Redefining “Low” Maintenance (For Ladies Only)

In my teens and twenties I maintained a low maintenance beauty regimen.  Back then I could party all night, hop in the shower and work all day, without my face telling the tale.  My hair was wash and go, and makeup was just eyeliner, lip gloss and mascara.  Admittedly I am a long way from the girl I used to be:  times change, I’ve changed and “maintenance” is defined differently in your forties, or so I am learning.  I find myself having to ramp up my maintenance just in order to maintain.  I need a little help.

My hair has changed, it doesn’t have the body and volume that it used to.  After years of applying relaxing my hair doesn’t remember how to bounce or behave.  Now on top of those 6 week hair appointments, I have double up so that I can squeeze in a little color to mask the grays.

As if that weren’t bad enough…  I went into the salon recently, just a quick stop to get my eyebrows waxed.  I say to the technician standing two stations away, “Eyebrow wax?”  She replies with a pointed stare at my upper lip, and questions back “Just your eyebrows?”  Nice.  Suffice to say, I now get my eyebrows and my lip waxed. 

Which brings me to my latest humiliation.

Celebrating my recent forty-something birthday, I decided to treat myself to a few salon services.  After spending years contorting myself into all kinds of awkward poses to shave my legs in the shower, and many summer Saturday afternoons enduring the aroma of hair depilatories so that I could wear short-shorts, I thought it was time to try something new.  I made an appointment for a full leg and bikini wax.  The epitome of high maintenance, I think.

Mindful of the fact that it was my first time, I thought carefully about which salon to bestow the honor.  It might have been nice to go to a fancy spa in Manhattan to get it done, but I didn’t want to end up with staff who might be unfamiliar with the thick and curly hair I wanted removed.  I didn’t want Inga from Sweden at the fancy spa talking about me, or worse yet, running screaming from the room.  So I went to a local salon a few towns away from home.

Upon arriving at the salon, I was shown into a private room, and instructed to disrobe – shoes, socks, pants.  “Leave the panties,” Jean my Korean technician said.  That gave me a momentary sigh of relief.  I tell her it’s my birthday.  “Oh really?  Happy Birthday”, says Jean smiling.  It’s nice to take care of yourself, treat yourself on your birthday”.  “Yes,” I said.  She walks out and closes the door.
Once I’m undressed, she returns.  Jean surveys my legs and sensing my uneasiness, she assured me it would be ok.  Using strips measuring maybe 10 inches long and 4 inches wide, she started at my ankles she ripped her way up my calves to my thighs.  I was prepared for the pain - being accustomed to eyebrow (and now lip) waxing.  I was just thinking “this isn’t so bad.  I’ll get this done again, no problem.” 

Then came a knock at the door.   In her lilting accent Jean says “Come in” and in walks Maritza.    “Hello” she says.  I answer back “Hi”. 

Jean has been doing a good job but Maritza is obviously the main leg and bikini waxer.  She surveys my legs, calves already done, and she helps Jean complete the job.  What follows is a symphony of rip, rip, rip, like synchronized Velcro ripping over and over and over.  Now, it’s bikini time. 
Ok, I’m not modest, but hello, this is my BIKINI area.  Once again I find myself contorting into awkward poses, but this time I’m not alone in my shower. 

Now I’m holding my breath and the rip, rip, rip continues, but now each rip is followed by my own little involuntary whimper. “Almost over”, I’m saying to myself.   To make conversation, or perhaps to keep me from jumping off the table, Jean shares with Maritza that it’s my birthday AND that it’s my first wax.  Maritza says with smile, “Next time," she advises, "get a mani and pedi or a facial for your birthday.  Pamper yourself – not a wax.” She says sympathetically.  Then she says “turn over”.  Whoa.  This is a humbling experience. 

Finally the rip, rip, rip symphony is over, and as I put my jeans back on, my ultra sensitive skin feels every stitch of the fabric. 

3 weeks later, my skin is still pretty smooth and the "triangle" is still in place.  Was it worth it?  Will I do it again?  Yes, probably… but only after my next mani and pedi and a good bottle of wine.

Holiday Shopping: My Rant

When exactly did shopping become the new American pastime? Probably when retail stores flipped the script and started opening on Sunday’s – back in the 70’s. Before then, all we had to do on Sunday was rest, relax and recharge… Same for the Friday after Thanksgiving, before the day turned “black.” Those were the good old days.

When I was a kid, I remember watching TV the day after Thanksgiving and seeing commercials for Barbie’s dream house and the GI Joe action figure sandwiched between Tom & Jerry, Magilla Gorilla and Top Cat. I sat there with a pen and paper (even then I was organized, LOL), and wrote a list of all the things I saw that I wanted. But it was in my living room, in my robe and slippers, not at Toys R’Us midnight madness… This Thanksgiving Friday, I followed my usual regimen, building up a carb-induced coma in my robe and slippers, like all the years before. I opted to celebrate good old Thanksgiving, rather than the new Black Friday – Cyber Monday spendapalooza. Apparently, my family was the only family missing from the mall.

According to the National Retail Federation, a record 247 million shoppers visited stores and websites over Black Friday weekend, (up from 226 million last year) with the average holiday shopper spending $423. $423 multiplied by 247 million people… That’s $ 104,481,000,000!! So what about the fiscal cliff? The recession? The economy? Unemployment? Did those realities fade away with the cranberry sauce? Or maybe we’re in denial, and we’re just not as worried as we should be…

If you’re my age or older, you probably remember when Thanksgiving was Thanksgiving and Christmas was Christmas. Other than the appearance of Santa Claus at the end of the Macy’s parade, they were separate. Now, the poor folks who work for stores like WalMart and Target, have to cut their turkey short and get to work. That’s just crazy.

But what does that SAY about us? Not as individuals, but as a society? Are we done with giving thanks for all our blessings, and our friends, and our families? Are we not grateful for surviving the dramas we all deal with day to day, but for surviving the sicknesses, the wars, and the storms? Since when is getting a great bargain on an item that was overpriced to begin with, exchangeable for spending time with your loved ones and making memories that will last you a lifetime? Years from now, will you really treasure that thing you bought that you can’t even remember, or will you wish you’d spent more time with those loved ones who aren’t here anymore?

My daughter commented recently about how Thanksgiving is the forgotten holiday. Right after Halloween, retailers start switching pumpkins for Santa decorations, and cable starts promoting its countdown to Christmas, running Rudolph and Frosty shows non-stop until December 25th… creating fertile soil for advertisers to seed our minds with visions of doorbuster sales that will grow their pockets with our money…Essentially creating a 60-day buildup to a 1-day holiday. Aside from that fact that Christmas for many is one of the holiest days on the calendar and should have more time… We’ve also reduced Thanksgiving to a 10-minute dinner so that we can rush out and spend, spend, spend.

In his recent article on Forbes.com entitled "Why Walmart is Not Evil For Opening on Thanksgiving," Richard Saintvilus wrote, “Walmart’s plan is to open after 8PM – long after every one has eaten and certainly after second and third portions have had enough time to be digested. Still this is nothing new as the company also opened on Thanksgiving of last year – except this time it wants to open two hours earlier. Again, I ask where is the crime?”

If you know anything about me, you know that I love to shop and over the years, I’ve single-handedly kept several retailers operating in the black.  So I’m not vilifying Walmart (or my beloved Macy’s) and I’m certainly not saying that shopping is a crime.  I think its great that the economy is seeing and hopefully benefitting from the millions of shoppers spending billions of dollars and putting thousands of people to work in the process.  (NBC reported that cyber-giant Amazon hired 50,000 workers for this holiday season alone). 

I’m just saying…  Can we rethink the Thanksgiving Thursday night shopping thing and spend (pun intended) a little more time on Thanksgiving just giving thanks?

 

Reason to Celebrate

Going to college is the first step of the American dream: Get an education…Get a good job…Start a family…Buy a house. Well, I have three out of four, and when I get the degree, I'll have the them all. Truth be told, it’s a little after the fact. Why at this stage in my life have I decided to finish my degree? Well…

Top Four Reasons I'm Going Back to College:

1. To become a great writer

2. To be admitted to "the club"

3. To write a really big check

4. To throw a really fabulous party

To become a great writer.

I've always been a good writer, but I long to be a great writer – like Carrie Bradshaw.

Sex and the City was more than titillating cable programming; it was a glimpse into my dream career. Take away the nudity, the high fashion and the hustling city life, and what you're left with is a woman who writes a weekly column based on her daily experience and gets paid enough to buy Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos. She's a writer, she's well paid, well dressed and well heeled. I've come to realize that the only thing standing between me and Jimmy Choo could be my degree – or the lack thereof. I've always been a good writer, but if I take the time to concentrate on perfecting my craft and developing my style, nothing can stop me from becoming a great writer.

To be admitted to the club.
Everyone on my team is a college graduate, and to be an official member of the club, I need a college degree. Every once in a while the conversation will turn toward "where'd you go to school?" and I say "I never actually finished." There's usually an almost imperceptible raising of the eyebrow, an embarrassed, "Oh, well, you'd never know it…" and the sound of a mental note being filed. I'm tired of not being able to say, ‘yes I have my degree, here's my transcript.’

My husband is an Electrical Engineer. My brother in-law has a Bachelor of Science in Marketing, a Masters in Public Administration and a Master of Education. My brother – my baby brother – holds a PhD in English. Though I've never actually been denied admittance to the college graduate club, I won't be an official member, until I graduate.

To write a really, big check.
I was in the 11th grade when a student/recruiter from Howard University came to our class. He didn't need to say very much since I was already convinced that it was the school for me. I remember when I said to my parents, "I want to go to Howard." …and I remember when they replied "Howard costs a lot of money." Unfortunately, I dropped the idea of college, right then and there, and I went to work right after high school. Then came marriage, my daughter, my house, my son, my son…

Now years later, I'm excited again about college, but money is still tight. It's frustrating to have the drive and energy but not the money. This time I won't let that stop me, and I don't want money to stop other women like me.

After I graduate –I want to establish a scholarship fund for working mothers who want to go back to school but need a lift over the tuition hurdle. I want to be the fairy godmother who grants the wish for fees, tuition and books by wielding my magic wand and writing a really, big check.

Why am I going back to college? To Celebrate!
We are a party culture. We celebrate the milestones in our lives: birth, baptism, bar mitzvah, sweet sixteen, wedding, retirement – party, party, party. Taking the time to stop and revel in the splendor of your good fortune is what keeps the light alive in your heart. Throwing open our doors and inviting people in to share in the good fortune is what keeps the light alive in the hearts of others.

Going back to school and completing my degree would be a major milestone for me. To finally pursue writing with the skills only college can provide… To be able to hold my head up and say to the world, "I did it. I'm a college grad"… To share that good fortune with my friends, my family and the world by helping someone else get there, too? That's a milestone; that's a blessing; that's something that will keep the heart lights going – and that's a reason to celebrate.

By the way, my graduation is June 16, 2012  :-)

Keep the Faith

It’s incredible to me how people can keep their faith when things get bad. True, bad is relative, and what’s bad for one is not so bad for another. But those people who are always up, always positive and always optimistic are truly gifted and I hope they know it. Oh wait, they probably do – I just wish that they would spread it around and share it with those who need it.

Don Cornelius wished us love, peace and SOOOUUUL every Saturday morning on Soul Train. He gave the stage to some of the best musicians of all time: Aretha Franklin, the mighty Ojays, Gladys Knight & the Pips, Michael Jackson and hundreds of others. Yet, with all that music stirring his soul, he still found no recourse, no way out of his physical or spiritual depression and killed himself yesterday – at gunpoint. You’ve got to be at the depths of despair without any hope or faith at all, to put a gun to your own head and pull the trigger. May Don’s spirit rest in peace.

On his radio show this morning, Steve Harvey said that for Don to take his own life that he must have lost his faith. I agree with him when he said that the saddest of all things is to lose faith. Faith that you can make it through, faith in whomever you call God, faith that you’ve got the strength to ask for help and that help will come. Faith ultimately is what lets you lay your head down at night and dream about tomorrow. You can’t lose faith – without it you’ve got nothing.

Sometimes the lessons we teach are meant for us to learn

My three kids are wonderful. No, really… they are and I love them but sometimes they’re just dense. They’re pretty good in school, don’t get into trouble, nice kids – but they don’t listen. I find that I repeat myself about certain things – over and over and over again and they just ignore me. Some of these are small lessons, true, but some are pretty important to learn now so that they’ll know what to do when they’re all grown up and on their own. This morning I heard myself for the hundredth time. I said, “Why aren’t you getting this? Don’t you know that this little thing can save you from drama and frustration? Once you get this, we can move on!!”

That was it. That’s when I realized that the lesson was mine to learn. In my life there are patterns and repeat mistakes where I fall into the same trap, or face the same issue over and over, like déjà vu all over again. This morning I realized that those moments are the lessons I was meant to learn, and that this morning God was hitting his head against the wall with frustration because I wasn’t getting it. I got it now, like a big “duh”!

I say to my kids all the time, that when I say it the first time, it’s in my normal voice. Over time as I repeat myself, I get louder and louder, because I assume that if you didn’t respond, or do what I asked that you didn’t hear me… So I’m going to find other ways to get through to you. God follows the same logic. He starts with a whisper to your soul, and he gets louder and louder, using other ways to get through to you until one day he practically hits you in the head: Hellooo!! You’re just not getting it and we can’t move on until you do!


Oprah has said it, I’ve felt it in my spirit, and no doubt you have, too. Life teaches you lessons every day. Just get it and move on.

One Snowball at a Time

I sigh.  Alot.  As a direct result of being over analytical, I get frustrated or just plain stuck and I sigh.  While its true that between my family, my home and my job I don't often have time to think; however, given a moment of peace, a quiet lull or an hour under the dryer at the hairdresser -- my contemplative self take over and then... I sigh.

What do I think about that causes so much frustration?  Oh, a bit of everything. Providing for the family with limited means, having limited opportunities to spend quality time with my hubby, paying the bills, the overdue oil change, the missing shingles on the roof, my middle that jiggles, my job, my clients and so on, and so on.  Is it any wonder why I sigh all the time?  Its overwhelming to think of the mountain of responsibilities and the shortage of time and resources to address it all.

Its not that so much is wrong per se, but there's so much to do and none of it is simple.  Its a mountain of things to do that is my life and as such it begs the question:  What does it actually take to change your life?

A new look can be achieved by going shopping.  A new job can take care of maybe money, health insurance and provide a semblance of security.  Weeks of dieting or months or working out can change your body and your health... or a plastic surgeon can give you similar results with the added benefit of instant gratification.  Therein lies the problem.  I want it all and right now, please.

Maybe I watched too much I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched as a kid and I am applying the expectation that changing your life can come with a blink or a twitch and a really cheesy sound effect.  I should know better.

More than 10 years ago I quit smoking.  That was not easy.  Going in I knew that 16 years of smoking wouldn't go away instantly, and I would have to work at it, which I did.  I tried everything:  the gum (yuck), the patches and drinking lots of water (and then Entenmann's Rich Frosted Donuts, but that's another story).  Ultimately, it was the one cigarette, one day at a time approach that worked.  I had to fight each urge to smoke and decide not to - one at a time.

I guess that how I should approach changing my life - one bit at a time.  Concentrating on everything means concentrating on nothing - which has not been successful thus far.  I just spin my wheels and go nowhere.  Concentrate instead on one item and work at it a little everyday -- making the consistent effort to focus on one thing until its resolved before tackling the next.  Kind of like the debt snowball...

If you've never heard of it, the debt snowball method of paying off your debts requires that you pay down one credit card and when its paid off, you apply those funds to the next credit card and so on until the snowball wipes out all your debt.  The key is to start with the smallest bill first, the one that will encourage you to go on.

I suppose changing your life can follow the same principle:  start with the area that will yield the greatest result and let it encourage you to go on.  Then watch it snowball, one day at a time.

My Friend Linda Died

I found out yesterday that my friend Linda died.   We worked together a long time ago, before I had kids, and before I got married.  She's been my friend for over 20 years.

I call her my friend and I always will, but in my heart I know that I took my friend for granted.  I hadn't seen her in years but through voicemail, email and facebook, we connected often enough to stay connected I thought.

She called me at work one hectic day this past winter.  She was in the hospital she said, but she made it sound like no big deal.  From winter to spring, bogged down in my own life I thought of her often.  "I've got to call Linda", I would say but I never got around to it.

Finally, yesterday I took a minute to look her up on Facebook.  There I saw the posts from her other friends uniting to say how much they missed her now that she was in heaven.  There was a video posted, songs, and prayers but there is no more Linda.

I carried on at work yesterday stoically, quietly looking forward to a moment to be alone with my thoughts, my mourning and my regret.  Finally as I laid my head down to rest on my pillow last night the tears flooded my heart and all I could say was "I'm sorry, Linda."

When the tears subsided I thought then of all my other friends whom I haven't seen in years.  Obligations, state lines, oceans and time keep us apart, we all know that.  But is the love I have for them in my heart enough to continue to claim them as my friends?  Do they feel neglected?  Do they still count me on their "friend" list?

Linda and I would leave crazy voicemails on each other's phones.  She would say "CHELLE!!!!" and I would say "Lindaaaaaaaah!!".  She would ask about my husband and kids and I owuld ask about her cat and her travels.  (Her cat was HUGE and she traveled quite extensively, Europe and the Caribbean - pretty cool.)  Then a few months later I would get another "CHELLE!!!!" and we'd connect again.

One could say that it was enough.  One could say that we each knew where the other was and that no matter how much time had passed, that we could always pick up where we left off in the same old groove like peas and carrots, as Forrest Gump might say.  However true that might be, I know that friendship should be more.

I heard someone say that friends are like the family members you get to choose.  People you invite into your life and welcome them to stay.  You're there for each other and eventually they are a part of your whole life, not just a piece of it.  Linda and I connected on every major event, but still my friend Linda died and I found out on Facebook.

I have a list of friends and family members for that matter - that I haven't seen in years (you know who you are - wink-wink).  Know this:  I love you and you'll be hearing from me.