Beauty and Pain

I am walking a little gingerly today, the victim of a waxing accident. Well, it wasn't an accident - it was more like waxing gone wrong. It's something that I've done a hundred million times, cleaning up my bikini line with rub-together wax strips.

But last night, I don't know what went awry. There was blood. A lot of blood. At first I thought, Wow - I really got some of those hairs out. Because sometimes that happens, yknow. You get little pinpricks of blood where the root has been completely torn out. It's actually a good sign that the waxing worked and will last a long time.

But then it became clear that I had actually torn a small piece of skin off the crease of my leg - something that's never happened before.

And as I lay trying to get to sleep last night, with a Bandaid in a very awkward and painful place, I hoped that the wound would heal by the time we went to the beach on Saturday, which led to my musing on the things that I do to look good, or at least in the hopes of looking good. I

• wax my bikini line
• shave my legs
• shave my underarms
• color my hair
• pluck my eyebrows (or, at least, I used to; a year or so I realized I'd been overzealous and I've mostly been letting them grow in)
• pumice any callouses and rough skin on my feet
• paint my toenails
• wear makeup (foundation, concealer, eyebrow pencil, eyeshadow, mascara, blush and lip gloss or lipstick)
• dry/style my hair with a round brush and blow dryer
• use hair styling products (like volumizer, shine serum or hairspray)
• use 'natural glow' moisturizer (though somewhat sporadically)
• buy about 5 new items of clothes per season
• wear jewelry (mostly earrings and bracelets)

And, really, that's not a crazy list. I mean, I don't get Botox or collagen injections. I've never had plastic surgery or microdermabrasion. I don't buy myself a new wardrobe every season.

Of course, I know women who do way less than me. Some of them have a lot of confidence and look great without a lot of fuss.

But there are women who don't seem to care what they look like. Maybe they think being comfortable is paramount (that seems to be the consistent defense of every person who's ever been on What Not to Wear), but - to be perfectly honest - I think they look like they're phoning it in.

Basil and I went to a party this spring, and this hostess looked like she had just rolled out of bed and put glasses on. Greasy hair back in a ponytail, rumpled clothes - I would have been worried that we had arrived early if there hadn't been a couple dozen people there.

I just don't get it. Sure, it takes some time (and occasionally a little discomfort or bleeding) to look like I'm putting my best foot forward, but that's the point. I think it's a way to show that I consider myself, Basil, my friends, my coworkers, my family, etc., worth the time and effort. While some people say real beauty is on the inside, I know 'that's just something ugly people say.'

There's something very basically biological about preening. You need only read the captivating last chapter of Barbara Kingsolver's new book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life, to see it in action. In the early spring, when Kingsolver is desperately trying to figure out how to get her Bourbon Red turkeys to mate naturally, as most turkeys in this country are bred through artificial insemination, she is puzzled as to why one of her females suddenly begins drooping its feathers and swaggering around the pen. Only later does Kingsolver realize that the female is trying to entice a male into helping her propagate her genes.

I'm not enough of a simpleton to believer that all modern-day preening is about hard-wired desires to perpetuate our own biology; I know that a lot of it is living up to a societal expectation, heightened by the unattainable images shown in mass media outlets. But there is a level of satisfaction in receiving a compliment - especially for something that has taken effort. There's nothing shallow about appreciation or flattery for a job well done, a meal deliciously made, a gift thoughtfully put together or a room artfully decorated.

So when a coworker tells me she loves my outfit, Basil tells me that I look hot, I get flirted with, someone at church tells me I look really nice today or I catch myself in a mirror and think 'Dayyyyyymn!', I am proud. I feel like the effort I've made has paid off.

When I was on maternity leave with Petunia, I had three goals everyday: to take a shower, get dressed in non-pajama clothes and put on makeup. I said that once to a friend, and she looked horrified. I explained, somewhat exasperatedly, that it wasn't about makeup - it was about what made me feel put together, on my A-game, ready to face the world.

So I will keep on waxing my bikini line, despite what happened last night. And I will take a few minutes to put on makeup every day. Hell, even at the beach, I'm sure I'll use a little concealer and eyebrow pencil everyday. And I will color my hair and buy new clothes and shave my legs. I'm sure I will have days where things slide a little, but I just can't let myself become rumpled, bed-head mess.

No, Really - Please Stop Believing

I don't know about you, but I've heard that Journey song at least four times in the past week. Oh, you know what I'm talking about. The Sopranos finale song. The one that was playing when Tony and his family were waiting to have dinner while his daughter did a crappy job parallel-parking her car. The one that cut off suddenly when the screen faded to black and everyone started hitting their TV sets and looking for the customer service number for their cable or satellite provider.


Apparently, David Chase made the song en vogue again. I've heard it on commercial radio three times (on different stations) and once on the Hits 1 channel (yes, I like pop music - get over it) on Sirius, which exists to play new, fresh, 'it' music. When Sirius played it, the display indicated the artist and song as 'Journey/Don't Stop Believing/Hey Tony....Bada Bing!' Last night on iTunes, 'Don't Stop Believing' was the number 25 download on the Top 100 list.


Basil and I have never really watched the Sopranos. Just like Lost, we missed the boat when it left and it felt too weird to try and get in on it halfway through its trip. I'm sure we'll buy or borrow the DVDs someday.


But we did feel compelled to tune in to the last few minutes of the series last Sunday. Mostly for cultural literacy, just so we could see how it ended. We had no idea that we'd be watching something so controversial that would be analyzed and written about by mainstream and fringe media for days and weeks to come. Or that we'd be watching a wave of rebirth in Journey's career and the basis for the introduction of Hillary's official campaign song.


'Faithfully' was the theme of my junior/senior prom the year that I was junior class president and in charge of the prom. I didn't choose it; all the juniors voted, and 'Faithfully' won. I still remember those gold tickets with purple script letters on them. Also, the song 'Oh Sherrie' instantly transports me back to lying in the sun of the deck of the Beechwood Swim Club, trying to get a tan and not look fat all at the same time.

But really, I don't think that Journey is anything worth resurrecting (or breathing new life into since, technically, they're still around), anymore than much of the 80s crap that is in fashion these days. Legwarmers, fingerless gloves, high-waisted pants, etc. I get a kick out of VH1's I Love the 80s, and I do think back fondly on my roller skates and my Saturday mornings camped in front of four hours of the Smurfs. But for the most part, I don't have any desire to relive that decade.

It is pretty amusing to think of teenagers and young twentysomethings enthusiastically downloading 'Don't Stop Believing' from iTunes, enjoying its 'retro' quality.

As for me, I'll keep rolling my eyes.

vay-KAY-shun

One of my Epiphany resolutions this year was to get my stepmother (okay, technically, she's just my dad's ex-wife at this point, but she'll always be my stepmother as far as I'm concerned) and siblings together for a vacation.


Mission accomplished.


Last night, we got back from Lake Norman, North Carolina, after a week of alternately relaxing and cavorting around the greater Charlotte area. We went swimming a lot. We made a lot of margaritas. My stepmom and I scored some finds at the upscale consignment shop in town, and she bought all three of her granddaughters adorable dresses from one of the cutest children's boutiques I've seen anywhere. One day, the whole gaggle of us - thirteen people in all - went to Carowinds theme park, where we rode rollercoasters and water slides for nearly eight hours. We taught my stepbrother, his wife and their fifteen year old how to play bullshit. Basil and I took turns playing Guess Who, Battleship and Scrabble with their eight year old. I played a deviant version of Guess Who with the elder of my younger brothers, in which we asked each other questions like, 'Does your person look like he or she just let a very loud, very surprising fart?' or 'Does your person look like an Irish truck driver?' or 'Is your person dressed in drag?' We had fresh waffles for breakfast one morning and omelettes to order another. We introduced Lilah to her dog cousin Samson the Rottweiler.







It was an exhausting, exciting week. We had so much fun.

We are already talking about where we will go next year and what we will do. Everyone had fun on the trip, even the surly teenager. Despite the fact that we all live very different lives, we all got along and found common ground in ways to relax and have fun. Everybody pitched in around the house, and no one got stuck doing all the cooking or cleaning. We hung together for certain activities and split up for others. No one had to do something they didn't want to do, and we didn't get sick of each other like we were at summer camp.


Basil, Petunia and I are pretty wiped out from several late nights and plenty of time in the car. But we are fat (literally, after grazing on Little Debbie snacks, potato chips, chocolate miniatures and alcohol all week) and happy. And my stepmother is pleased as punch.


Hopefully this will become an annual trip.


And now, FS and Yum, we are ready for the beach!