It's my site. I'm Megsmakeup and it's after midnight and I can write. So be cool.

Marathon Monday. It was amazing. I was a naughty child and I was always grounded over April vacation. Same violations. A boy I was "caught with." My sentence was always up on Patriot's Day. Maybe in the rest of the country "Patriots Day" didn't mean much. It was always a "freedom day" for me. The first day off of a groundation, I managed to get trapped in the house for "bad behavior" for all of April. I never worked the concealer just right to hide the April Vacation hickey. And I did it in a "cah! (for those not familiar with Boston a "car.")

Slut shaming is the new thang and I wasn't "Slut Shamed" I just liked to get down in a cah because the 16 year olds I knew were not yet property owners.

Freedom from my groundation was a spring day. People were out and cheering and happy and I felt free from my parents. The real revolution.

Because I am so socially networked, I had on my twitter "A blast just went off" from a high school runner I was following. This is Boston, it's not Baghdad. The follow up tweet I expected was for her to say she farted in her pants. Because I'm from Boston, we laugh and say that shit. Pun intended.

How on earth could it be something else? This is Boston.

Limbs blown off? Blood everywhere? No, I watched glued to the news. This is BOSTON.

I despised this city growing up, It's a terrible city to grow up in. I hated it because it was a city that cared about "who your parents are" and "where did you go to school?" Fuck that. Who cares?

I fled far and fast to get away from it. I was never going to win here.

It sucked me back in.

I give money to the homeless. I rescue my dogs. I cook dinner every night and if you need a place to crash for a year, I wil take you in. I am Boston.

It is very important, your pedigree in Boston. I prefer mutts.

I can't watch "Good Will Hunting" without crying. I sob. I know what it is like to leave everything behind to try to become "better."

But do we know really?

I think back on the days of innocence, the days of fun! The days when I was so happy to sneak a "bee-ah" and just relax. You should have that day. They're great days.

Meg here! Have you ever had a "wish list?" I mean it's a "wish list" so you don't ever expect it to be fufilled. The people that have their "wish list" fufilled usually can't deal with the amazing results so they end up in rehab (no judgement, in fact, how the heck do people NOT self medicate. I mean really.)

I have had a couple of water tumbler glasses of wine and need to not only give a "Shout out" but also introduce a new member of family to our Meg Head bunch!

You all know Prudence. Well, right now she is drinking tequila straight from the bottle and planning how to piss on my head. She's not in a good mood. The Queen has been getting a bit big for her britches and while I love Pru more than anything in the entire world. She needed to be reminded that she was, MY DOG And that I was not hers (I'm bad with delegating.)

 How could I make Prudence better?

At the same time, the battle of Prudence was taking over as lead supremacy leader of the house (she had a good run.) We needed a new roommate. Nick moved in.

I didn't know Nick at all. He moved in, I had to go to New York (as I do.)

God bless him. I'm not easy to "know" nevermind live with (true, you would never have to pay for another beauty product for the rest of your life.) I come with some perks.

I'm on these email lists of "dogs at the shelter about to be killed." They call it "Eauthanized." Whatever you want to call it. It's meaning is "death." I'm remembering David Sedaris who got the call about his cat. He pictured Chinese children hiding under desks when the vet called and said "have you thought about youth in Asia?'

The pounds of LA are the worst in the country. Once a dog is turned in they have 5 DAYS TO FIND A HOME or THEY ARE KILLED. I have breast implants and weigh 115 pounds, I was a Ford Model. I can't get a date in 5 days. This seems unfair.

I see the listing that my future dog is on the chopping block. This is the conversation...

Meg: (I've probably had a taste of wine)  RESCUE MISSION! RESCUE "CHOPPER!"

Nick : Shrugs shoulders. O.K. We'll get him.

We go to sleep. Separately by the way. I call the shelter. They wont even do a "hold." It's a race against time to save Chopper.

End of story? We saved him and he's fantastic. End of story? Nick came with me, drove and he's amazing. Even though we got lost a bunch on the way to Harbor Shelter.

WHAT IS YOUR POINT MEG? It's just this, we all need saving. Everyone of us. Sometimes the very best thing we can do to help ourselves is help someone or something else.

WHO IS NICK? He's my new roommate that write's "Manly Mondays." (he's hysterical.) Most importantly, he's good and kind and will wake up early to drive 3 hours to help you save a dog. He's a wonderful person and now we have "Chopper!"

Who is Chopper? We don't know much about me. Someone probably hurt me at some point. I get scared. I'm very, very good. I like to drive Prudence nuts. Just happy to be alive!

Hi! My name is Meg and I decided that I wanted to show as much love to my readers as they show to me. I wanted to use my "power and influence" (take that stuff with a grain of salt...Or 5) 

I am a bit at the mercy of the makeup companies and I don't want you to think I'm over here cashing in my Paypal and then eating bon bons. The hard truth is, makeup blogging doesn't pay all that well (shocker.) So I have other jobs I have to do to, you know, survive.

I really love my life. I'm totally not bitching. It's a great existence. However, shit piles up (I'm so not calling or referring to you as shit-by the way.) Then it gets over-whelming and I wait for boxes of lipgloss and when they don't show up have melt downs. Which is beyond ridiculous when I could replace FEMA with "Lip Gloss" and I'm still freaking out.

Times are a' changing. You don't know, between "flash sales" and "membership samples" (hi Birchbox) It's harder for me to get great full size product to you. But I will. Because I am Meg and I will weild my "power and influence" (try not to giggle when you read that.) To my faithful readers and I will reward you. I will reward you as you are fit to be rewarded! I WILL NEVER SEND YOU A STUPID PACKET YOU HAVE TO CUT WITH SCISSORS. I would hate that. I imagine, you would as well.

I spent the last two days cleaning my cabinets and alternating between reading member profiles, writing and packing. I did both with love and here is where I get emotional and stupid (maybe from all the manual labor, maybe from packing envelopes. Maybe from 4 glasses of wine.)

Ladies, Seriously. THANK YOU, I mean it so much! Some of you have been reading me since 2009! THANK YOU! You're comments are hysterical. I appreciate them so much. Sometimes, we can feel very "alone" in this crazy world but I have never felt judged or negative from you. Thank you for that. You know how rare that is when you open yourself up on the internet? I have the most fantastic women supporter's that exist.

But this is not A ONE WAY STREET! You all know how to reach me and if I can help YOU in any way...Send a message!

AAAARGH! I'm really sorry ladies. I was going to be back Monday AM and my flight was canceled. I had no power or anything. I was trapped in NYC. I just walked in the door. I have boxes to open and packs to mail. I apologize for the weeks hold up on mailings. Just when I thought I was ahead of the game with everyone I emailed.

I'm totally stressing out over this but my roomates said they will help me sort this week!!

I know this is annoying but I swear I am doing my very best and the packs will be great!!

I liked SANDY better when she was wearing a catsuit and becoming naughty at Rydell High.

Please stick with me here.

I've been trying to get home all week.

Breaking up is hard to do. Let’s face it, only the rarest among us, handle ourselves well in the midst of a breakup. For the majority of us the days and weeks post-split become a haze of vodka-sponsored trips to the shores of Blackout Island, social media stalking and staged encounters in Trader Joes.

 That’s why we deserve a pick me up.

Meghead and longtime friend of Meg’s Makeup Jo Piazza has penned her very first novel, “Love Rehab: A Novel in 12 Steps.” It will be released at the end of January just in time for every single gal’s favorite holiday—President’s Day.

But before the novel comes out, Jo wants to hear from you. She wants us to free ourselves from the bad feelings about our breakups by admitting some of the nutty things things they have done in the heartbreak haze of a breakup (drunken serenades, elaborate cyber stalking schemes that could rival Carrie Mathison, hand-stitching his name over and over again on a giant quilt that you send to his mom......that may have just been me). 

The winner will have her story included in the final version of Love Rehab (all names changed of course). Except for mine, I begged Jo to make a "Megan O'Brien" charater (duh.)

There are some pretty great prizes too ($250 Juicy Couture Gift card, Rent the Runway Gift Card, Leonor Greyl hair products, Koret handbags, a bottle of Courvosier Gold and practically a year's supply of makeup from yours truly).

 Alcohol is a double edged sword. The truth comes out and you have to forgive the person speaking under the influence of it. They say someone speaks the truth when they're drunk. I'm not going to lie, I'm drunk a lot. However, I'm 100% Irish, people don't even know I'm drunk (until I try to walk.) There's an Irish gene that absorbs a lot of the alcohol. Maybe it is potato based?

It can make you feel so good and the other person "not so good." AND NOW I RANT. Shit, where's the potato when you need it?

I went to the wedding of my bestfriend, since I was 15 years old. My famiy is nuts. His family is not. They adopted me. They didn't legally adopt me. However, I was a lot sad with my current family situation (the one I was born into) and this family took me in. Much like I take in stray dogs.

I knew the Grandpa's and Grandma's. I knew the siblings. I LOVED THEM. To this day, they are my blood.

This was the Beaver Cleaver Family. Mom was always making sure everyone was happy. Dad knew everything about everything. 

I was popular. Joe was not. A number "Joe" was left on my floor (I called it. We talked for 3 hours.) During the entire call I said "YOU ARE AMAZING"! Joe just needed some self confidence. Lucky for him, I recognize greatness in people. He was greatness. I also had an abundance of self confidence (what you realize early on is that no one is going to champion you, if you don't champion you. You get good at it.) Joe is smart and sweet and really, really talented. He's a genius and just had a poor outlook on himself where everyone else saw a really good looking gem. Your childhood can determine your self-esteem and because he was a heavy kid, he always saw himself as "the fat kid." After years of teasing he wasn't willing to "put himself out there" (and who could blame him?) I would get him out of his town, bring him to my high school functions and all the girls would say "WHO IS THAT YOU'RE WITH?" Not one was thinking teasing thoughts. My guess is dirty ones...

My boyfriend was in college and "above" high school events. I proudly brought Joe as a stand-in to all of them.

He became my bestfriend.

Joe and I married the same year. He moved out to California. But we never saw each other much. His wife hated me. Although Joe and I never had a sexual realtionship. She wasn't OK with the fact that we had ANY relationship. Joe and I realized we were both in wrong relationships and divorced the same year as each other.

Joe contacted me through facebook and we tried to schedule a meet up. You all know my schedule is hectic. He wrote "Please come to my wedding September 29th. My parents would love to see you. I went. It was gorgeous. I'm so proud of Joe.

This isn't a post bashing Joe's Dad. He was my "dad" through a lot of my life and I love him. It's a post on how time goes on and the tables turn. The pretty, popular girl can do a lot. Unfortunately, I can't stop time.

It was towards the end of the night and Joe's dad had a few. As we all do. And I know he didn't mean this to be mean. He was just saying what was on his mind. He cares about me and I'm sure it came out wrong. He looked at me and said "Megan you need to find stability, you need to find someone that wants to be with you. You need to do it soon, because you're not young anymore and you're going to lose your looks." That's a fatherly advice thing to say. I know this and I respect him but I'm not going to lie. It sucked.

I replied "I know, I'm just working on a lot of projects right now and I'm busy. But I will..."

He just looked at me, shook his head and said "but you don't have a lot of time left."

I then called a cab. The irony of being at my friend's wedding who had all sorts of self esteem issues as a kid, yet flourished into an amazing male adult wasn't lost on me. I had so much self esteem as a kid, yet as a single 36 year old woman, where did it go? Why (I know he said it with the best intentions) was I reduced to feeling like there was a ticker on my attractiveness and self worth? 

Because men get distinguished, women get old.

Meg here and I am TIRED. Living in the "big city"can wear a woman down. I had to go to my editor's. This month cost more than I thought. I was checking my bank balance online and seemed to be in good shape for my Paris trip. My editor wanted to know when I would be at her home. I looked at the clock and said "right away."

I was in decent spirits, the weather was gorgeous and I turned on my pop radio station as my convertible top went down. I love my car. When you spend 90% of your life in traffic you realize that is money well spent. I have no children. I have no husband. I have a cherry red Mercedes 2 door convertible that I name "Fraulein." Like you don't name your car?

"Fraulein" is German for "An unmarried lady." It's a perfect name.

Fraulein and I were stuck in traffic. Top down. Sun beaming on us. I had my Chanel purse sitting on my passenger seat. "Chanel" is the French name of a ridiculously expensive purse that American morons, like myself, spend stupid money on. It's a perfect name.

I was in a bit of a "sketch" neighborhood. I was on Sunset Blvd. When I was stuck in L.A. Traffic. I was minding my own business. My radio was playing Katy Perry. I screamed. A huge man decided I was the perfect target to purse snatch. He came up to my car, he reached over to grab my purse. I hit "Chanel" to the floor for her safety after a blood-curling "NNOOO!" 

For my own safety? I hit the gas. My instinct to "flee" was correct. Unfortunately, I fled fast and far and shaken and straight into a Porsche...

Yup, my luck? I ain't hittin' no Neon. I drove straight into a Porsche Cayenne. My would-be purse robber ran. I hit my lights and pulled over. You can bet Mr. Porsche did as well.

People are inherently good and Mr. Porsche saw what had happened. He was more concerned that I was OK and he was calling 911 (which never showed up by the way, that's a different rant.) to report my attempted robbery. If you have the money, buy a Porsche. There wasn't a scratch on his car. My beloved Fraulein was smoking and the bumper was on the ground. She maybe finished. I know tomorrow if they're going to "total her out."

There went my Paris shopping money.

When something like this happens, I don't care how "strong you are." Don't get me wrong, I knew I was lucky to be alive and all, but it is stressful. You want to call someone. Just as a human being, you need to reach out. I want to talk about my friend Martin Genis.

This isn't make up related. I've had a hard past couple of days and it's "Monday's With Meg" so I am allowed to go off a little here. 

I didn't know Martin, I didn't know him one bit. I was watching a Real Housewives of Beverly Hills where I got to know Martin. Don't go all stalker "Meg! You're like John Hinkley Jr.!" 

I watched him on the show. I loved that he was easy going. He smoked ciggarettes, he had cocktails and a wonderful laugh. He didn't take himself too seriously, he is handsome and seemed kind and I enjoyed that even though he was profiled on this show, he seemed to be in on the gag.

I saw him on an episode on a Sunday, I mentioned to my botox Dr. (who turned out to be a mutual friend-Beverly Hills is a small town) that I would like to meet Martin Genis on a Tuesday. Because "the Universe" likes for you to participate in your own fate, Genis was picking me up for dinner that coming Friday. 

Was my intuition correct? Yes. Everyone's is. Listen you yours. We got on "like a house on fire." Martin makes me laugh. He makes fun of me (which I appreciate.) I make fun of him (which he tolerates.)

A year and a half later, I was standing alone, my car was crashed and I was, well...Sad. 

The first text I sent was to Martin. The reply came in 5 minutes, literally. 

Hi Ladies, I saw a lot of international comments about not getting packs so this weekend I went back and did a big mailing. I don't know what the problem was but if you don't get your international pack in the next 10 or so days please let me know!!

xoxox

Meg

 Stacy B here! One thing about being on a budget that is tough is that sometimes to keep the prices low, you have to sacrifice something that might be important to you. Sometimes it's quality, or packaging, or the type of company you buy from. Lately, Meg has been pretty vocal about companies that test on animals and how that's not something she's going to promote or support. Guess what that eliminates a lot of? Cheap drugstore brands! Bye Bye Maybelline, Dove, Almay, Chapstick, Clairol, L'Oreal and more.

Now ladies, promise me something. Promise me you'll read to the end of this paragraph before you judge me. Promise? OK. Here's my dirty secret. I don't like animals. I am not an animal person, I don't have pets, don't want them and get a little weirded out when people call their pets their kids. But...(you're still reading with an open mind, right?) I don't want animals harmed.  I don't think they deserve to be hurt or tortured or used for experimental purposes. I know they feel pain in some capacity and I don't want them to suffer. I just don't want them in my house. So of course, when Meg said this site wouldn't promote companies that test on animals, I was totally fine with that.   

I guess I'll have to try even harder to find products that are cruelty free on a budget! Hopefully that helps all you megheads too! You still like me, right?? :)

I found a great list on Peta's website, you can search here for companies that do or don't test on animals: Wow, what a list. I am pretty shocked. The don't test list seems to be a lot shorter than the do test list! And, less recognizable too. Looks like this will be a good opportunity for me to branch out and step away from the mass marketed cosmetic giants.

I don't have an actual product today because I had a whole bunch of Maybelline, Garnier and L'Oreal stuff in mind for the next few weeks. But, they are on the bad list so I'm going to get my butt to a drugstore with the good list in hand and look for some new things over the next week or so. The good news is some of the products I've been either reviewing lately or thinking about are on the good list. A few are: Wet n Wild (wow, not only a marketing makeover but a product one, too!) California Baby, Burts Bees, Giovanni, ELF, Revlon, OPI and NYX. Phew, there are some good ones on there!

Meg here! (Like you have to be a psychic to figure that out.) I read this article on Fortune or Forbes (I like to read what I aspire to. I really don't care to pick up Cosmopolitans "100 Ways to Make Him Scream") Why buy what I already know? Go to bed with a leave-in conditioner on my hair and a mud face mask. I mean really Cosmo, it's not brain surgery. If I want real shrills I don't shave my legs. There you go. It didn't even cost you $3.

I'm at a point where I don't really give a rat's ass on what "he" thinks. I know, there's so many of them how could I even keep track? I really care about what "I" think. Born alone, die alone-we better make friends with ourselves.

My favorite thing in the entire universe is to laugh. The second thing is to move (not exercise-are you insane?) Move! Move forward (or try to) Have you ever read The Book Of Birthdays? If you haven't go get it! It will endlessly entertain you forever. I was born on July 20th. I was born "On The Days Of Ups and Downs." The book then goes into why you are the way you are and I have to say, it makes a non-believer a believer. It pegged me to a "T"

Getting back to my Forbes or Fortune article, it was written for people that want to become better than they are. The overwhelming theme was "Shake Your Shit Up." Yes, whatever it is that you've always wanted to do? Well, to become a more successful, a happier and content individual-you better do it now. We're not getting any younger. I just noticed an age spot on my had as I typed this. Gross.

I didn't grow up "fancy." That's totally OK. However, a lot of my friends did. The only separation really in our class divide (I'm self-made thank you very much) was one of travel.

I've always wanted to go to Paris. I just couldn't find a friend that wanted to go with me "Oh, good Lord? YOU'VE never been to Paris? I've been like 10 times? Where did your parents take you?" Disneyworld. Once. I didn't say they beat me. Let's just say "passport photo day" was not something I grew up with.

I'm turning 36 in ten days and I did what any single woman that knows no one in Paris does, I bought a ticket for two weeks to go there. I leave August 30th, and I'm thrilled to go alone and do it. Because if success lies outside your comfort zone than I'm willing to make that leap. It's Paris, not Baghdad. I'm not looking for a medal, but it's a big deal-to me. 

It's a big deal because I bought my own ticket, I'll book my own hotel and I'll come up with my own schedule. There wasn't a boyfriend in the mix. It's all on my own terms and that's a pretty nice place to be able to live.

I took a hiatus from being a ballsy, bad ass warrior. I took a route I thought I was supposed to take. I got married and I was awful at it. Believe me, I raced out of the gates of my hometown faster than Seabiscuit. I ran at 18, not knowing anyone, to New York City. I figured if you're going to "Go Big Or Go Home." New York would be the place to go huge.

Lexie Neonakis was my roomate, she was very old. I think she was 22 when I moved in. She was travelled and smart and certainly had been to Paris. She knew about fancy clothing brands and what Santorini was (she went there) and that I should really get rid of all of my clothes that were not Navy, Grey or Black. She would make me this weird dish called "hummus" with chickpeas in our blender. She lectured me that I was too obsessed with my boyfriend (I was) and to go out and make a mark on the world "You Can DO THIS." When I had gotten a more sophisticated beau and he wanted to buy me lingerie she said "It HAS TO BE La Perla!" I repeated it just like that, I got La Perla.

Lexie wasn't pretensious. Not at all. She just had great taste. I was the little "pretensious one" only going to The Bowery Bar (this was 1994-it was HOT) or Flamingo East. But I was trying. She had a class that you can't mimic. She just knew things. Stuff came really easy for her. It was like she had a FEDEX tracking number and knew when life was going to deliver.

Lexie was psychic. No really. Stay with me here because I know some of you (like me) are rolling your eyes.

Lexie was taught to read signs and planets and was doing this at 22 years old and was freaking me the Hell out. I thought I lived with a witch. I mean, a good witch (Like Glenda) but still it was totally weird.

She would make me these charts and tell me what was going to happen and what I should expect. I would do the "crazy person nod" just to make her stop talking about planetary alignment. Again, not my background.

"You're going to meet someone older, like 20 years older in November. Looks like the 15th."

I started dating Paul, 20 years older on the 13th of November. Up until I met him I would have sworen off anyone more than 5 years older.

"You're going to sign a contract, looks like money beginning of September."

Signed my first modeling contract September 5th.