Short Cuts...

...sounds like the name of a kitschy hair salon that employs gum-smacking beauticians with heavily lacquered talons, am I right? Comforting, but it also kind of smacks of risky cheapness, in which you come in with a picture of Leighton Meester's waves and come out looking like Jessie Spano on caffeine pills. Not a good look. Sometimes it's worth the higher cost so you look more Ashley and less Mary Kate. 

But to save money, there are always good short cuts, particularly in the beauty department. Not all interns have the monetary and material disposal a la Lauren Conrad at their disposal so you have to scrimp on some things when a major TV network isn't footing the bill. 

Case in point:

-Although manicures and pedicures are fairly cheap in NYC, I opt to instead think about finding my next apartment, ergo conjure up a strong visual of squatting in Alphabet City and making a living at the Cat Scratch Club, and then bite my nails ragged. To prevent the next round of furious chewing, I use some polish for around $1 a bottle. Saved: $15. Note: Hand sanitize and wash hands frequently; it is cold season and the poles on the subway no doubt carry a long-dormant form of ebola. 

-I'm not always near Bloomingdale's or a Sephora to pop in and freshen up with a spritz of luxury perfume before heading out. So instead of slamming down upwards of $45 for a lovely bottle of Daisy Marc Jacobs, take a 20% coupon to Bed Bath & Beyond  (sign up online for emails and mailers, or tear out of magazines; the expiration dates don't matter) and buy some Febreeze. Spray on your pulse points and go. Saved: $42 plus 

-Paying a professional to wax your eyebrows is money that you don't have down the drain. A pair of tweezers does the trick.  Or better yet, that vitamin deficiency you've acquired on account of eating nothing but pink lemonade and Odwalla bars thins the eyebrows naturally so time and money saved.                                         

                                          

Happy to help as always. 

Full Disclosure

I'm prone to making grand plans like Mary-Kate and Ashley dress-up days and broad sweeping statements like "I'm going to grad school." I haven't yet organized the book club I've been nudging my friends to join for the past 3 years, and the fact that I might have to relearn the most rudimentary aspects of math is scaring me away from the GRE, so no further schooling as of now. In short, I make empty promises and threats. A lot.

I should have never said I would never read the Twilight saga. That's an automatic default into a full-blown obsession with the series. You know, the one about the vampire who falls in love with a human. LUDICROUS, I'm aware, thanks. I'm writing about my recent infatuation with all things Twilight-related on the blog even though it's in no way related to Memphis or New York, my levels of poverty, or the furthering of my career. Rather, I'm atoning for my regression into advanced preteen lust and the remorse I should feel about reading all FOUR books in 8 days. (And frankly, it's an excuse to post the gratuitous photo below; I have a thing for boys in eyewear.) Yep, I'm done. If you tried calling me in that week-plus stretch and you got my voicemail, chances are I was huddled in bed reading the young adult series that I as a 13-year-old would not have even read.

Like most who succumb to an addiction or deal with dependency issues, I set some minor rules for myself to maintain a semblance of dignity. I was not going to read the books on the subway. How many times had I seen an older women reading them in FULL VIEW of everyone?!?! Too many. My prideful stipulation didn't last long: I took the book jacket off and shoved the hardbacks into my tote so I could still read but none of my fellow-commuters could judge me for the title.

Damn you, Stephenie Meyer, former Mormon housewife who now makes millions of dollars preying on my feminine vulnerabilities. To you, I shake my fist. I have surrendered to what is essentially emotional pornography. I have no one to blame but myself. Next thing you know, I'll be tearing up over the Gerber baby and picking out china patterns.

And if you will excuse me, I have to finish the partially written, leaked fifth book that's only found on the author's website and maybe print out some pictures for my cubicle at work.