It’s no secret…

This week, Girl Talk Thursday asks us to spill the beans on beauty secrets.  Apparently, I’m pretty above-board and traditional in my beauty regimens, because I can’t think of anything that’s really a “secret” per say.  However, as always, I’ll be happy to share what comes to mind. 

 

 

I remember sitting in an airport terminal one day, years ago, waiting for my brother’s flight to land and deplane.  Sometimes, as you drift further away mentally from the real world in which you’re surrounded, your face starts to sag and look a bit mopey.  This sweet, unnamed man walked by, with his carry on bag in hand, and beckoned me back from La La Land with the words,”You look much prettier when you smile.”

Wise words.  I have remembered that moment on several occasions since then.  I’m pleased to say that, as a general rule, I walk through the world with a smile on most days, most occasions.  In fact, it’s a quality I’m actually proud of in myself.  (Stop the presses – I’ve just publicly admitted something I like about myself!)  That man was right – any and every face looks better with a smile.

I had this very conversation last spring with a coworker who – believe it or not – actually argued against me.  She can’t stand her smile.  She doesn’t like what her teeth look like and she doesn’t like what happens in the lines on her face.  I say: bull honky.  A smile makes eyes sparkle. It says, “I have good to bring into your life.  Come, speak to me,” to those around you.  That is beautiful.

 

I also have been trained (That word sounds much nicer than “brainwashed”, doesn’t it?) by My Mama in the importance of proper undergarments.  Foundational pieces are essential in many ways.  (1) Like Colleen, I cannot stand panty lines.  They flatter NO behind.  (2) Droopy boobs are not hot.  Not even close.  I don’t care how big they are.  There are no excuses.  (3) A slip IS important.  Now, I will be the first to admit that there are SOME skirts with which you just cannot wear a slip…knit skirts with roll tops, for instance.  But, in most cases, slips make a huge difference in creating a smooth, soft silhouette.  It makes a difference.  (4)I feel prettier when I look pretty UNDER my clothes, too.  I look for a panty that flatters my own body. I want color, lace, pretty patterns.  Hell, I want my bra and panties to coordinate!  (Let’s get real, I want them to match my outfit, too, when the Laundry Fairies are cooperative.)  All of this matters to me.  I don’t want to feel like I’m hiding something ugly beneath the surface…beauty is subliminal.

 

Speaking of subliminal, good shoes are SO important.  Not only because your feet need to look pretty…but it is important to wear shoes that are comfortable for you when you’re walking.  By this, I mean if you cannot walk in those stilettos without relaxing your butt cheeks and thighs – do not wear them.  A hobble is not an attractive gait, nor is a wobble.  Watch beautiful women walk.  They walk with a long, but not too long, relaxed stride.  They stretch their legs and open their body, without looking like they’re jumping over puddles.  If your toes are crunched and you’ve got blisters on your heels or you’re about to fall off the pedestal on which you’ve perched yourself for the day – it will show in your every move.  That is not beautiful.

 

Related to walking, posture is SO important.  One of my best friends used to carry herself tucked up like a little rolly-poley.  Eyes downcast, shoulders slumped.  Beauty (by my definition) is an invitation to the world to want you, to love you.  Carry yourself with pride.  Carry your body like you love it, even if you don’t.  Stand tall and straight.  Not only will your clothes look better, your boobs look better, you will look thinner, but (beauty is subliminal) you will shine to those who see you.  If this is is a change for you, pay attention when people compliment you.  Don’t be surprised if people smile bigger when they see you coming and, perhaps even, call you “Beautiful” or “Gorgeous”. 

 

As far as wardrobe issues are concerned, choose clothes that make you feel like a million dollars.  If you feel uncomfortable, if your waist is cinched too tight, if you keep tugging at the top of the dress, if you don’t LIKE the way you look – you will not be beautiful.  Trust me.  This is why (personal issue coming out now) I take FOREVER to get dressed in the morning.  I insist on feeling “just right” everyday.  If I leave the house in an outfit that makes me feel frumpy or itchy or fat or anything less than “I love myself today and I can’t wait to wear this outfit again soon” – I will be miserable all day long.  I will think of nothing more than going home, putting on my pajamas, climbing back into bed, and hiding beneath my covers until I get a chance to try again the next day.  Beauty is subliminal. 

 

My last “secret” to beauty is to be a risk-taker.  You only live once (that we know of for sure), and that life is all too short.  Dare to think outside of your own box.  Dare to try something new.  If you’ve worn the same makeup since you were twelve, it’s time to break that mold.  If you’ve worn the same style of jeans since you left high school, it’s time to hit the dressing rooms.  If you’ve worn your hair the same way for as long as you can remember, call your stylist.  Now.  If you need one, call me and I’ll help you find one.  If you can’t decide which necklace to wear because you love them both – ask yourself how it would look to wear them both.  You never know till you try.  Think you can’t wear green or yellow or red?  Try a different shade…(Need help with color? Call me…I can help you.  Or read this book.  My Mama always had it in our house when I was growing up, and then it was a textbook for one of my fashion classes!)  Wear the flower in your hair.  Choose the red coat, not the black one.  Try it with a hat.  Wear boots with dresses.  Hell, wear pirate boots!  You will be glad you did.  And, beauty is subliminal.

 

I suppose I could have written a post today listing all the products I use, my daily facial cleansing routine, how I style my hair, and revealing the secrets that unfold behind the doors of the salon.  But, when I really thought about what made me feel pretty, that is not what really mattered. 

A few months ago, FireDaddy and I were looking at old pictures.  (By old, in this case, I’m referring to the beginning of our digital era.)  He told me he’s always thought I was pretty, but he thinks I’m much prettier now than I was back then.  What do I think has changed?  Between those days and these, I’ve worn my hair many ways, my clothing styles have changed, my weight has gone up and down and up and down…but the biggest difference I can see is that I like myself better now.  I really do.  As I age, I am learning to be the person I want to be and love the person I am.

I am convinced, friends, that this is life’s real beauty secret.

I lied.

I guess I lied. 

I am making one New Year’s resolution.  In 2010, I want to wear more lipstick.

You see, here’s the deal…

I like feeling girlie.

 

I like wearing boots with my dresses.  I like wearing necklaces, especially long ones.  I like my hair long and my mascara blackest black. 

I have this dress that comes off the shoulder just a little bit and I love, love, love it. 

I love hats, even if my brother says I look like Blossom. 

I like dangly earrings, especially when my hair is pulled up so you can really see them. 

I love a great pair of heels, especially strappy or open-toed ones.  (Even though I can hardly last a whole day in them anymore.)

I love pearls.  And recently, I’ve decided, the more the merrier.  You only live once.

I love pretty red toenails and pink purses.

 

And, you know what?  As much as men can annoy me, I really like men.  More specifically, I like being a woman in the company of men.  Especially well-behaved men – the ones who still have a shred of gentility. 

I remember one day being in a meeting with my assistant principal (a man) and a deputy superintendent (a man).  It was just the three of us.  (Yeah, um, I was NOT the one in trouble, and we’ll leave it at that…because that’s another post entirely.)  Both of them were probably old enough to be my father…at the very least, an uncle.  The DeputySup was so kind and respectful.  I remember him apologizing to me for mentioning something “in mixed company” – regardless of the fact he handled it extremely professionally and it was completely necessary to the business at hand. 

Both of my brothers tower over me.  And I love it.  I stand about 5’6’’, so I’d hardly consider myself “petite”…but in the company of men, I feel like I am.  I love that.

I love that there are still some men who hold doors open, insist you go before them, smile, call you by name, and ask you how your day is when you pick up your to go meal, and nickname you “Bautiful”, “Gorgeous”, or “Princess” – when they are truly, 100%, just being sweet – no ulterior motives at all.  That is priceless.

And, you know what? I just eat that up. 

 

Let them hold the door.  Let them innocently flirt while I wait for my fries.  Let them call me Gorgeous when they say hello each day.  I just eat it right up.

I smile and make pleasantries and walk a little closer to 5’6 1/2’’. 

Because I like feeling pretty.  I like feeling girlie.

And tomorrow, I’m going to wear my pearls with my boots, paint on some smoky eyes and try a new shade of lipstick.

Maybe next year I’ll try out false eyelashes.

 

**To clarify – my assistant principal was not in trouble either. I don’t want to wrongly imply anything.

***Neither was the Deputy Superintendent.

It's Fake'n Bake...and It Helped!

Disclaimer: If you are inclined to lectures, don't read any further.  There are some people who may be prone to be scornful of my behavior (namely: my dermatologist, my mother, Tiffany, and probably more).  With all due respect, save your breath.  I'm puttin' on my Big Girl Panties and puttin' my foot down.  To quote No Doubt, "It's my life".

Spring has arrived, and not a moment too soon.  I am so thankful for the warm sun, the cool breeze, the brilliant blue sky, and the promise of breaks.  Spring break.  Summer vacation.  Real vacation.  Beach time.  Pool time.  Backyard kiddie pools.  Sprinkler play.  

Then, it occurs to me...swimsuit season.  Dear. God. Save. Me.

To Do:

1. Get rockin' bod before spring break.

2. Get tan.  Correction - get "non-reflective".

As you know, I'm working hard at gettin' my groove back.  This leaves getting tan.  

Aaaaaah...'tis the season to fake bake.  

Many years, I treat myself to a few spring sessions in the oven to jumpstart my summery style.  In addition to the cosmetic factor, I revel in an equally enjoyable mental benefit.  Lying atop a plexiglass table beneath the heat of synthetic sunshine, listening to the dull hum of the blue bulbs and roaring fans, I turn off the world around me.  My worries roll back in my head and hide beneath my eyelids (beneath their space goggles).  For a solid fifteen minutes, there are no interruptions.  No distractions.  No fussing.  No working.  No cleaning.  No eating.  (Except when I snag a Jolly Rancher from the bowl at the check-in desk.)  Not even sleep.  It is a meditation, of sorts.  Just breathing and baking.

So, the bottom line is:  I don't do it for the tan entirely.  It's for my sanity...however relative that might be.

Gettin' Groovin'

Recently, I wrote about the bad habits I've discovered in myself once again.  Perhaps it was the reflection, perhaps it was the number staring back at me on the scale, perhaps it was the not so cute "muffin top" sprouting around my waist, or, perhaps it was the humiliation accountability of publishing such habits in a medium as public as the World Wide Web.  Whatever the reason, I've been making a DAILY which is really good for me because I "don't do daily" effort towards getting my groove back.  

What does that mean?

Well, put it this way...did you know you have muscles on the back side of your ribs???  Wow.  Neither did I, until the past few weeks, at which time I've become PAINFULLY aware of their existence.  Thanks to Tracy, my Wii Fit trainer gal.  

Would you believe that home-cooked meals REALLY DO taste better than fast food or restaurant meals?  And did you know that a classic, homemade fast food (peanut butter and jelly sandwiches) costs less and has LESS CALORIES AND FAT (especially when made with reduced fat peanut butter and on light bread) than more modern fast food "healthy" meals (a.k.a. grilled chicken from Chick-Fil-A or Mickey D's)?  Another startling re-discovery around the neuroclassy household recently.

Or, how about this one, did you know that Weight Watchers Online now has a MOBILE site...suitable for Blackberrys!!!  And there's more, there is even a gadget for my iGoogle!!! Woo-hoo!   My prayers have been answered!

Accompanying these recent positive discoveries, unfortunately, some reveals have NOT been quite so happy.  

For instance, when you get to the gym before 4:30 AM, you're tired by the time you get yourself dressed, your kids dressed, everyone shuttled to their respective locations and, finally, settle into your desk for your morning prep time at work at 8:30. 

When the time changes, you can no longer rely on the sun to tell you when to feed your children dinner, give them their baths, or put them to bed because you're completely obsessed with completing your workout routine on the Wii Fit.  (Must...unlock...one...more...yoga pose....and then trying it a few times before I done...and then I'm really quitting....I mean it this time.)

Drinking a gallon or more liquid per day in addition to my triple venti skinny vanilla latte and Diet, Caffeine Free, mind you, Coke is resulting in a ridiculous number of quick potty breaks.  I can hardly keep this up - and by this, I'm referring to my pants!

Oh, and, thanks to Tracy, my very professional and devoted Wii Fit gal, getting up and down when I make those quick potty trips is much harder than it used to be.  

But, as we've established before, I guess I'm just shallow enough to make it all worth it.  

And with that, I'd better get back to groovin'.

Author's Note:  Oh, the photo?  Yeah...um...that was TOTALLY ME...back when I was a blonde.    Hardee har har....

Any Takers?

I'm interested in conducting a little experiment.

Recently, I've been juggling a lot. Well, not anymore recently than for the past 6 years or so of my life... I'm fairly decent at juggling. It's survival of the fittest, right? One of the things I've been thinking about in particular, though, is juggling goals within myself.

Sure, there's the goals of being a great mom, being a great wife, being a great teacher, being a great writer, perhaps, one day...but that's not the goals I'm referring to right now. I'm thinking about the Really Important Stuff. I'm talking about being a Beautiful Babe, a Healthy Her, and Queen of the World.



What? What on Earth am I talking about? Why would you ask that? Isn't it completely obvious? Here's your tutorial.

Beautiful Babe

We've all had bad hair days, right? And, the reality is, a bad hair day isn't always your hair. Sometimes it's really more of a bad skin day, a bad outfit day, a bad make-up day, or a just-plain, "I'm hideous!" day. If you have never had an "I'm hideous!" day -- I hate you. And you're lying.

The other side of the coin is the days when you look at yourself in the mirror and think, "Wow. I did pretty good today!" The days when you think, "Why can't I look like this everyday?" The days when you say to your husband (or wife), "How can you stand to live with someone as GORGEOUS as me???" (heh heh) THOSE are "Beautiful Babe Days".

Healthy Her (or Him, for my male readers)

We all know what is good for us and what is bad for us, right? So, I'll spare you the lecture on the dangers of drinking excessively, smoking, sitting on your duff all day long without exercising, eating junk food, drinking too much caffeine, etc.

We all also know what our own personal weaknesses and struggles are in this category. No one is perfect - quit lying to yourself. My own personal weaknesses vary from drinking too much caffeine, eating too many sweets and fast food (I'm a Mommy-On-The-Go. Don't judge me.), falling in and out of good exercise routines, dieting off and on (Though, to my credit, I support Weight Watchers, which is a very well balanced option.), and occasionally diving into a bottle of wine at home in the evening.

Now that we've silently admitted our own struggles, we can also celebrate our efforts to improve ourselves and shed the monkey(s) from our backs. I wake up, more days than not, thinking about my goals and how I need to take better of myself. Some days, I go to bed proud of myself for all my good choices, will power, and dedication throughout my day. THOSE days are Healthy Her Days.


Queen of the World (Alright, alright...You fellows can be Kings. Man, you guys are high maintenance.)

I hope this title has envoked in you memories of Leonardo DiCaprio on the bow of the Titanic, screaming at the top of his lungs as the wind blows in his hair and a glorious sun sets on the horizon. Good. Now that we're all done reminiscing...moving on.

Other than being, quite possibly, the cheesiest scene in cinematic history, Leonardo did capture a certain feeling in that scene. The feeling that the world is going your way and everyone loves you. (I've alluded to this feeling before.) The feeling that adds that extra spring to your step and puts music in your mind. You find yourself smiling for no reason. You are successful. You are smart. You have lots of friends. People want to be with you and care what you think. You are GOING SOMEWHERE, babe! The sky is the limit!!

THOSE days are Queen of the World Days.

My Purpose
Now that you've learned the jargon, let's talk statistics.

If you'll recall, I began this post speaking of juggling. Think, for a moment, about the nature of juggling. While one ball is up, another is down, and some are in the route up or down. This is not unlike life (at least for me). I'm wondering, though, if there is a correlation between the elements described above. Is there a pattern? And, if there is, can I identify it? And, if I can, can I subsequently find a way to capture these elements SIMULTANEOUSLY??? Because that is, in my reality, a rare occurence.

Procedures
So, my experiment goes a little like this...

Participants will track their days on a scale of 1-3 (No need to get complicated. A simple "high, medium, low" rating is sufficient.) in each of the three categories: Beautiful Babe, Healthy Her, and Queen of the World. As much as it pains me to say this, it will need to be done daily to be worth a flip. Ugh. Just the sight of the word daily makes me cringe. I SOOOO don't do "daily" stuff well. A system as simple as markings on a calendar for a month or so to collect the data, then we can pool the data, chart it, graph it, calculate important figures like mean, median and mode, analyze it for patterns...and all kinds of Very Smart Stuff. Maybe we can find the secret to life!

Conclusion...

Hmmmm. Sounds like a lot of work. Scratch that. Would anyone else be interested in conducting an experiment and emailing me the results? I've got a blog to update...

"You look kinda moley."

I can't believe I haven't shared this with you yet.



Recently, I bit the bullet.



As a teenager, I was blessed in that I never really suffered from serious acne. As an adult, I've had "bouts" of acne, much like any other person. You know - hot date, the week of your wedding, someone else's wedding, the night of that holiday party, etc. Anytime when you really wanted to look good for some reason.


Then, there were the hormone-induced acne breakouts. One example that really stands out in my memory is when I was first pregnant with the Littlest Princess. I recall complaining to family, friends, coworkers, the girl at Subway (anyone who would listen) about how my face did not look or feel like my own. By the time I discovered my new "physical condition", I had already drug my sorry bootie into Dillard's to seek help from the great, wise Clinique Lady. (Needless to say, my renewed faithfulness in skin care excellence did not last the duration of the pregnancy.)



Now, as I've, apparently, reached another stage of life, my face is changing yet again. (You see, according to my ob/gyn, your estrogen starts to drop once you reach my "advancing age".) Once again, I began to feel like my face was not my own. One day, my sleepy eyes were greeted by FOUR (count'em - FOUR!) brand new blemishes. What on Earth was going on?



After consulting numerous friends (and, of course, the great, wise Clinique Lady) and experimenting with a variety of new moisturizers, cleansers, foundations, and more, I broke down...and scheduled...an appointment...with a DERMATOLOGIST.

This was, you see, a multi-layered issue.

1. I felt a bit, shall I say, shallow. I mean, acne is PURELY cosmetic, right? Am I really that shallow that I need to see A DOCTOR -- A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL -- so that my face won't have four pimples? Apparently, yes.

2. Visions of my mother danced in my head. "How long has this mole been there? Are you sure it has always been there? You should see what your doctor says about it. You know, we all should go to get a skin check every year." Have I really reached this point in my life? The DOCTOR stage? The stage where you start scheduling your annual physicals, routine tests, bloodwork, mammograms, and skin checks?

Whatever. My vanity overcame my fear and avoidance of responsibility, I guess.

On the fateful day of said appointment, knowing I needed to take Big Girl with me, I was sure to pack her DS into the car as we left for school. (Insurance for good waiting room and examining room behavior. Thank goodness, it worked! She was completely entertained.) I also had planned ahead and printed all the new patient paperwork from the website and completed it in advance, in hopes of avoiding the usual 15-20 minute delay on your first visit to a new doctor. Additionally, this will surely shock you, they called me back right away! (I know! I nearly fainted!)

I can recall thinking, "They're going to laugh me out of this office. Isn't it just the way of acne? When you don't want it -- it's there. When you DO want it -- it goes away?" You see, of course, my recently renewed efforts towards excellence in skin care had, for a day or two, been working like a charm. I was, temporarily, looking like myself again.

So, as I followed the nurse into the examining room and she handed me a paper gown, I felt the need to explain.

"OK. Here's your gown. You can get changed and the doctor will be just a moment," she directed.
"OH, um, I'm here for an acne visit. Do I really need to do this?"
"Hmmm, I show you as a skin check. Well, um...." she quickly scanned the little bit of exposed skin around my collar bone (it was a cold day in hell Florida that day) and replied, "you look pretty moley. She's gonna want to check you out."

WHAT?!? I look pretty "MOLEY"? I'll have you know that those are FRECKLES, lady! Whatever...what do YOU know about skin and moles, Little Miss Know-it-all...

No, I did not say that. I just went along with it, like a good little girl. I sucked it up and stripped.

Little Princess, in her most nonchalant voice, trying to comfort her visibly frustrated mother, announced at this time, "Don't worry, Mommy. I won't laugh at you. Because girls can see girls naked, right?" Gee. Thanks, darling. What support. What a comfort to know you WON'T LAUGH.

After dawning the plush and oh-so sassy paper gown and climbing to the perch atop the examining table, The Doctor arrived. Her bedside manner was so-so. Hello? I'm naked here? Can you try a little harder to make me comfortable? Crack a joke or something?

After initial introductions were over (7.8 seconds), I started into my modest explanation and apology for scheduling an acne appointment with such, obviously, minor troubles. I carefully explained that, while I had not anticipated this, the nurse had instructed me to disrobe and prepare for a skin check. Surely she would take pity on me and instruct me to re-robe while she stepped out....this was, after all, completely unnecessary.

"Well, let's just take a look."

Rats! Foiled again!

I stand, baring my backside to my (not laughing) daughter, as she carefully inspected my body -- arms, hands, feet (top and bottom), legs, scalp, neck, back, chest (including INSIDE my bra), and basically everything in between. While she did not use a fine-toothed comb, she did feel the need to go retrieve her dramatascope. (Ok. Since that day...er, right now when I Googled it to find out how to spell it...I learned that it is actually called a "dermatoscope" - which makes sense. However, I could have sworn she said "DRAMAtascope" - which is much more DRAMAtic.)

OK, ready for another shocker? She used the dermatascope to inspect my three very dark freckles (I am NOT moley!) on my lower back....the same three that my mother inisted I have "checked out". After a little hemming and hawing, taking some measurements, and creating some drawings (which were nothing like Leonardo DiCaprio's art in Titanic), she announced they were probably nothing, but she'd like to check them again in six months to be sure.

NOW. Onto the problem at hand -- those unsightly blemishes! Well, remember how I made a point to apologize to her?

"I know this is really not bad, it's just that it's bad FOR ME." I went on to explain the biography of my face, what interventions I had already tried, and my rationale for finally resorting to a medical option. Her reaction?

"Oh, you DEFINITELY have some pretty inflammatory stuff going on."

Thank you very much, ma'am, for kicking my ego down a notch...again. I really needed that.

A Slice of Neurosis

Call me crazy, but recently I became paranoid that my blog was starting to sound a little too...sane. I must rectify this, pronto. I thought the most efficient way to do this would be to just open up my head and let you crawl inside for a glimpse. Since that is not feasible, I guess I'll just spill some thoughts I had today. Here goes nothing.



I recently went out on a limb and decided to try Oil of Olay cold cream for the first time after it was recommended to me by more than one person. I'm sorry...what the heck, people? It's a bit like rubbing butter or Crisco on your face! Ugh! Water actually beads up on my hands - and there is a disgusting film in my sink! Not to mention what it seems to do to my washcloths...just gross. And, I tried and tried to put my grandmother's skin out of my mind...but I am Mema when I put it on my face. I just can't do it.



Girls' nights rock. I mean...don't you totally love putting on your favorite pjs, crawling under the warm covers and watching Barbie movies together with a couple of your best girlfriends? What? That's not what a girls night is? Oh. Well, don't tell the Princesses. ...I had a margarita first, does that count?


A little known fact about Florida women and winter...Florida Toe. I cannot claim credit for its title (I just whimpered about my sore toe until Melanie shared the name with me), but I am definitely suffering from it. My right thumb-toe (hate to call it a big toe, because it isn't big at all...however, it is quite "handy") has been sore for days from having to wear REAL SHOES. Ugh! The torment of cold temperatures! I miss my flip-flops and sandals!!

I found out today that our sheriff has a little star pin that he wears on his clothes when he is not in uniform. That's awesome. I want to call him Wyatt now. Or, even better, Mr. Earp.


I seem to be developing a serious immunity to caffeine. This could be fatal. Immediately after finishing my venti latte yesterday, I found myself yawning and sleepy. Today I had an extra shot of espresso and didn't feel it. Whatever shall I do? Must find a runner to make Starbucks runs midday for me while I'm at school.



I called in an 8 year-old to help me problem solve a carpool logistic situation today. Wonder why she gave me that blank stare and bee-bopped away so happily when I dismissed her? (Sans solution, of course.)



We ate dinner at a cruddy restaurant tonight. The service stank, the girls didn't eat their meals, my dinner wasn't good, and it took FOREVER...Drinks and bread were good...think you could go there and just get the rolls with your drinks? May need to peruse the menu for an extended period of time...


Someone needs to work on creating Breathe-Right strips with a special adhesive (and shape) engineered to stick to dog noses. I'm sure mine isn't the only snoring canine.


Watching five year-old little girls do the wheelbarrow walk, holding each other upside-down by the feet, is really funny. Thank goodness for those mats, though. One face-plant after another, smiling all the while. It's especially funny that the one holding the feet looks at themselves in the mirror the entire time...the mirror that is OVER THEIR SHOULDER.



I played Password with Big Girl in the car tonight. Somewhere, Happy Hour needs to include classic game shows. I'm thinking live versions of Password, Family Feud (or Friendly Feud), Press Your Luck! (Come on! Big bucks, big bucks, no whammies, NO WHAMMIES!), Let's Make A Deal, the Newlywed Game, the Gong Show. Perhaps it's just me. I think I would be REALLY GOOD on some of those shows.



I want to know who is playing a practical joke on me. This week I've received an onslaught of coupons, literature and samples from infant formula companies. It is extremely disappointing and disturbing to receive a key to the package box in your mailbox -- only to find that your package is a box of Similac. Especially when you are not -- and have NO intention of becoming -- pregnant. (But, that's another post entirely.)

By the way, hope you enjoyed my hidden treat in this post....for those of you, more curious, readers. Sorry, it wasn't so classy. I warned you about my sense of humor.

Botox or Notox?

Last week I noticed that my "smile lines" (If they're going to be there, why not give them a happier name?) seemed more pronounced than usual. In fact, they looked like the great divide! What a depressing feeling to notice you looked like a wrinkled pig as you cut in front of a third grader, making a mad dash to the potty, claiming "teacher's privilege". Talk about helpless! Not only are you miles away from any quick fix supplies, but you are T minus 10 seconds until the 20-some-odd 8 year olds explode into a state of pandemonium!

I quickly tried to "rub them out" (I have no idea what I was thinking. Somehow, it seemed like a good idea at the time.) and returned to the classroom, thankful that my students love me and don't seem to notice my aging epidermis. My thoughts of panic, though, were neatly tucked away as another item on my mental "Figure This Out and FIX IT" list.

This weekend, as I waited endlessly in the checkout at Walmart, my eyes wandered over the current People magazine cover.

OK. No, this is not the exact cover. But, HE'S SO CUTE! Wouldn't you rather roll your eyes over this cover than another picture of the Obamas? (No offense to Barack and co.)

Anyhow, as I thumbed through the pages, I stumbled onto an article about Botox. No, this never entered my mind as a possible option for my own personal smile lines. (Can't afford it and husband would never approve.) However, it got me wondering. Would I if I could? Hmmm....

Perhaps. Would you?