i am pretty nyc a makeup and beauty site by Kim Weinstein

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2006: Less Is More

kim | 30 December, 2005 07:33

Don't use so much makeup. Makeup is not the answer. Not, don't use makeup--just don't make it your obsession. Go outside, read a book, do some volunteer work, meditate, sew, knit, cook, climb mountains, learn a language. Don't spend all your time trying to better yourself from the outside.

I have 4 templates of looks with which I can switch the colors around and end up with endless colors. It's a no brainer just like my underwear and bra. It just all goes on and sometimes there's a different flavor. But to spend all of your time and money on disposable goods, trying to define your self or your personality--it's a mistake.

You are pretty. Beautiful, in fact. You don't need to create anything with waxes, powders and creams. By all means, use concealer, et al., but invest in your body, mind and soul in 2006. I will if you will.

Happy New Year!


kim | 28 December, 2005 18:03

Check out my piece on skincare in this week's Time Out New York. Yay!

I Heart New York

kim | 28 December, 2005 10:21

It's sad but true: I'm nothing without this town. Without it I wither. I literally have nothing to offer and become a laundry-folding, dish-washing, room cleaning housewife. I just don't know how to function without the energy here. Maybe I just need to learn how to drive?

Although I did have?a marvelous time while I was away. A real blast, truly. Two?people I go to visit, though,?love to taunt me, or think they are taunting me, by saying they could never live in New York. Their eyes get real big and sarcastic like I'm supposed to know what that means. And they shake their heads. Like, live with all those Jews? The Iranians? The hold-ups? The museums? The great shopping? The constant competition? The beautiful architechture? I don't know what they mean. I used to try to figure it out but now I don't care.

I'm so happy to be back.

Are Jew Iranian?

kim | 25 December, 2005 10:59

Where I am vacationing, there is a special light that appears over my head, like a halo but more like a subtle neon sign. It's subtext is: I am not like you. Look at my big nose, divine my provenance. It has always said - "Ask Me About Being Jewish."

You're so exotic, I am sometimes told. Careful about going out at certain times, I was once told. Are you Iranian, I was point-blank asked last night. At a party.

I long for the time I can return to my motherland and blend in as a middle class nothing amidst all the curly heads, the nose jobs, the expensive bags, jeans and shoes and go back to being non-descript. People insult out here with compliments.

Did I Mention I Am On Vacation?

kim | 24 December, 2005 10:03

I am. It's dry and in the 70's-80's here. There is much salsa and cheese and chips. Not that much chocolate. I am getting fat slowly, sometimes quickly. It's sad. The kid does not want to sleep in his pack and play and so has been using me and Mike like the bumpers of a pinball machine, although at least he's not kicking me all night long, which is nice. He's getting along famously with his grandparents and my cold is drying up.

I have not seen one person here who knows how to do her makeup properly. They are either understated and wear very little (which looks fine) or tough-girl slutty, which is nice for a laugh. I wouldn't laugh in their faces, though. Guns are legal here. I stay inside, mostly. (feel free to say like Newt is Aliens)

I Am A Townie

kim | 20 December, 2005 22:59

A real, honest-to-goodness born-here New Yorker not born on Fifth Avenue. I lived through the last transit strike. I peg my memories only to one day, since I only retain small snapshots from my life now. A fact not lost on me at my high school reunion which was cobbled together by people who met on classmates.com since the headmasters bankrupted and sunk our high school and all that was left were memories. Other people's memories. So many people came up to me that night and asked how I was and I completely did not remember them at all. Because I am brain dead and it has its roots in the transit strike of 1980 or that year, anyway--I will explain later. There were other guys who were kind of humping on me or asking me how many boyfriends I had, so those guys I mos def remember. I was a little slutty, but not with guys in school. Don't shit in the same stairwell where you smoke hash and all.

So me and my friend decided to meet after she was banned from sleeping over my house by her mother. We both don't remember why. She lived all the way uptown on the west side and I lived (and we went to school) near the village. I met up with her main squeeze and the boy I was in love with--Carl Schoote, you know who you are. He would have nothing to do with me. Well, twice he did and then never again. I don't know how I stood my heart beating out of my chest walking next to him all the way uptown with him and the other one. We picked up another guy on the way, and up we walked. Now, my friend said 59th Street and Central Park West. She found us wandering on Fifth Avenue. It was 1980, people, there were no cell phones. People had to use their instincts and their cunning.

We found a grassy patch and got high and then my friend and her main squeeze made out while Carl Schoote ignored me and the guy we picked up in the 30's tried to get his 12 year old groove on with me. In reality, he was very good looking and hot, but insecure and a little nutty, so one of the cool guys, but just a bit of a pariah. How many commas is that? I'm really sick and I have to fly tomorrow, so you're going to have to bear with me. Then he did something horrible: do you know what Rush is? It's this inhalent that came in a small brown bottle and would give you a rush. I was always to scared to try it, but I guess the guy needed a little boost because I was really turning him down and somehow he poured just a few drops on my head. It kind of spilled. He was standing over me. We were on a rock. I was 12 and high, the details are very fuzzy.

I freaked out. Was my hair going to turn purple, would there be a bald spot? Was it going to spontaneously combust? Carl and the squeeze were laughing at me, as usual. So mean. And I think my friend was comforting me. This is what the coolest 7th graders in school did. Yes, we were among the coolest. Public School.

Somehow we walked home and I felt soooo accomplished. I had walked that great distance, met my friends, hung out smoked cigarettes and other things and had a great time. When I was talking to my friend this morning about it, I realized that I had so much energy and such little direction. The only people there for me were my friends. And they were only 12, too, so what did they know?

I always imagined that when I accepted my Academy Award (TM) that I would tease Carl Schoote for not picking me, for all the long days I spent pining for him, my broken heart mending and leaping at the chance, the hope that he would catch it, but he always looked at it fall on the floor and walked away like it was a paper airplane. I'm so over him now. If he's out there, I wish him nothing but the best. I? hung around a rough crowd, but I think it was so much rougher when we all went home. I know it was for me that year, especially.

Did You Ever

kim | 19 December, 2005 21:18

Eat too much for lunch?

Go to your holiday party one day early?

Dance on the career grave of the most evil person you have ever worked with when you heard the story of her self-destruction?

Today, I did.

Today's Private Client

kim | 18 December, 2005 23:00

There's nothing I love more than bringing out someone's natural beauty. To show them that they need less, not more, and just some better colors to enhance who they truly are...this is my job at its best. I had so much fun today. I even went back to a certain shithole where I used to work and was slightly manipulated to hug hello the minion of the devil who is the floor manager there. I checked between my shoulder blades where she put her hands--no sharp implements. I am protected by love, I guess. She is evil. In any case we had fun, me and my client...until Mike called asking me where I was. The kid was wailing, bellowing, screeching like he had cracked open a voodoo egg. But instead he was saying, OPEN! OPEN! OPEN! As in, open the door, I want to go downstairs and roam the streets aimlessly for my MISSING MOMMY! Oh, God in heaven, where is she? And I quickly asked my client for payment and rushed her out of our final destination. I felt horrible all around--the curse of the working mother with the sick and clingy child--but me and the client had a good chunk of time together and I think I really outdid myself finding a really nice look for her. She is quite beautiful, and now the world will see it!


Tomorrow should be an amazing day, only partially because I will be at a party with a really bad man (a woman, obviously) who pressed people out of their network jobs like so much toothpaste and I will be stuffing bad h'ors d'oevers in my cupcake hole trying to steady myself from saying or doing anything foolish or insecure-seeming. Shall I...write a book about it one day? Perhaps just a half chapter. Hmmm?

Chapped Lip Mountain and Voodoo Eggs

kim | 17 December, 2005 20:35

As you know, as I've complained, I've been taking care of two sick guys since Monday. Okay, Tuesday. Feels like forever. On Friday the babysitter was here and I was going to make myself a decadent--and by decadent I mean alot of vegetables--omelet. I laid out two eggs on the counter. I sauteed onions, added in the mushrooms, layered in the spinach, cut up the tomato and shredded the fresh parmesan. All these vegetables required TWO eggs, not just one, which is what I would have had normally. It was an omelet, for pete's sake, not a fritter. Then I picked up the first egg and cracked it in the bowl. It was an egg, but someone had put a voodoo curse on it, obviously, because it had a bloody center. I screamed, I yelled, I moaned, I bellowed. I somehow knocked the other egg on the floor. So, a bloody egg in a bowl and a cracked egg on the floor. Voodoo. Obviously. Mike came in and the babysitter came in--she thinks I'm a crazy, overpriviledged complainer, sometimes I'm sure. Generally I think she likes me, unless I don't get much sleep and do something wacky. Like cry (not just in the literary sense, but actually cry), Voodoo egg! Voodoo egg! And run out of the kitchen and sob on my husband's shoulder. Have I mentioned that I have been up every hour since Tuesday? She cleaned the whole thing up for me, without me asking. I told Mike he was going to have to do it, but he was sick, so she did it. Like any real mom would have. I apologized to her, but I don't feel embarrased. Isn't that weird?? Kyra called me and removed the curse. Very kind of her.

So I said to Mike, I don't give a shit, I have to get the fuck out of this house or I'm going to lose my mind forever. He understood and it was a good transition time for the kid, so I went and saw Brokeback Mountain. Now, I appreciate all the movie reviewers who say this isn't a gay cowboy movie, but it's not true. It is a gay cowboy movie and one of the most political movies I have ever seen. Two people who love each other who destroy themselves because it's illegal and socially unacceptable (upon pain of death) to live in the truth of that love. So, yes, it is a pure love story, a sublime, aching one. But it is a political statement and very important in this day and age of intolerance and PC backlash. Love is love. That's the point of the movie. It should not be interferred with. Especially when you've got such hot man-on-man action with the two stars. Whoo-hee that was some good lovin'! God bless Halle Berry for winning the Oscar for Monster's Ball, but Heath Ledger was really the star of that movie if you count presence and acting talent. I've not seen much he is in but he is truly a natural. Jake is cute and does a good job, but you never forget he's him. I mean, he's good. But Heath...

The special effects are good and bad. Everyone in that movie has chapped lips (besides Jake) which is accurate, but hard as a makeup artist to watch. But I'm really into accuracy, so I'm torn. The special effects makeup suck, but that's because they are in close ups in daylight. You can't fight nature. And Anne Hathaway's wigs? Who did they hire, me to do them? I don't know if I could have done a worse job.

Nonetheless, I loved the movie. I don't get out much, but I do have good taste. So.

Please Don't Say It's So

kim | 14 December, 2005 20:49

My guys are sick. Last year the kid was sick from December to June, every two weeks. It would be fine, I would just feel bad for him, if he didn't drag me down with him. I am up every hour with him, soothing his cries, alarmed by his fever, cajoling children's Motrin down his gullet, refusing his pleas to play or sit in his high chair for a full meal at 3:00 in the morning and then take care of him all day. Every other week for six months, last year. Know what I'm saying?

I'm so overdue to have my hair colored, it's completely white in front. The hygienist screwed up my teeth (don't ask) and my feet look like I've been working in the fields. I need a spa day.

I'm back on the Oz Garcia eating plan, though, and I know I would feel like a million bucks if my throat weren't killing me...

Oooo Zamahtay!

kim | 11 December, 2005 15:02

I'm not sure what this means, the kid won't tell me. Sometimes you're not supposed to say it, he corrects me. "No oh zamahtay!" Today he also put some pulp of a grapefruit in his applesauce and made the sizzling sound, as if it were a vat of hot oil.

My article is swimming along and soon, at the end of the month, I could be actually published for the very first time. I will notify you when the happy event occurs.

Bad News For Musicians; Gloss

kim | 07 December, 2005 13:16

Overheard in the gym today: I hate albums. I had to spend, like $125 in albums that I only wanted one song on each. I hate buying albums unless it's Madonna. Then I'll skip over just one song, maybe. I like playlists. I hate albums.

Glitz gloss is nither glizty nor glossy once it's out of the packaging and on your mouth. Discuss.


kim | 04 December, 2005 20:42

This weekend I worked (with a six hour turnaround in the middle of the crack of ass). I was in midtown in the middle of the night where there was a traffic jam due to the Christmas tree. I think New Yorkers hate crowds - I do. That's part of the exclusivity thing, we just can not tolerate standing on lines. So I actually had to get out of my cab and hoof it over to my job for which I was about a half hour late (completely unlike me and totally unacceptable) but just for my call time which always leaves a cushy amount of time before air. I have never done that before and I will never do it again. But there was this woman, this mom, with a mom hairdo (long, undone bangs by her ears looking like a bi-level next to the next layer which was down by her shoulders - all hanging limp and dyed a horrid reddish-brown all-over hue), glasses, big red lips and a low cut (?) blazer with nothing under it STANDING UP IN HER WHITE STRETCH LIMO POKING OUT OF THE TOP like she was in whatever Spring Break town 20 years ago, shouting to the other limo. Looking around to see who was watching. Like she didn't have a cell phone to call her friend in the other limo? And there was major traffic so I was moving on foot faster than she was. I could not take my eyes off of her, the sight was so tacky. It's the same impulse that forces me to purchase Star Magazine every week, even though Bonnie Fuller ruined the purity that was that magazine 10 years ago.

I guess we're all classy in our own special way.

Eyebrows and Petroleum

kim | 03 December, 2005 19:06

Last night I saw I heart Huckabees for the second time. Well, I saw the whole thing the first time--last night I pathetically fell asleep. Not only do I suffer from existential angst (I'm not being glib here, I really do - it's like having no skin alot of the time.), but I also do feel the same way about petroleum that Mark Wahlberg's character did; it's horrible. I am trying to use lip balms whose base are shea butter or Lanolin (like L'Occitaines and Dr. Haushka's - yum!). Although they are more expensive, I just think it's worth it personally, politically and cosmetically. I'm also going to move over to Decleor now which does not use petroleum. I'm also going to give Korres a try. I love Dr. Haushka (especially the Quince day cream in the fall and spring) but for winter I need something a little stronger. And I need an eye cream, too, so I'm hunting for that, too. I'm getting old and even though I look young, I'm getting this bassett hound thing that sort of sucks. Oh, well. You love me for my brain anyway, right?

Secondly, I saw a woman on the street today for whom I used to temp. She seemed like a nice girl, younger than I, but she wore all brown all the time (like everything on sale from the back of the store) and then she turned out to be the biggest psycho. She explained things in the briefest and least intelligible way and then would yell at me and get red in the face when I did the thing she asked me to do wrong. Sort of like my drunken stepfather. I had post traumatic flashbacks, anyway. It was so stressful working for her. The guy after me got hired and then drained the company for disability. I'm sure she's a nice person, just a bad explainer. The worst part, though were her eyebrows: two bushy catepillars that would laugh at me everyday: "Are you going to say something today? Look at me, all of my hairs are all over the place! There's nothing you can do about it! HA!" Well, today I saw her pregnant as can be and with perfectly tamed eyebrows. She must be having twins, she's huge. I gained I think over 50 lbs with my guy, so I know how brutal it is. But the thing is that her eyebrows are a little too small now, they were so huge before that someone must have had a reaction. Not that they're thin. They are a perfect shape, which is rare and good. Especially because I know what they could look like. Great eyebrows don't happen everyday, so that's nice. Here's hoping that she will be a better explainer and a more tolerant understander for that kid that's coming out. She looked jolly, so maybe she's changed. It was about 10 years ago. I know I have.

But my eyebrows are still the same.

I'm Nothing Without My Writing

kim | 01 December, 2005 08:03

When I had the kid I was overjoyed. I could not believe that something so perfect and tiny came from me. Ultimately it's Divine Wisdom that put the kid together, but I didn't do nothing for 10 months (they lie, it's really 10 months). Despite the nursing problems and the childcare problems and the isolation problems, I was so in love with the kid that the desire to work really went by the wayside. At the same time, I missed that part. I just didn't have the energy to write or to think about building a business. I was pumping oxytocin and had had no sleep. I don't know how it is for all mothers, but I wished there were three of me: the mother, the woman who formerly had time to watch alot of reruns and get pedicures, and the writer. Writing takes alot of energy for me as does acting. They are solitary, selfish careers in which the writer (or especially) actor spends not only hours a day on her craft, but more hours obsessing about herself. Even though I could clock in at one plus a quarter of my former self on the scale, I was not able to successfully split up myself, squeeze extra hours out of the day or able to leave my child for a minute more than I did, which was not very much.

So when I get a little chunk done, as I just did, I feel like my old self again and it feels good.

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