Having Sex with Joe Mauer for Dummies

There have been a myriad Opening Days in baseball this year, so it is hard to pick one to point to as THE DAY. My beloved A's played the Mariners in an opening series in Japan last week, and technically, that was Opening Day. But no one paid attention to that, and the games were at 6:00 a.m. here on the east coast, so it wasn't acceptable to drink a bunch of beer and feel totally and completely at peace with the fact that baseball was back at last. Then there was a game on Wednesday in the Marlins' new stadium, and then there was yesterday which I guess was technically Opening Day. And finally, the A's play again tonight, in a REAL Opening Day, the kind where you get drunk, talk smack and then don't have to go to work afterwards.

I say all this to show that baseball sometimes is confusing. Even technical stuff, like actual dates of games, can be rendered into complete craziness by the powers that be. Sometimes the pure beauty of the game can be lost in rules and controversy and shouting.

But the pure beauty of Joe Mauer is never lost. Even when he does a second rate blue steel for the camera and doesn't even have the gear on.

So, in honor of some kind of Opening Day somewhere, I give you the return of Products that Allow You to Have Sex with Joe Mauer.

For the sake of ease and because it is the Friday before Easter and hardly anyone here is actually in the office (except for me! because I am totally that girl!), we are going to focus on two areas of expertise in our quest to bed our favorite all-star catcher. Those areas are: tanning and big hair. How did I arrive at these two areas? Well, let's just be honest. Sun-kissed legs and humongo strands are what bring ALL the boys to the yard. Ever seen a limp haired, pasty stripper? I DIDN'T THINK SO (and if you have, you really need to stop going to the strip club at lunchtime).

Sonia Kashuk Illuminating Bronzer: This is a relatively new product on Target's shelves--I think it came out at the end of February. As a very pasty person, I have tried a lot of the bronzers out there--my favorites before arriving at this formula were Nars Laguna and these old school bronzer beads that Physician's Formula put out when I was in college. Bronzer is one of those things that is pretty hard to actually get right because it can go from 0 to Snooki in just a hot minute. Especially when you start out as pale as I am. And I have to say, this product gets it right in a whole bunch of different ways. First off, the packaging is pretty spot on. It is actually pretty, and looks a lot more expensive than $13. The clamshell is a good size to throw into a bag for when you need to head out to an airport DoubleTree in Detroit for a little hot catcher's mitt action. And it actually comes with its own little brush, not a cheapie applicator pad. I found that although the brush was small, the quality of it was pretty on par with the other Sonia Kashuk brushes I have (which is good), although not as good as my favorite Sephora brand ones. This is a great plus, again, for $13. Obviously you can use your own bronzer brush with it, but I really like the option of being able to just throw one self-contained product into my bag if I need to.

Now to the actual formula: the big difference between this and other bronzers is the illuminating factor. You can see right off the bat that this stuff is pretty shiny. I have no issue with that because I like a little sheen, especially in summer. This stuff would be killer on shoulders and cleavage, and, really, that is one of my primary uses for bronzer, even when I'm not trying to sneak a beej to a member of the Minnesota Twins. I KNOW. TOTAL SLUT. LET ME SHOW YOU HOW I SNORT MY BIRTH CONTROL PILLS OFF A LOUISVILLE SLUGGER. (And by Louisville Slugger, I mean "penis.") So, what I'm saying is, that's fine with me. If you don't like shine, I would not pass go and head directly to Nars Laguna camp. Aside from the shine, the other thing that sets this apart is that it is long-lasting. The internet tells me that it is engineered to go 12 hours, which Mauer loves because he wants the option to bone and then spend time snuggling while he watches old video of Josh Beckett getting LIT UP, which inevitably makes him ready to go again, and well, you don't want to be pasty when it is time for Mauer 2: Revenge of the Dong. In my experience, it definitely lasts the workday. It hasn't been hot enough yet for me to put it to the test by wearing it to the park or something like that, but I think it could hold up to some pretty strenuous activity. Sometimes at work, I get really mad at people for being stupid and I type out furious tweets that I never, ever submit. It has lasted through that.

The only thing to watch for with this stuff is that it can go from pasty to DIRRRRTY in one quick swipe. And not mid-aught's Christina DIRRRTY. Like, "Um, what do you have on your face?" dirty. For instance, the first time I put it on, I kept thinking I wasn't getting anything on the brush. I would swirl a bit and then apply, and I didn't see many little bronzer particles actually on the brush or on my face. So I applied a bit more pressure to the brush and then swiped on my forehead. And yeah. BIG DIRTY SPOT. Thankfully, I was able to spread it out and rub it in a bit and get it to the level I wanted. And really, that is another thing to note about this product: there is only one "shade," that being "Goddess." So it is definitely "buildable" color. If you are pale like me, you're going to have to be pretty careful about how much you put on. If you are darker, you could probably go hog wild. I don't know. You tan people confuse me. I think you must live such a rich and full life that I will never know, one that includes more sex with baseball players, more halter tops and a lot of glasses of white zinfandel.

So in the end, this is going to be my bronzer for the summer. I like it. And Joe Mauer approves. He's like, "Hey Girl. When you wear that bronzer, it makes me think of a perfectly seasoned mitt, all soft and supple and tan. And I'm like, you wanna be a part of this battery? And you're lookin' at me and kinda bitin' your lip which is really cute, and I just know that me and you are going to reinact that fight between Robin Ventura and Nolan Ryan, except without the punching and add a whole lot more genitalia."

got2b Powderfull I read about this product somewhere on the interwebz, and to be really honest, the place is escaping me now. But the review must have been good, because I looked at a bunch of places to find it. I finally found it in the Fourth Circle of Hell, aka, the Norton, VA Wal-Mart. I can't even remember why I was in that store to begin with. It's not like I needed to score some illegal Xanax or convince myself to never let solid food pass my lips again which would be the only reasons I can think of for going to that particular store. Hmmmm... Now I'm verklempt.

Anyway, this is not the type of prestige product you leave out on your bathroom counter so that visitors can marvel at your beauty acumen and deep pockets. I guess that using lowercase letters and interspersing numbers into words in a brand name is just not my game. This seems like something my daughter would be taken by and she's 13. But despite all that, I bought it, and I use it almost every day. And maybe I do that for the sheer novelty of it. I don't know. Because to be honest, this is a weird product. It is a little thing of powder, and you shake the powder out in your hand and then you rub your hands together and the stuff totally disappears. Like magic. It is kind of freaky the first time you do it, especially when you are left with a slight cool sensation on your hands. I'm just going to be honest: I've never been a drug user myself, but I watch a lot of Intervention. And this looks like something you'd sniff with a $20. ANYWAY, after it disappears, you rub your hands through your head and it gives your hair volume.

And yeah, it does. You can immediately see some lift to your hair, although one wonders if you wouldn't see the same thing from just fussing around with your hands, you know? It doesn't really last though. Let's just say that, sure, you could do a quick bathroom trip, fluff your hair and come out and be stripper ready for Mr. Mauer. But after you did a few things that are illegal in the state of VA, you're going to have to rely on the sheer magic of sexin' to give you your full-bodied look. This stuff will be long gone.

So why do I keep using it? Well, besides the fact that it is just weird enough to keep me interested, it is a pretty decent texturizer (the only thing I really like better for this purpose is Jonathan Silky Dirt, which, technically, I haven't used in years). I have been using it on the ends of my hair to create a kind of piecey look that I really like. And while it doesn't give me OUTRAGEOUS volume all day, I like the teensy bit that it does give better than I like the kind of stickier volume that can come from mousses or sprays. Maybe it is because I've been wearing my hair stick straight lately, and am not looking for anything super OMG big. In that case, it is a serviceable product. Worth risking life and personal hygiene by going to a Wal-Mart to get it?Maybe not. But if I think to order it on Amazon next time, I just might buy it again.

Just a note to the wise: it mentions on the package that you can shake it directly on your roots for even more crazy volume. DO NOT DO THIS. For one thing, it is really hard to get blended, and you'll look like you have THE DRUGZ in your hair. Second off, even when I got it blended in, it left my hair feeling sticky and my scalp feeling kind of gross. Avoid.

Mauer verdict? "Hey Girl. You know I like it when your hair is all big and you toss it around and do that awkward dance to Motley Crue's Girls Girls Girls. Now, let me get out of this uniform and we can read passages of The Dirt to each other and reenact the better ones while trying to not think about the idea of Vince Neil ever having had sex."

The Return of Joe Mauer

Joe Mauer has come back from a long Minnesota winter of chopping wood, drinking hot chocolate and sexin' you up for Fashion Friday because he really, really wants me to buy this dress.

Joe Mauer wants me to buy it--wants all of us to buy it--because it is the perfect dress to wear to a rendezvous in some airport Hilton where he'll sign some balls and you'll have steamy Lifetime movie shower sex. Which, while we're on the subject, why is shower sex even a thing? I have never seen a shower that looked particularly conducive to love making (If you can prove differently, leave a comment. Let's turn this thing into Penthouse Letters, ya'll!). But since we're leaving reality at home here in VA, let's imagine that all those Lifetime movies have been correct, shall we? Joe will tenderly pull on that front tie there, like he's plucking a guy off first (give a minute ya'll--my baseball similes have been stuck in the off-season too!), and the next thing you know, you'll be loosening his gear too, and preparing for a session that will include sex, a cuddle session while you watch Law and Order: SVU and three mocha truffles from this candy store next to where I went to college.

Joe aside, I want to buy it because I have a sick, twisted love affair with polka dots. I freaking love them. And I know what that says about me--that I am some juvenile, Manic Pixie Dream Girl wannabe. I totally fit the role as well--I've got the requisite bangs, the funky purple glasses, the English degree, the no clear and discernible plan for the future. I am, quite obviously, Zooey Deschanel without the bone structure and plus about a 100 spicy chicken asiago clubs from Wendy's. Adding polka dots onto all of that is just a little much, and I know that. But that does not stop me from just going completely nuts when I see the dots. Then I become a puppy, sitting expectantly in front of my treat, panting, slobbering and being an all-together unstable hot mess. Thanks, J.Crew. YOU BASTARDS GET ME EVERY TIME.

The kicker with this dress is that a) it is backordered until March and b) it is $148. I desperately want it to go on sale, or for J.Crew to announce a code or some such. Moreover, I don't even know what size to order. The larger of the two sizes I am now? The size I want to be in the spring (which is the smaller of the two sizes)? But I am afraid to wait too long because I know other people like the dots too, we the Mediocre Manic Pixie "Dream" Girls (heretofore known as MMPDG). So here I sit, check card in hand. Will I go ahead and order it? Will I try to wait out a code? THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING US ALL.

Joe Mauer doesn't understand any of this. He's all like, "Hey girl. It's cool. Just let me go up to Lynchburg and just get it out of the warehouse for you. And if they say they don't have it, I'll just invite them to the gun show, and I'm sure Mickey Drexler will show me the secret stores, where they keep the extra dresses in case of nuclear holocaust. It's worked before, honey. Don't you worry. And while I'm at it, I'll pick up some ribs and we'll smear barbecue sauce all over some white sheets somewhere and I'll tell you about the time I lit Tim Lincecum's hair on fire."

Note: I don't actually think Joe Mauer has lit anyone on fire, but I figure if one is dreaming, it is go big or go home.

Actually, I'm not going to front, the whole J.Crew catalog for February has kind of gotten me in a tizzy, which is not good for anyone involved. And it sucks because I'm really loving the new roll out, and I kinda want it all, which is not something that I've done with any of the more recent roll outs. But I know that all of the stuff is prohibitively expensive and that the quality is not near as good as it was say, in '07, which was a real banner year for the Crew. It really grinds my gears that I know that. I am starting to imagine myself in some nursing home someday, walking around in a bunch of moth eaten sweaters recounting the 2007 J. Crew line like one would discuss a far-off war. "I don't care about another damn picture of the grandkids! If you're comin' to see me in this hellhole, bring me some '07 merino! And some sriracha!"

Pitchers and catchers report next week, the J.Crew roll-out is looking good, I have finally found some foundation that I adore (and that Joe loves too--yeah, MARY KAY!), things are looking up. Next thing you know, I'll actually have Joe Mauer writing these posts for me while I lay back in that dress and eat those truffles. Be ready. The Morgpocalypse waits for no man.

Baseball Sucks but Joe Mauer Does Not

Yesterday, I decided that I hate baseball. HATE IT. The A's decided to trade my favorite player, the superbly underrated Mark Ellis, and on the same day, they lost. To the Marlins. The Marlins won like 3 games the entire month of June before they played the A's. But of course, my team could not hit the broad side of a barn if you gave them a tee and a whiffle ball bat, so you know. HATE.

Baseball, and I'm sure most other sports, really does a number on its fans. One minute, you're riding high, and so amazingly happy with your team, the sport, the entire freaking universe. And the next minute, you are answering questions on a "Are you clincally depressed?" online quiz, and wallowing in a rage that is so completely blinding that you should not be allowed to drive. This is my life between the months of April and October. I'm ok with that. But there are certain moments (for example, yesterday) that just make it that much worse. And that is when I decide that I hate baseball more than anything else in this world and that it should do me a grand favor and just die in a fire.

The last time this happened, when my husband's favorite catcher of all time was traded, we drank ourselves into oblivion. Like that was the drunkest I ever got. I puked more that night than I puked in my entire college career, no kidding. It was absolutely horrible. I am a bit older now, and knew I had to work today, so that was not an option. Instead, I have ordered myself some new jeans, some Nars Illuminator and some tanning towels. Retail therapy, ya'll. I HAZ IT.

And since I now hate baseball with every fiber of my being, I should not care about Joe Mauer. But you know what? His is a beauty that lives on, thriving despite my absolute, white hot hate. And he knows all this, you know, and he's all like "Hey girl. Why don't you make yourself feel better by writing about that lip gloss and that eyeliner that I like? You know that stuff I saw you wear when we were laying in that DoubleTree in Cleveland and watching that clip of Buster Posey getting his leg shattered over and over again? You know that video makes me hot."

And since he deems it so, and well because he looks like this

I'll go ahead and give you these product reviews. Remember, these are two products that, if worn, will allow you to have sex with Joe Mauer. There's a 98% chance of it. Give or take that pesky 97%.

NYC Cosmetics Lippin' Large Lip Plumper: This is one of those reviews where I should just start it with the words "Well, I was in Target the other day..." I was there to buy a sports bra and some sunscreen and some pajamas for my kids. But, well, you know how that goes. Thankfully, this is one of the smaller purchases I have made under these conditions, running about $3. For my lip plumping needs, I usually use Bare Escentuals Buxom Big and Healthy Lip Polish in the color Dolly, in reverence to one of my favorite Southerners and the creator of Dollywood where you can get the best damn turkey legs in the world. However, I left my last tube in my mother's car and she promptly drove it back to Memphis, thinking it was hers since she uses the same stuff. No biggie, you know. I have plenty of lip gloss and I don't use any of them anything close to exclusively. But sometimes you just get the craving for big old fat Angelina Jolie lips, you know? Thus, the purchase. And I have to say, I like this stuff. I got the color Strawberry Mousse, and there is a bit of a strawberry smell, though nothing cloying or even that noticeable after the first little bit of wearing it. It comes in the little tube like thing that I like in the summer. And the formula is nice--not sticky, not goopy. Pleasant. It makes your lips feel moisturized and happy. The color itself is gorgeous--I could definitely see this color on a more expensive gloss. Now, the plumping abilities? I'm not sure. There is a cool tingle, not so unlike eating a York Peppermint patty, so you're not getting the full-on "I just spread pure uranium on my lips!" feeling of a Lip Venom. It is pretty similar to the Buxom gloss that I'm used to. And there is a bit of noticeable plumping. I'm not sure it is all that much more than a regular gloss where any plumping has just come from drawing more attention to my lips, you know? So if you want GINORMOUS lips, this is not the product for you. But really, I like it. For under $4, I LOVE IT. It is a great, easy product to keep in your purse for when you are riding down the road, air condition blowing on your lips and drying them out.

And the best part? Even for the low price point, it comes in a little box, so you know that even though you are buying it at Target, it has not been tampered with. Cover Girl could learn a thing or two. And you know that gives Joe Mauer a bit of piece of mind. He doesn't want your lips to be tampered with! He wants them all to himself, so he can kiss you and lovingly feed you little chocolate baseball bats that he molded himself in his cabin in Minnesota while he was also preparing a lovely roast leg of lamb, repairing a diesel engine and thinking about rubbing your feet.

Almay Intense I-Color Eyeliner (with Light Interplay Technology!) You know, aside from the internet, I hate technology. I don't have a Kindle (I am the only person in my family, aside from Alice, who does not), I don't have an iPad, I have a rickety old iPod nano that I only use when I'm running and can't convince the husband to come with me, I use my phone for calls. I like things that are old, like books, and tangible desk calendars and writing letters. You guys, I don't even have a food processor--what's the point! I can chop and make pie crust my own damn self, thank you. My husband thinks I'm insane. If it were up to him, we would live like the Jetsons. He keeps track of all new technological developments, and gets giddily excited about them. He has whole conversations about how much he loves living in the age we live in and how excited he gets by change and progress and whatever. Blah. Humbug. Give me a baseball game on the radio (uh, I forgot that I hate that game for a minute there. HATE.) and a nice long book with a broken spine, and I'm ecstatically happy with myself.

So when I saw the words "light interplay technology" on this package of eyeliner, I rolled my eyes. Right there in the Target aisle. But I needed some eyeliner, and I had seen some scuttle about Almay's eye products as of late, so I tried to ignore the fact that "light interplay" technology is the stupidest crap I've ever heard. It's a pencil, ya'll. A kohl pencil. The same sort of shit Cleopatra wore. It doesn't organize your calendar or chop your onions or forward those jokey emails that you get about tequila. IT IS A PENCIL. NO NEED FOR TECHNOLOGY. But I bought it anyway because at my most base level, I have to admit that I was curious. Would my eyes glow with beauty? Could I blind someone with my new ocular laser beams?

The fact is that it is just a basic eye pencil. I don't notice any technology, I don't feel any glowing or see anything crazy. Here's the thing though. The formula is pretty rad. It goes on well, and it has a little smudger on the end. I usually don't use pencils, eschewing them for the flowing-ness of a liquid eyeliner because I prefer the silkiness of a liquid to the sometimes painful and uncertain pencil. But this I like. I think it is perfect for a less heavy handed eye-lined look, especially for the summer. Today I am wearing this and mascara on my eyes. That is it. And that's saying something for a girl that likes her shadow. But I like the look--clean and easy yet defined.

They have lots of colors, and you purchase them based on the color of your eyes. I have boring black, but which is "Black Midnight" since that is what was specified for brown eyes. Whatevs. Joe Mauer, you know, prefers the black, but he says you could go with anything really because he loves your eyes just they way they are. "Just the way you are"--Joe Mauer just loves Billy Joel. Now, if you'll sit still, put your feet up, and eat this bowl of chocolate ice cream he just made in his Cuisinart Ice Cream maker, he'll play you some of the piano man's greatest hits. AND ALL BECAUSE YOU WORE THAT EYELINER. Girl, you are one lucky lady.

I hope you have enjoyed these tips for having sex with everyone's favorite American League Central catcher. As I was typing this, I checked Facebook and saw a post from the Oakland Athletics, and I briefly forgot that I hated them and planned on cutting out some recipes while I watch the game tonight. They are pulling me back in, I know they are. Sigh. A pour of vodka out for my homie, gone to the Rockies, but never forgotten.

Things That Suck: Cover Girl Natureluxe Foundation

First of all, Joe Mauer does not approve of this product, and would not condone your using it. Because he is not interested in having sex with an Oompah Loompah. Of course, if he decides that he is, you know who'll be first in line. THIS GIRL. Because I already have the foundation to make me Oompah-ish and because I was once in a production of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory so I have the requisite experience.

But despite me not sullying Joe Mauer's good name with this, here's a picture of him in a hammock. Because it is Monday, because he is hot, and because at the end of the day, it is my blog, and if I want a picture of a very, very tasty piece of catching goodness hanging out in a hammock, gosh darnit, I'll have it.

Ok, back to the foundation. Really, you know, I should have known better. I saw this stuff in Wal-Mart when I was shopping for make-up a long time ago, and I avoided it like the plague because it was being shilled by Taylor Swift. I have a deep, nonsensical hate for Taylor Swift, a hate that is shared, and I feel bolstered, by my 12 year old daughter. And you're sitting there hating me right now, because how could I hate someone as harmless as Taylor Swift who sings about being the non-cheerleader and all of that and oh, isn't she so cute with her blonde hair and tiny, beady little eyes. But her music makes me want to put my head in a wood chipper. I hate her voice. IT GRATES. Gabby agrees, and this deep, abiding hate has brought us closer, I feel. It is a strong mother/daughter relationship when you can hear a Taylor Swift song come on the radio and both scream in unison, "TURN IT OFF! KILL IT WITH FIRE!"

But I ran out of my L'Oreal True Match that is my "filler" foundation that I use between bottles of MAC when I can't get over to the Johnson City Mall to get my fix. And I was at Target, and I was thinking that maybe I should get something light that would be acceptable for days that I don't have to work and are just flitting around with the kids. I like Laura Mercier tinted moisturizer for this, but I'm out of that too, and it is a bit pricey to just be wearing around the house. So I picked this up. I don't even remember why I thought this was a good idea, but I know that I did match it up to my skin as best I could.

First off, the price on this sucks. I think it was $12, which in my opinion, is a little much for a drugstore brand tinted moisturizer. Plus, it is just the tube--no external packaging. Which means that every bottle there has been opened and tested by some other poor sap who thought it was a good idea to buy this stuff. For my $12, I think the good folks at Cover Girl could invest in something that might keep this stuff from being tampered with. But maybe that money went to Taylor so she could buy more Joe Jonas voodoo dolls to impale.

Now, the formula, I'll say is pretty nice going on. It blends well, and the smell is "natural" in the way that Pine Sol is natural. It is not obnoxious, and I didn't mind it, although I've since read some reviews from people who did. I wouldn't say it is necessarily "luxe", but I can see why that name was attached to it. The first time I put it on, I liked it, and I started crafting a "Products that Allow you To Have Sex With Joe Mauer"-style product review in my head.

But I wore it to the zoo with my family on Thursday, and I have to say that it changed colors. Now, mind you, this is a pretty transparent style foundation/tinted moisturizer that you can build coverage with. So it is not a heavy color to begin with. But somehow, I ended up with an orange-y face about halfway through the day, and I didn't change any of my other make-up. This is an outright fail in my book. Sure, the product "works" in a way--it is a serviceable tinted moisturizer, that allows you to have light coverage for a drugstore (albeit upper end) price. And maybe it is just my skin and the fact that it is very pale. But for whatever reason, it gets orange-y in a hurry.

I am willing to play with it a bit, adding powder and a lighter blush and what have you to try to salvage it because I spent $12 on it. But that is a lot more than I WANT to do since I just bought this stuff to wear on days when I don't give a crap. And the thing is, I'll still go and buy my MAC tomorrow and I'll probably STILL be on the look-out for a good tinted moisturizer.

The worst thing about all this is that I really should have just followed my mother's longtime advice. Growing up, my mom taught me two very important things that I should never forget. They are: Never buy cheap foundation or cheap shoes, and if you do, be ready to live with the results. Wise words, and it burns me that my mother was right yet again.

What say you, gentle readers? What foundation are you loving these days? I am getting increasingly curious about mineral foundation--I have tried Bare Minerals to no real success, but I've recently read that most mineral foundation lovers don't even consider BM a mineral make-up because of all the fillers and ingredients. I am thinking of ordering a mineral kit to try it out. Any ideas? Brands?

Futures I Thought I Might Have, Part I

If you've missed any updates on this blog and you've thought that perhaps it is because of the complete and utter Blogger meltdown, well, that has not been the case. It has been because yours truly has been embroiled in a good old fashioned existential crisis. And well, you know.

I won't get into that really, because it is not fun to try and figure out what you want out of life when you are an old lady like me. It is not fun to try to pick a place to move or to apply for jobs in other places or try to explain to your kids why your head might explode if you have to live many more months in our current place. Kids have not heard Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run," they have not read any Kerouac, they do not understand the beauty of a new place, of being able to eat a mothereffing curry without driving an hour and a half. There is a lot of talk of "broadening horizons" and "expanding worldviews" and other buzzwords, and it is enough to make you sick really. And in the middle of it, here I stand and I am sighing a lot and really wondering when it will be that the little fairy that is supposed to appear and tell you what you're supposed to do in life will make her entrance and put my mind at ease.

This morning I was driving to work and listening to NPR and really thinking about just how old I am, because, well, I was listening to NPR and actually giving a shit about this slum dwellers who are getting evicted from their homes in Thailand. But, moreover, these past few days and weeks, I've felt old. Like not rickety-back-old. Like practical and world weary and wizened. Like I-bought-a-Frappuccino-and-found-it-too-sweet old. However, after getting to work, I saw a link from the amazing site I'm Remembering about movies that were your favorites as a kid. And there it is--a description of the movie Rookie of the Year. My favoritest favorite movie ever. And a movie that I had forgotten existed because I lost that information somewhere around age 20 when I had to take this dumb anthropology class and do a report about these people who spoke click.

For those of you who lived poor, sad, depressed childhoods and did not see this movie, here is a rundown. There's a kid. And he absolutely sucks at little league baseball. He's the kid no one wants on their team, despite the fact that he is freaking HAWT, which no one in this movie realized, much to my 10 year old chagrin. Anyway, he has this horrible accident where he trips over a baseball and he does something crazy to his shoulder and ends up having to wear this truly bizarre cast that no kidding, a picture pops in my mind of whenever someone mentions Tommy Johns surgery. ANYWAY, after the cast comes off, it is revealed that he has now acquired the ability to throw a blazingly fast fastball, and VOILA. He goes to play for the Cubs. Now, if you know nothing about baseball, you're shaking your head right now. However, if you have seen the Cubs play in the last couple of years, you're thinking, "Yeah, I can totally see how they would need the services of a 12 year old." And after that point, hijinx ensue and the kid loses his magical fastball powers (and I'm sure that someday, that very line will be in the Biography of Aroldis Chapman), but he still manages to win a game because he's smart and it's Hollywood, baby! Fuck yeah!

Now, I'll just be honest and say that I haven't seen this movie since I was 12. So I'm quite sure that it is a big ole flaming pile of suck, and if you Netflix this shit based on my recommendation, well, it is your own damn fault. Why? Well, for starters, it was directed by Daniel Stern (oh, yes, that Daniel Stern. Marv from Home Alone), and while I'm sure he's a perfectly lovely human being, you don't see that name and think auteur. And well, it also stars Gary Fucking Busey. FOR REAL. I certainly didn't remember that little detail. Mostly because, when you are a 10 year old female, you don't give a shit about Gary Busey. All you care about is one Thomas Ian Nicholas. Who, at the time, was the finest piece of man-meat I had ever seen.

Just seeing the movie poster, from all those years before, took me back to that fateful summer. I saw this movie about three times. The first time, my mom took me and we went together. The next two times, she drove me to the mall while she did bookkeeping down the road, gave me some cash and I went in and saw it on my own. Ah, 1993. A simpler time when there wasn't a child molester lurking behind every corner that a terrorist wasn't already hiding out in. I'm pretty sure she gave me $20, and the rest of the money that I didn't spend on a movie ticket and some Sweet Tarts was spent on Big Bopper and Tiger Beat magazine which I bought just for the glossy pictures of Thomas Ian Nicholas.

And with those pictures, I engaged in some powerful fantasy. NOT THAT KIND. GOD. I WAS 10. And an immature 10. I remember imagining he and I, living together, watching baseball as 25 year olds (for some reason, as a kid, 25 was my age of fantasy). We would get into all the Cubs games for free, and Harry Caray would be there and when they sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," they would put the camera on us, singing, smiling, and being very much in love. We had both gone to Duke University for college and wore a lot of blue. My hair, in the 15 years between reality and fantasy, had gone from stick straight and dishwater brown to vivaciously curly and black. And I had a tan. I really think that when I was a kid, I was hoping that I would grown up and become Hispanic. I had changed my name to Dominique, which was the most wonderful name ever. I was a writer of children's books, and he was an actor/baseball player. We were very much in love, and had an interior decorator design our house. I imagined a big white couch and a lot of peach accents. Yes. Peach.

And here I am, three years past that line that I gave myself so many years ago. I don't really need to go into how short I have fallen of my preadolescent fantasy. I decided to check up on Mr. Nicholas and see how the years had been to him. IMDb tells me that he is still acting, although in not much that I have seen, and that he combines this with being a musician. Apparently, you can download his stuff on Amazon. A professional headshot taken of him is indeed, still hot. However, the other pictures, the various pics taken at events, are what got me. There was one where he was badly in need of a haircut, wearing a t-shirt under an unbuttoned shirt. He is smiling, and something in that picture--I just looked at it, and I thought, "Holy crap. He looks just like Matt when he was in grad school." I am thinking of a particular picture, Matt smiling in the California sun, Sather Gate at this back. This made me smile.

So yeah. I don't even know a freaking interior decorator, in fact, I don't think I've heard of anyone being one/using one outside of Sweet Valley High. But I look at the things I do have, and I can't help but feel I'm right on track. For what, I don't know. For something.

Two Make-Up Product Reviews that Allow You to Have Sex with Joe Mauer

Seems there are a lot of Joe Mauer fans out there, as my Google Analytics would attest. So I'm catering to that demographic. From now on, I will only provide insight into how you (YES, YOU!) can have sex with Joe Mauer.

He's looking at you, thinking, "Hey girl. You want some pearly skin? Pretty little easy to do eyes? Hmmm... Yeah, girl, I want you to have that. So we can be together. Now, talk to me, girl. Talk to me about how you do your eyeliner. Because that's sexy to me. Then I'll cook you some blackened salmon that I caught this morning and we'll call some pitches. And by "call some pitches," I mean "make sweet love." I'll leave the gear on if you want."

And since Joe Mauer wants it, here you go!

L'Oreal The One Sweep Eye Shadow (in Natural Brown)--I bought this, I'm not gonna lie, because it was featured in Real Simple magazine. I pretty much will buy just about anything found on the pages of Real Simple. For real. I really like the magazine because it is clean and just damn pleasant to look at. And well, I'm very gullible. And a bit of a spender. Basically, I should never be allowed out of my home with more than $.53 in my pocket. Anyway, the magazine says you can do your eyes "in a blink" because you apply all three colors at once. And I need that in my life, you know? I mean, sure, I don't spend that much time on my eyes as it is. But I could shorten my make-up routine by about 45 seconds. And that 45 seconds is time that I could use laying on my couch and pondering the meaning of life. Or lamenting the lack of a decent third baseman the A's could have picked up this past off-season. You know, important stuff. So, in the cart it goes!

So I bring it home, and I'm trying to figure it out. Yes, you just sweep the thing over the eyeshadow. I see that. And you flip it over to do the other eye. But which way do you have to hold it? Is it this way for this eye or that way? Or upside down? See, I don't have a Ph.D. in astrophysics, so this was hard for me. Or, rather, I guess I should say, I don't have a lick of common sense, so this was painful for my brain. I'm standing there, staring at the sponge in my underwear, and Matt walks in to the bathroom. Cue scene:

Matt: What are you doing?

Me: Shut up. I'm trying to figure out how to put my eyeshadow on. It's hard!

Matt: HA! That's what she said.

(pause--he's standing in front of the toilet, motionless)

Me: What are you doing?

Matt: Shut up. I'm trying to figure out how to pee.

Anyway, I got it on. And I'll tell you, it is not flawless. I mean, I don't know what anyone expects when they swipe on ready-shadow (which is my new name for it), but you're not going to have a perfect little mosaic terrine of stripes of eyeshadow. It is more of an, let's say, artful smudge. I dressed it up with a bit of Clinique Eyeliner. And you know, I like the look. It is fast, I guess. I guess though, I don't see the three colors really well just staring at it on my eyes. I will say that the color is nice, and if you were a real 4.0 type student, you could just use a brush and apply them one by one in a more artful manner. But the 45 seconds you're wasting! My God! Won't someone think of the children!

One of my coworkers commented me on my eye make-up the other day, though, while I was wearing it. So Joe Mauer approves.

Note: Joe Mauer would never make fun of your inability to put on your eye make up and to figure out something that was seriously hard.

Benefit Girl Meets Pearl: I have actually had this for a long time. In fact, I ordered it when I ordered the Patti Smith book I wrote about the other day. Anyway, I wanted to touch on it because Joe Mauer would totally approve of this shit. Mauer aside, I'll tell you that I'm very partial to Benefit products. I like their packaging, and I love their stores. Plus, I don't think I've ever had a product of theirs that I didn't really like (although I will admit that Bad Gal isn't my favorite mascara, but it is not horrible). Also, I feel like their stuff lasts. Maybe not as much as Nars blush (and bronzer) but pretty damn close. I have had the same bottle of High Beam for about 4 years now, and it is still ticking away. Granted, I don't use it as often as Nars Orgasm, but it is a great product to have for spotlighting, especially at night. Girl Meets Pearl comes in a tick up container, not so unlike That Gal, which is Benefit's primer (and which I also use as a light sumthin'-sumthin' on days when I don't wear foundation). This causes some problems for little ole dumb me who sometimes can't remember which way to turn it to get more. SHUT UP. DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU HAVEN'T BEEN THERE.

Anyway, once you figure that out, this stuff is AH-MAZING. Like Joe Mauer homerun trot good. Why? Because it is subtle. Like the subtle masculinity of a man who lives in the wilds of Minnesota. Best part? You can rock this during the day, ya'll. In fact, I'm wearing it right now. It gives just a hint of light, a kind of "lit from within, I eat a lot of veggies and never ever have I touched a piece of Smore's Pizza from Mr. Gatti's" glow. Plus, it smells good. Which is not something I usually notice/care about. And the smell fades, of course. But it is a little treat to put it on.

A note on how I use it: I usually dab it directly on my cheekbones and smear outwards. You could really do anything with it though.

So go out and buy these, and Joe Mauer will want to have sex to you. He will come to your house, next time he is town, carrying a single red rose. He will serenade you with "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You" and it will make you cry because it will make you think of that time that Kelly broke up with Zack. But before one tear falls, he will catch it and remind you that he came to see your eye make-up, so you shouldn't blow it now. And then, you guys will...well, you know. So make-up! Go get it!

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Today, my friends, is baseball's opening day. This means two things: my sleep schedule is about to get all kinds of jacked up, and OHMYFREAKINGGOD I THINK I MIGHT BE ABLE TO LIVE AGAIN.

I am, and just about always have been, a huge, obsessive baseball fan. When I was 9 years old, I discovered the game, and it.was.amazing. I doted on the Atlanta Braves since that was the closest team to me geographically. I collected (literally) thousands of baseball cards (which are still packed in my garage and ready to be sold when one of my kids decides to go to private school/needs a nose job/runs off with a boyfriend and has to be rescued from an airport in New Zealand--I'm looking at you, Big Al). I wrote short articles about important games and unabashedly sent them off to magazines--one of them was actually published in Beckett's Baseball Card Collecting Guide. One Christmas, my parents surprised me with real home AND away Braves jerseys (note: this is why having divorced parents was AWESOME) and I wore these as much as my mom would allow.

And, most importantly, I had a wonderful and amazing grandfather who taught me the history of the game, the artistry of it. We spent many a summer night watching the Braves on TBS while flipping through these huge baseball coffee table books that my mom picked up for me off the clearance rack at the bookstore at the mall. He loved to tell me about Stan Musial (who was his favorite, despite my grandfather being a Yankees fan--who hated Steinbrenner) and Thurman Munson (a close second). We watched The Pride of the Yankees at least three times, and it was actually the last thing we did together before my granddad passed away. It remained in my grandmother's VCR for at least a couple of years after that--no one really wanted to take it out and admit that he was gone.

I lost touch with the game for a bit after my granddad's death. I watched as the Yankees beat the Braves in the World Series in 1996, tears unexpectedly streaming down my cheeks for at least 4 of the 6 games. Those were the last games I watched for a while. I kept up with things through the Yankees' dynasty years, occasionally reading articles and books. But being a teenage girl (and a pretentious little twit at that) became more important. I attended a few high school games and surprised those around me with how much I knew about the game. In college, my apartment was relatively close to the college's stadium, and I would stop by sometimes before going home, taking advantage of my free student admission. I read a good deal of Paradise Lost with the sounds of the aluminum bats pinging in the background. The game welcomed me back, quietly and lovingly.

When we moved to CA, the influx of time without school work and a bit of extra income meant that I began to yearn for the thrill of the major leagues again. Matt and I thought it might be fun to take the kids to see a ballgame. We thought we would go a couple of times and eat hot dogs and drink a few beers (our favorite microbrewery had a stand at the Coliseum) and that would be it. Just for fun. He decided to take Gabby one night before he left on a two month long trip to Russia as a kind of daddy/daughter night out. I stayed home with Sam, who was little and a bit under the weather. When Matt did leave for Russia, I started keeping up the A's season so that I could tell him about it in our daily emails. Just little snippets of the American life that he was missing. And, thus, we both started our often depressing descent into being A's fans. When he returned from abroad, we rode the Bart out to the stadium and bought tickets for all the remaining home games that we could. And the next year, we bought season tickets. I taught Matt about the game, much as my grandfather had taught me. We found solace in it when our lives became chaotic, when the economy began to falter, when words, and joy, were hard to find.

I must add this, however. Being a female baseball fan is serious business. You don't want to be a "pink hat," i.e., a girl who comes to the games to look cute and flirt with male fans. You also don't want to go to see the good looking players (which, if you are interested in that, do yourself a favor and DO NOT become an A's fan. It is like watching the Garbage Pail Kids out there. Joe Mauer, my little croquembouches. It don't get much better). Being a girl means, I think, that you have to be that much more into the statistics--you have to know the numbers and apply them correctly. Educate yourself. You also have to wear your team colors proudly and happily. No cutesy prints, no pink. Straight green and gold, ladies. You can cut your tee to make it more flattering, but remember--this is not the time to worry about sexiness. This is baseball.

Today I came into my workplace and made sure to tell my employer (and my Facebook friends) that for the next 6 months, I will be a different person. I will be alternately ecstatic and depressed. I will say the words "Defense is what wins games!" and "YOU HAVE TO HAVE STRONG MIDDLE RELIEF!!! THAT'S WHAT WINS PENNANTS!" with abandon and at odd times. I will curse the name of Rich Harden AT LEAST 145 times this season. And, please, for the LOVE OF GOD, do not talk about the Boston Red Sox to me. For a reason that I can't quite elucidate, I hate the Boston Red Sox. I don't think I could hate them any more if George W. Bush played first, Karl Rove played third and the starting rotation was comprised of the members of Nickelback. I have said filthy, disgusting and embarassing things about Dustin Pedroia's MOTHER. Let's just not talk about the Red Sox, k?

So Happy Opening Day. May your team win, your enemies lose, and may your middle relief be strong. Unless, of course, you are a Red Sox fan.