WAXING!

9:15 a.m. Body weight 126 pounds.


9:49 a.m. Body weight 121 pounds.

How did I do it?

Wax! Steaming, simmering liquid doused onto my underarm, bikini, and leg area in descending order of pain. Pain-induced sweat accounts for two lost pounds. The remaining three pounds were the locks of hair being ripped from my calves, pits, and groin. Yes, it was a lot of hair. Shaving and waxing are not high on my "to do" list . . ever. OUCH-EEE-MAMA! We women are insane. Okay, let me make it more personal. I'm crazy!

It's tough to decide what is more ridiculous. Paying a professional to lay strips of cloth on my wax-covered skin, and then R-R-I-I-I-P-P-P-I-N-G it off in a split second (hopefully) or an at- home waxing kit.

Next time, it's the kit!


FAST FORWARD: 5 MONTHS LATER, IN MY KITCHEN, HOME WAX KIT IN HAND.

Directions: "Melt wax in microwave." Okay.

"Take wooden lollipop stick and slather steaming wax on skin." I've birthed two children, so no problem.

"Firmly press a 2" x 10" cotton strip on wax-covered skin. Authoritatively, grasp strip and rip briskly from skin."

That all sounds too methodical. Instead, I'm going to apply the melted wax to all the necessary areas, adhere the strips, then rip them off in quick succession.

I get naked so I don't get wax on my clothes. I've accomplished steps 1 and 2, the slathering and adhering part. The white, cotton strips are clinging in disarray to my legs, pits, and crotch area. Now the ripping/stripping portion needs to commence, rather soon.


It's 1 p.m. Too early to unscrew that wine bottle . . . or is it? Somewhere in the world, we all know it's 5 p.m.



Instead of eating lunch, I have three glasses of wine. I'm confident that after a couple more, I will have no problem dislodging the mummified strips from my body.



"I'm starting to have fun," I say to myself, in a Boris Karloff voice.


A bath would be nice. The strips might come off and the hair along with it. I wonder how hot the water would need to be, 212 degrees? I feel like I've had too much to drink to safely take a bath. So, I might as well have another glass of wine.



It's now 5 p.m. Where has the day gone? Where has the wine gone? I haven't bathed, waxed, or dressed. This is not good.



Keys jingle in the door. My husband steps into the apartment. He takes it all in. The empty wine bottle, the waxing kit, the wine-splattered white strips stuck to my body, and somehow gets turned on.


"I get it," he smirks. "I'm the salon owner and you're my drunk client."


"Yeah, sure," I shrug. I figure it's one way to get these strips off.


Who'd of thought a home waxing kit would be so satisfying.

SHOES FOR RENT

FOR RENT: MY SHOES, WOMEN SIZE 7.5-8




I can never give away shoes. Why should I? My foot size hasn't changed in 20 years. Plus, these shoes represent part of the History of Me. But I am happy to rent them out. Relax and peruse my virtual closet.



Designer: Gapelle. If you love Twiggy, you'll love these Open-Toed Mules. Yellow and White Daisy Embossed Fabric, purchased on King's Road, London, circa 1996. The look is all 1960's though. Worn only twice while I was planting daisies on my terrace in my bikini thong. (Thong not included. It ended up where all thongs end up. Ouch!) Yellow and white nail polish mandatory!



Designer: Dollhouse. How can you go wrong with this name? I love dolls and I love these shoes! Envision pale, pink leather with tiny, pink and lime green beads. These precious Mules have a strap over the instep and a heel that looks like an upside-down dollop of whipped cream.



Designer: Seychelles. I've been to the Seychelle Islands, so obviously I had to purchase these. They are souped-up Mary Janes. While she was designing them, I think the designer had a few hits off her mary jane cigarette. They are patent leather, luminescent aquamarine with several layers of ecru stitching. For breathability, they have three peek-a-boo holes and a bow. Yeah, for real!



Designer: Kenneth Cole. Black patent leather Mary Janes with a silver buckle. "Wake me up before 'ya go, Girl!" Boring basics are a necessity at times!



Designer: Unisa. Roman-style, lace-up sandals, reminiscent of ones I had in 6th grade! Picture a flat, wooden sole with burlap to support the heel and a thick burlap strap over the toes. Strap is ensconced with fake puca shells and gemstones. Don't forget to strap these bad boy leather laces up to the knee! So appropriate if you're drinking rum punches on the Jolly Roger party boat in the Bahamas. I promise!



Designer: Stuart Weitzman. See, I do have some taste, despite the Roman sandals! True FM Sling Backs. If you don't know what FM stands for, then FU and quit reading my Blog! Four-inch heels that replicate daggers. Black fishnet body stocking not included!



Designer: Point. "I Dream of Jeannie" Slippers. The sultry teal raw silk is sprinkled with translucent red and purple beading. Slide into these, smoke a hookah, and drink coffee thicker than chocolate pudding. You'll think you're in Casablanca. Hello, Humphrey Bogart!



Designer: Pineda Colvalin. Three-inch slick black heel. Oaxaca-style animal stitching in various colors on these blood-red silk pointed Mules, purchased in Cancun. Matching purse. Who am I kidding? I'm not letting these out of my sight!



Maker: Rockport. Never worn (but 10 years old). Ox blood traditional preppy Loafers. For my Connecticut friends. You know who you are.



Designer: Dr. Scholl's. Oops! I mean Chocolat Blu. Merlot colored Boots with matching corduroy stitched interior and a petite buckle pocket on the side. Too small for a cell phone, but for the active dating girl, perhaps she could store something in here.

Obviously, these aren't all my shoes. Just the ones I can easily describe! Next time, I'll simply post photos, but where's the fun in that?

Is J. Peterman looking for copywriters for his catalog?

Bobbi Brown

Bobbi Brown is my Bitch! Yeah, Baby, she is. Well . . . I think so. Or maybe it's vice versa. The problem is I'm not really sure what the term "Bitch" means in 21st Century dialogue.


Every ten years or so, I update my make-up. Somewhere along the line, I got sucked into (I mean introduced) to The Bobbi Brown Way of Life. This means I spend a lot of money to look completely natural, but with a sophisticated flair. Yeah, okay, I like marketing!

So, I go to Bergdorf-Goodman. They actually do allow middle-income people in there! And boy, do I fit in. Me, the Saudi Princesses, and other types of Princesses, too! The make-up/make-over/cosmetic stations are in the basement. Very smart, lots of natural lighting!

My saviour for the day was Cassandra. Bobbi wasn't working the counter that day. By the end of our beauty session, Cassandra really seemed to like me. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I had to use two credit cards to pay for my over haul!



Our session fell into two categories: Maintenance and Beauty

I carried along my ten year-old containers of make-up dust to share with Bobbi and Cassandra: base, blush, and bronzer



Cassandra kindly assured me the 21st Century wasn't out of my realm if we acted quickly. She introduced me to the evening routine first as to not overwhelm me. She assured me I could accomplish these few short steps even when intoxicated. She seems to know me already.

Exfoliate face

Air dry

Lovingly pat eye balm around Entire Eye Area

Sweep Night Cream onto remaining flesh, including necks (not a typo). Sweep correctly and your face will Lift and Firm all night long. Remember in French, it is Cre'me de Nuit. How great is that!!!


Sleep for an uninterrupted 12 hours for optimum results

I smiled graciously at Cassandra, who apparently lives on another planet. "No problem," I cooed. "I always go to bed at 5 p.m. when I need to get up at 5 a.m."

Silence. We're moving onto Morning Maintenance

AM Maintenance:

Cold water on face

Air dry or blow dry on high if in a hurry. Careful of the Under Eye Area

Methodically titillate Hydrating Eye Cream onto Under Eye Area only. Please do not confuse Entire Eye Area with Under Eye Area

Dot and blend in Time Resisting Day Cream, formally known as moisturizer

Next two items go hand in hand, like butter and jam. Corrector and Creamy Concealer Kit. Remember, it's still the Maintenance Portion of my Beauty Program.

Dab Corrector ( in my case, Light Bisque) on the Under Eye Area. Let air dry several minutes.

Gently, dot on Creamy Concealer Kit (Warm Ivory for me) in the same area as Corrector and Hydrating Eye Cream. Is it really a mystery why women have wrinkles here?

My next two products fall between the cracks of Maintenance and Beauty. Perhaps it sounds better if I describe them as bridges between Maintenance and Beauty.

Bridge Items:

Bobbi Brown SPF 25 Tinted Moisturizing Balm. For those of you still in the 20th Century, this used to be called Base Make-up. Now, why did I glob on the Time Resisting Day Creme with SPF 12 if I have this Balm that is suppose to moisturize? Does that now mean I'm protected up to SPF 37 with double the amount of lotion, I mean Balm/Creme? Anyone, anyone? An answer please.






"WARNING: Keep Tinted Moisturizing Balm out of eyes." It doesn't say anything about that "Under Eye Area." I think Bobbi is trying to mess with me or just never thought anyone would read the extra-fine small print on the back of these boxes. My color is Light Tint. Are you starting to get the impression that I'm fairer-skinned than Michael Jackson? Ouch!


My second Bridge Item is a Vanilla Stick. I made this name up because I tossed the box. The color is correct though . . .Vanilla. Apply to Eyelid and Upper Eye Area so Eye Shadow will adhere all day and all night long.

Now to move into the Beauty Portion of my morning

My Eye Shades are Navajo, Mahogany, and Cement. Attractive, huh? Well, I brush and sweep and line this on over the Vanilla Stick for such a natural look that no one realizes I have $70 of Bobbi Brown Product on my eyelid alone! Rest assured, the Vanilla Stick will keep it on all day and all night.



I bought the No Smudge Mascara knowing that I'd use it twice a year.



I even showed Cassandra/Bobbi my make-up brushes. She allowed me to keep them, but begged me to wash them. Yeah, right. They've been good for ten years without seeing any Woolite. What's another ten?



Bronzing Powder: The name is misleading. The term "Bronzing" should only be used with ridiculously handsome lifeguards. My color is Golden Light 1. This is the sole reason why women wear make-up. Take the powdered brush in hand and fluff the horse hairs where ever you want. Well, as long as that's below the cheek bone, above the jaw line. Dance the brush above the eyebrows; don't touch the Under Eye area. There's already enough accouterments cemented there. A dusting of Bronzing Powder is even allowed on your necks, if you want.





Can you guess what is next?




Blush, of course. Oops! I didn't really mean that. We cutting edge women refer to it as Sheer Color Cheek Tint. Well, mine is a blendable, buildable color for comfortable wear. Wow, someone got paid for that text?





I bought several lip glosses, lip cremes, and lip sticks because they all had deliciously, sexy names. Cassandra/Bobbi assured me they would serve my lips well.

Now that I rethink this whole ordeal and have essentially bought Bobbi six Egyptian cotton bathsheets, perhaps I am her B-I-T-C-H.


I don't think that's good, right?

Regardless, people do say I'm a naturally beauty now.

DISCLAIMER: Not all of the products mentioned above are Bobbi Brown Products. A couple of them may be from Boots Pharmacy, London. Well, sort of. The Boots Products can now be purchased at your local Target Department Store. Please pronounce the name "Target" with a French accent as you read this Blog. Thank you.

A Work In Progress




I attended a one-woman show earlier this week, "Let Me Down Easy." I don't want to floor you with umpteen adjectives, so I'll be selective. Impressive. Thought-provoking. Moving.


Many compotents came together for this show to effect me. The writer and performer is Anna Deavere Smith. The show is "portraits based on verbatim excerpts from interviews conducted by her." Basically, she took on the personas of the people she had interviewed over the last dozen years. Some were famous (Governor Ann Richards), some were not (Smith's aunt). Some were dead (Joel Siegel), some have sped away from death (Lance Armstrong).


In the span of 90 minutes, Smith became 20 different and convincing characters. For 4 1/2 minutes, Smith, through her twang, tobacco, and right-wing rants, convinced me she was a rodeo bull rider from Idaho, right there on stage, in NYC. Four and 1/2 minutes later, Smith whisked me away to South Africa to where I felt I became the director of an orphanage in Johannesburg. I held the hand of a dying child, finally going to be with her mother in a less painful life.

But the reason for this blog isn't to plug the show. What impressed me, along with Smith's abilities, was the amount of time, effort, and patience that was put into this body of work. She had to extract a common theme from dozens of interviews, she had to learn accents, acquire mannerisms. Costumes were selected, staging decided upon, lines to memorize. During the eight years that she worked on this piece, I'm sure she had to make a living, as well.

It was a Work In Progress for eight years--at least. It made me reflect on how I'm a Work In Progress. We're all Works In Progress. Eight years ago, Smith's theme for her show was human mortality. Fancy words for death. After eight years, this theme morphed into grace and kindness. Don't we all start out one way and morph into something else?


You are a WIP. I'm a WIP. I've taken breaks from that work, from time to time. I supose most of us have. A slight pause is fine, don't you think? Just don't let that pause become too lengthy. Rest is good. Stagnation, not so good.

I want to be a mound of clay on a potter's wheel. Changing shape, morphing as I desire or outside forces necessitate. Pliable, but not too pliable. Don't put me on a shelf and dust me once in a while.

WIP~~==+++>>><<<<***&&&@@@!!!!~~~```::::::;;;;;;;^^^RIP


I want my life to have lots of STUFF in between WIP and RIP. Don't you?

I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker

DEAR SANDI THOM,


I love you!!! We've never officially met. . . or unofficially. You see, I fell in love with you via You Tube. To be more accurate, you seduced me by your voice and lyrics in your video, "I wish I was a punk rocker (with flowers in my hair)."



I hope you don't mind that I deconstructed some of your lyrics for my readers.

"Oh, I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair. In '77 and '69 revolution was in the air."


Sandi, I was born in the early '60's. Clearly, too young to embrace the Hippie Movement. Growing up in Western Kansas meant the Punk Rock Movement was stopped at the border. There is a part of me (perhaps a whole generation) that is still asking, "Where do I fit in? What was the Movement that I was born into? The Marcia, Marcia, Marcia Movement??" Give me a bucket and a gun if this is true!! Little overdramatic there, but it's my Blog, so I can write what I want.
There's so much more meat to the '69 movement. I want to be a Hippie with flowers in my hair doing the "Hair" thing!






"I was born too late, into a world that doesn't care."




San, the world does care. You just missed the 30 second ticker running across the bottom of MSNBC that stated," We Care."

"When music really mattered and when radio was king."

S, we have global radio now. Omniscient music of your choose all day and all night. I miss the local commentary, like the hog report or who took a header off the Brooklyn Bridge.

"When accountants didn't have control."

Sand, those boys are get'in their just rewards, don't you think? At least a few are. What do you think, Jeff and Bernie (Skilling and Madoff)?

"And the media couldn't buy your soul."

My son started salivating when he heard "Sweet Home Alabama," by Lynyrd Skynyrd, while we were in the car. "Stop at Kentucky Fried Chicken! That's the KFC song," he yelled from the back seat. I want to curse someone, but I don't know who: the media, the record companies, the artists, or some other unknown entity. The upside is I get to hear my favorite songs from time to time while the television is blasting. Sandi, I see you're offering this song as a ringtone.

"And computers were still scary and we didn't know everything."

Times, they are a chang'in. But rest assured, we'll never know everything . . . or anything!

"When pop stars still remained a myth, and ignorance could still be bliss, and when God saved the Queen she turned a whiter shade of pale."

Only a Brit would sing about the Queen!

"My mom and dad were in their teens, and anarchy was still a dream."

Is this the State we're in? I think it's too confusing to say just yet.

"And the only way to stay in touch was a letter in the mail."

Mom, you haven't written in a few months. I know. I haven't either.

"When record shops were still on top. And vinyl was all that they stocked."

Sandi, vinyl is making a comeback, according to my brother-in-law. He may not always be right, though.

"And the super info highway was still drifting out in space."

Without this super highway, think how difficult it would be for someone you never wanted to hear from again to reach out to you. Thank you Facebook. On a serious note, I heard your song because of this obnoxious, but invaluable, super highway. Thanks, Al Gore.

Sandi, you're too young and too talented to be cynical, just yet!

Nevertheless, your lyrics and voice hit a spot in my heart and feet that make me want to toss flowers in my hair, dance all around my apartment, and embrace this crazy world.

Thank you, Sandi Thom.

CHANGE

CHANGE.



I'm not referring to the 1930's Depression era, "Hey buddy, 'ya gotta dime?" Nor am I talking about "the change of life" for women in their 40's and 50's. I am referring to change in lifestyle, change in daily routines. I'm talking about mixing it up at the ripe age of 40-something.



I don't always embrace change. But I'm opening myself up to it more. Some of the changes are voluntary, others are necessary. I have a whole bevy of examples, so settle back and be impressed.



Lately, instead of my daily dose of black coffee, I've been having tea. Earl Grey with skim milk, to be specific. Yes, I'm still bowing to the Almighty Caffeine Goddess, but clearly in a different flavor.



Instead of jogging around the Central Park Reservoir, I'm now jogging in Riverside Park. Yeah! Total change of venue here. Yes, they are two bodies of water, but comparing the Reservoir with the Mighty Hudson River is apples and oranges, Baby. Apples and Oranges.



Even my choice of coffee shops have altered. For years, Lenny's Deli was my Cheers in the morning. Now, since I drop my child off at a different school, I've had to search out a new locale for my coffee/tea fix. Luckily it wasn't an insurmountable task. His school is just off Broadway, which seems to be a major throughfare of NYC. Finding a new coffee shop wasn't hard. Connecting with one was a little more challenging.


Things to look for in a coffee shop:


What do the people behind the counter look like?

Do I like how the clientele dresses?

Is the line too long?

Do the baked goods look good?

Do the baked goods look so good that I'll have to order something every time I come in (which is not good)?

How's the furniture?

And other things like that.


After walking for about 2 1/2 minutes, I did stumble onto one that was calling out to me.



These are just a few of my changes. Some may be very similar to yours (=), some be greater than (<), and some of your changes may be less than mine (>). Your changes would then be so miniscule, they may not reflect on anyone's radar! Obviously, this could be a nice segue to my next Tumbleweed which could be about Math. . . or not.


If you'd like to read more about change, this month's Oprah Magazine features "15 Tiny Changes That Will Change Your Life." I did consider reading the article, but I realize I don't want to change my life drastically. This recommendation for her magazine has been unsolicited. But Oprah, if you or your people are reading this, your contribution in any way is greatly appreciated. Thank you Oprah, in advance!