THIS JUST IN: I'M A BONA FIDE SNOB

I came to a semi-alarming realization this week: I think I may very well be a snob. 

It's not that I don't deign to do certain things or deem certain situations, places, and people as beneath me. It more has to do with what I will and will not wear. Shallow? Absolutely. Non-negotiable? Pretty much. 

Let me back track a bit. One of my co-workers was writing a very clever story on the 11 Celebrity Fragrances Our Editors Are Embarrassed to Love. And, it got me to thinking. I don't care HOW much I love a J. Lo or a Jennifer Aniston or a (perish the thought) Britney Spears scent -- there is NO WAY I would ever, ever, wear it. "Embarrassed" is one thing. Categorically shunning something based on something so shallow is another. 

So, in an effort to try to rid myself of this despicable shortcoming, I tried to picture myself in CVS picking up the (no doubt tacky) box and heading on over to the register. But I couldn't even visualize such a thing. WHY? The cashier wouldn't care (after all, she sells enemas and personal lubricants and nose hair clippers all day). No one would have to "know" and I'd smell good, right? I guess. But, still, try as I might, this mental scenario was a no go. 

This saddens me. Am I so wrapped up in what people think that I'd deny myself an affordable, good-smelling scent just because I think it's cheesy? The answer is a resounding yes. 

How do I cure myself? (Short of some sort of intervention where my friends and family arrive armed with boxes of Kate Walsh and Halle Berry and (aaaaack!) Paris Hilton/Jessica Simpson perfume?) I know that not everyone feels this way -- after all, these starlets rake in mega bucks with these olfactory endeavors. So there has to be a way to just get over my lame self and spritz along with the hoi polloi. 

I've got this. Give me a month and you'll have a whole new (super-smelling) evolved blogger on your hands. 

Like Nora Ephron Before Me, I Feel Bad About My Neck

"One of my biggest regrets -- bigger even than not buying the apartment on East Seventy-fifth street [for a song], bigger even than my worst romantic catastrophe -- is that I didn't spend my youth staring lovingly at my neck. It never crossed my mind to be grateful for it. It never crossed my mind that I would be nostalgic for a part of my body that I took completely for granted."- Nora Ephron, "I Feel Bad About My Neck"

If I'd gotten the chance to talk to Ms. Ephron about my neck (before, we lost her to a relentlessly aggressive form of uterine cancer a couple years back) it would've required nothing more than a one-word editorial comment: DITTO. In fact, in this very column, I've made no bones about feeling bad about my own neck. How I really, dread the day when has become bona fide waddle.

It's so stupid really, it's just a neck after all. We all have them. They all age. Some faster than others. I have a friend who is nearly 10 years younger than I and her neck has always been ringed and kind of saggy. And, while that should make me feel better about my own, it doesn't. It just makes me feel bad about hers.

Here's the thing: I, like Nora and her famous friends, don't want to be relegated to turtlenecks and strategically tied scarves for the rest of my days. First of all, I live at the beach -- one of the ancillary benefits of which is getting to avoid having to wear such things. Second, I like tank tops, dammit! And, yes, now that I think about it (and think about it some more) I was fond of my old (young) neck.

I realize, of course, that this is an altogether vapid topic of conversation and that to maintain a modicum of dignity and self-respect, I should contain these CrazyTown musings to the confines of my own head, but apparently, in addition to an increasingly flaccid neck, I have a hefty case of diarrhea of the mouth. 

Since for many reasons (i.e. fear of dying on the operating table), a "neck lift" is most assuredly not in my cards, I decided to weigh my neck-firming options and, now, having read up on countless products and sifted through even more reviews, I've zeroed in on an apparently amazing item called Revive Formitif Neck Renewal Cream, $130, which was designed to give the neck and decolletage (aack, haven't even begun to freak out about THAT yet) a smooth, taut, firm appearance while protecting them from sun damage. And, it contains all sorts of special, bio-engineered ingredients and Nobel Prize-winning technologies, so fingers are majorly crossed that it's going to work.

Now, while it's not affordable and I'm going to have to do some creative financial maneuvering to swing it, I figure that, if it works, my inner peace (shallow though it will be) will have been well worth it.