concept. I've never had a problem expressing my emotions.
I drove to her office for my latest session recently. I was so consumed with anger that I had to figure out what the heck to do with it because if I didn't, it wasn't going to be pretty. Although looking back, the actions from that might have ensured I would get a book publishing deal after being released from prison. Then, I'd make a ton of money and go into hiding.
All joking aside, I walked into the office late because whoever put up the detour signs on Bay Area Boulevard was a complete idiot. I looked through the bowl of stone figures for kicks to see if there was one that could express my anger. Not even close...just saying. Her advice to me was that I should do nothing concerning the anger that involved my hands, feet, or mouth. Thank goodness that didn't rule out body slamming or head butting.
I guess in a way, her office is much like my back porch. It's a place I can go and put together the pieces of life's puzzle. And when my time with her is through, I'll still have my own back porch.
On my back porch sits a comfortable white wicker chair and a side table where I put my cup of coffee or glass of wine depending on the time of day or rather the kind of day I've had. My visits to the back porch are therapeutic. At dusk the sky parades brilliant colors across the horizon reassuring me that although this day has ended, another one will follow in the morning.
Tonight I was thinking about how I ended up here on this particular back porch. I recently moved into the apartment after my long-term relationship went south. I saw it coming about a year ago, but I guess you don't expect it to happen to you...a second time. I just knew this would be different. I really thought I had cast the perfect prince charming for my fairy tale movie. Okay...so it turns out he wasn't.
After that, I decided that an intervention was what I needed. Enter my therapist. When I go for a session, she often just smiles and listens as she scribbles notes on her 8 1/2 X 11 yellow legal pad. I would love to know what she writes on that thing. If it were me, I'd be doodling stick figures.
I know I could never do what she does without at least once telling my client that I wasn't serving any cheese with that whine. But, she never does. She simply listens and writes on the yellow notepad.
Her office is worth a visit even if you don't get any help. It's beautifully decorated in rich hues and the walls are dotted with paintings that scream femininity.There is a couch that doesn't even remotely resemble the ones you see in the movies, but you'll find a comfortable chair with a side table. There isn't any coffee or wine, but a box of tissues if the need arises. The most intriguing piece in her office is this little bowl of stone figures, each one representing an emotion.
The first time I went, I noticed them. After my second visit, I asked what they were and learned that she uses them to help people who can''t verbalize their emotions. Really? That's a new concept. I've never had a problem expressing my emotions.
I drove to her office for my latest session recently. I was so consumed with anger that I had to figure out what the heck to do with it because if I didn't, it wasn't going to be pretty. Although looking back, the actions from that might have ensured I would get a book publishing deal after being released from prison. Then, I'd make a ton of money and go into hiding.
All joking aside, I walked into the office late because whoever put up the detour signs on Bay Area Boulevard was a complete idiot. I looked through the bowl of stone figures for kicks to see if there was one that could express my anger. Not even close...just saying. Her advice to me was that I should do nothing concerning the anger that involved my hands, feet, or mouth. Thank goodness that didn't rule out body slamming or head butting.
I guess in a way, her office is much like my back porch. It's a place I can go and put together the pieces of life's puzzle. And when my time with her is through, I'll still have my own back porch.
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