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We hope this holiday letter finds you merry, gay, and all the other pleasant emotions the season demands of you.Whew! What a whirlwind year it’s been for us.
The baby is quite active these days. He likes to bang his head on things and spin around until he falls down. We assume this is because he’s so smart, and he’s trying to slow his poor little brilliant mind down to a more comfortable level.
Starshine gets to the bottom of what makes all those mall Santas tick. She finds that there are three types of Santa, and delivers the goods on each.
We all know diamonds are the world’s hardest natural substance, but the jewelry industry doesn’t seem to believe it. Judging by the sappy ads popping up on Monday night football, in men’s magazines, and on billboards along Highway 101, diamond peddlers seem convinced there’s nothing more dense and impenetrable than a man’s skull.
There are not a lot of things we, as a society, can learn from Rob Lowe. The Montecito resident can’t teach us how to act or build our dream home without infuriating our neighbors, but he sure has one valuable lesson: If you’re famous, for god’s sake don’t tape yourself having sex.
It started out as an innocent evening, with plans to meet a girlfriend for a local book-signing. But when it was over, there were feathers on my chest, lube in my hair, and a new place in my heart for stripper poles.
Starshine takes on the ups and downs of the American Girl phenomenon just in time for the start of the holiday shopping season.
I’m going to tell you a secret, but you have to promise it won’t leave this page. Because it’s kind of gross, and sure to damage my standing among the more hygienic members of society: I don’t floss. I just don’t. And I’m tired of apologizing for it.
Starshine takes on a recent study that tracks how females fit their fashion to meet where they are in the menstrual cycle. The UCLA study suggests that women opt for more attractive outfits near ovulation, when they are most fertile.
Until this summer, I had never protested anything in my life. My mother burned her bra in New York City in 1967 in support of women’s rights, then marched around Manhattan braless afterward, an experience she describes, ironically, as “uplifting.”
