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ATHENA - the Smart One Who Never Got The Guys Until She Got Contacts (March 21-April 19)
A new day is dawning and it's not just because of the historic election in the United States but because your visiting mother-in-law decided your Beef Stroganoff recipe was "not that bad, since even you can't screw up ground beef" and also that you aren't really a bad mother, but "someone who probably didn't mean to destroy the souls and spirit of your offspring, but just didn't know any better". It's cause to break out the champagne and put away the Xanax because if you drink enough, you can get the same effect and you have 4 pretty flutes that you haven't used since the wedding. She's only going to stay until the full moon at which point she's leaving for a conference high on a hill somewhere in Transylvania called "Blood-Letting On a Budget". The 16th through the 24th will be joyous, and not just because she's leaving on the 14th but because your husband emerges from the garage where he's been for the last 10 days, "working on the car".
JUNO - the One Who Says She's Happily Married (April 20-May 20)
This month Jupiter positions himself so his ass-crack is visible in the night sky, blotting out your view of the moon and most of the western constellations. You feel this is his tribute to "Joe the Plumber", as well as all of the "little people" who can't quite fit into their low-rise jeans. The rise of "Joe the Plumber" as an icon for all the dim-witted, loud-talking Neanderthals who have been in charge of the United States for the last 8 years, seems to have caused a shift in the cosmos, finally causing even conservatives to question their judgment. Why it took an ass-crack to call into question their judgment after 8 years of watching another ass-crack in full obliteration mode is beyond you. Your inner community organizer emerges when you decide to start a movement to mandate belts on plumbers, cable TV repairmen and the guys who replace the water bottles at work.
What's in your stars?
By Debra Victoroff
Rome. City of ruins and la dolce vita. Not to mention guys who won't stop howling and jackin' up their knickers as long as there's breath in your female body. If only they didn't insist on living at home with Mama, maybe we'd get to second base-o.
But I digress. Someone I trust with my life told me the Material Girl was in town, and I had to see her for myself. Let's just say that the Mad One and I go back aways, although she'd swear we don't. Always remember: the bigger they are, the more they do that, and the less it's true, the more you think about it.
Full Story>>
By Kate "Scoop" Heidel
DEAR MAGS/DAGS: My cousin Brenda showed me your column, and I have to be honest: your advice is truly appalling. What kind of a message does this tripe send to young brides? How are women supposed to turn to you for guidance when your behavior is no better than some of the young socialites one reads about in the gossip magazines? Think about doing us all a service and handing over your pens, please.
CONCERNED CONNECTICUT COUSIN
MAGS: Eww, tripe! Icky Poo! That's the second grossest thing I've ever eaten. Well, the first might be pig feet when I was dating Michael. Noooo, I think it's venison when I was dating Tom. Ooh, once I put a caterpillar in my mouth on a dare, but I only licked it and put it back on the green leaf where I think it lived. I earned five dollars doing that, back when I was really young, like eighteen. Caterpillars don't stay in one place too long, though. It's kind of like having a timeshare...or subletting your apartment to a bumblebee. Right? FULL STORY
By Mags & Dags
 60, rue de Varenne: Postcard from Paris
Having grown fangs and a marsupial pouch during the night, Carla Bruni-Sarkozy awoke, and now she sat grooming in front of the giant termite mound that had sprung up in the middle of the presidential bedroom. She looked at Nicolas, her beloved husband, and screeched “Jabbajabbahabba?”
He opened his eyes, replied “Habbahabbajabba!” and leapt naked out of bed. Dragging his long reptilian tail, the president lurched towards the mound, where his wife squatted patiently with her back turned to him. Unperturbed by the patches of ringworm and dry rot, Nicolas began to pluck the lice from the First Lady’s back and devour them.
FULL STORY
By Loulou de la Paumardiere
You feel renewed and exhilarated. After finally finagling a free trip to Bonaire (thank you credit card points program) via Biloxi and Bennington, you're home. You're pale (thank you sun block #45). You're sharp thanks to a new detox program featuring gooseberries and silica. The air is crisper. The scent of apple blossoms is more pronounced. You're at peace. And nothing is quite so important as spreading the word about your fine exquisite travels. You are the living embodiment of top-drawer luxury, scented liners, masseuses named Sven and well deserved pampering.
Then your neighbor, Lorene, attacks you. Lorene just got back from her 59th trip to Orlando. She wants to show you all the great new shots she took with Piglet and Rabbit. (Pooh and Tigger must have been on an extended break.) Her new iPod has the ability to hold 2,000 photos, as well as the complete adventures of some kids who burst into song for no reason. She wants to start the photo tour with the bus driver, Stephanie, a former prison warden turned professional greeter.
Make it stop. Please, make it stop.
Full Story>>
By Pamela Miller
Okay, so you peaked early. You mistakenly believed those days of youth and effortless beauty that you flaunted in the faces of those less appealing friends you surrounded yourself with would be endless. High School was merely a platform from which you would catapult to a life of coasting on your oozing sex appeal. But now you're thirty..ish years old, staring down forty through the bottom of a half-empty apple-tini, tugging on your Forever 21 tube top to keep it in the general vicinity of your neckline, watching twenty-something's guzzle YOUR free Woo-Woos. It seems your glory days are fading fast into the faint glow of an acid flashback. And it's Reunion time.
Let's get real. Reunions are a large measuring stick with which to gage your own success against that of your classmates, multiplied by how much money everyone makes, divided by the amount of years since graduation. We know, we know, math was for nerds.
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By Sarah Schaffner
People write me all the time and ask me what I think about all kinds of things, because they need someone to tell them the most basic facts, like where is their elbow.
Here's some things you need to know, if you're gonna live right.
SEPTEMBER
Ok. About September. 99% of my family have birthdays in September. Do the math. It's cold in January, you know what I'm saying. So, the first thing about September is what to do about all the people you have to remember, otherwise your name is mud.
Full Story>> By Pamela Bongiorno Monk
Whether your travels take you to Motown, London Town or Funky Town, there is one universal in the world of travel: Gift Shop. The same holds with train stations, museums, hospitals and prisons. That doesn't mean that every ceramic pig spray-painted and covered in elbow macaroni and glitter needs to take the journey from the Prisoner Gift Kiosk ("From the Big House to Your House") to your tasteful summer cottage. The availability of gifts has nothing to do with the quality of the gifts. And the quantity of the gifts is not an actual indicator that where you are is actually memorable. (Most of the world is covered in water. Think about it.) Anyone can order commemorative pencils, flashlights and key chains in bulk. Even visitors to your kitchen could be offered a souvenir coaster. (A Sharpie and a bottle of White-Out is all you'd need for monogramming-additional fee for cursive script.) Every beach town, every resort town, and every historical reenactment site sells the same variation on the same theme. The only thing that changes is the name on the sheriff's badge. It's sad, but it sells. The best travel gifts are never sold in stores
Full Story>>
By Pamela Miller
If you're like us, you try your best to eat healthy, but it isn't always easy. With so many frozen pizza styles to choose from, how are you supposed to know which one is right for you? The microwaveable kind, or the kind that goes in your toaster oven? The single-serving kind where it actually is a single serving, or the single-serving kind where are you serious, THAT'S a serving? Wouldn't your life be easier if you knew which kinds of fruits and vegetables are actually proven to possibly fight heartburn, and which kinds don't do squat?
We've put together a quick guide to help you navigate the treacherous aisles of your local Market Basket. You might be surprised at what some of your everyday eats really bring to the table.
Full Story>> By Molly Schoemann
LAST ISSUE:
We resisted as long as we could but during the summer we bowed to progress and introduced some "IN-TER-ACT-I-VIT-Y" to our site. (IN-TER from the Greek "house" and ACT-I-VIT-Y from the Latin "coat") and we really think this sort of thing will take off. It's like the HiFi of the oughts! Anyway, we really enjoyed hearing from our erudite audience, and the rest of you as well!
The two most commented on articles (oddly both articles were written as filler by the same author who is blushing behind her hanky at this outpouring of love! Can Cosmo be far behind?)
And our pick for best reader comment:
Can someone there please tell me how to knit an overcoat from reclaimed dog hair? If not, could you please direct me to someone who can tell me how to distill high-quality vodka from turnip peels? Thank you. Savannah Lawless
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