Tangerine Dreams

So I had to return something to J Crew yesterday. Just real quick, in and out, I said to myself.

Well, since I'm here, I further "dialoged" with myself, I really should go check out the sales racks -- which of course are strategically (and wisely, on JC's part)  placed in the way-back of the store.

I eventually got to the stuff on sale... after having gotten sidetracked by one spring-y, pretty, trendy, tangerine-colored thingy after another.

Unless you reside in a cave, I'm sure you've seen all the catalogs, magazines and ads "yelling" how popular the "oranges" are this year. The It Color for 2012, they say. Tangerine, coral, papaya, mango, peony, salmon, poppy, apricot, Clemson orange (Go, Tigers!) -- and varying shades of all the aforementioned hues. Some brighter than others...

{Most of these shades, I've learned, will work.}

So I was lovin' life and happy with all my options as I headed into the dressing room...until I held a very bright tangerine blouse up to my face and took a gander in the mirror. What was I thinking? My.face.looked.horrid. Google "sallow skin," and that was me!  I was disappointed in myself (and embarrassed, quite frankly) that I honestly thought I could still pull off wearing those intense, bright, saturated colors.

In a matter of seconds, reality struck. Lesson learned: You're too old to wear the brights, Girl. And my Tangerine Dreams became a nightmare.

So I returned my previous J Crew item and made two new small purchases. Sadly, however, nothing in the orange-hued family.

Time was running out. I had to get home. But I persevered. I was determined to NOT leave the mall without something in the It Color to put on my body. Lipstick! That's it! I'll run into Nordstrom's really quick and get thee most perfect pop of coral-y/tangerine-y lip color, like, ever!

So I went to the Lancome counter, hoping to get the more mature consultant of the two. (The comfort-in- numbers/misery-loves-company thing.) But noooooo. I got the young, long-legged,  heavily-accented  Jennifer Lopez-lipped, Russian/Croatian/Czechoslavakian (one of those countries) beauty!  Whatever.

I explained that I wanted their most on-trend orange color they had. My first choice to try, of course, was their brightest coral. (Okay. I'm a slow learner.) She indulged me as she deftly applied it with her handy-dandy Q-tip. After looking at myself in the mirror, and then looking at her, I felt awful, because I knew she was aghast at my appearance, and she didn't quite know how to address the situation.

"It's too bright, huh?"

Perfect entree for her: "Uhhhh, yes, ma'am. Yes. Way. Way. Let's try a more natural color, something more subtle. I think that will look much better with your skin."

After a bit of back-and-forth, together we arrived at a much more muted color, but still in the tangerine fam, which I so desperately wanted. It's called Rouge In Love #322. And I think I like it. A lot. For now.

And I will save the bright corals/tangerines/poppys for pedicures and throw pillows.

The Early Morning Mirror

How is your Early Morning Mirror? I know you didn't ask, but let me tell you about mine.

It's horrid. Unkind. Cruel. Some days are worse than others, but none of them are kind or inviting anymore. It is with shock and awe that I face my Early Morning Mirror.

I've tried putting frozen spoons on my eyes. I've done the tea bag thing. I've tested the refrigerated cucumber slices. Nothing has helped. Of late, I've resorted to applying fresh-out-of-the-freezer icecubes on them in an attempt to shock/jolt the creases, bags and crevices back to relative smoothness. To no avail.

I've tried new pillows, fluffy pillows, firm pillows, double pillows, non-allergenic pillows and satin pillowcases. No help. Even then, that vicious army of ugly angry fatty globules marches into and onto my face nightly, invading, attacking and taking up residence in the upper 50% of my face.

So what am I supposed to do - sleep standing up, or sitting upright? Is it possible to sleep with eyes wide open?  Will keeping watch over the invasion of the UAFG's prevent them from appearing?

After age 40, Beauty Sleep becomes an oxymoron. There is no such thing.

I know...I know. No one really cares, or notices, how my Early Morning Mirror looks. But I do. I care. Just like you care about yours.

This is my beautiful, contented, peaceful Early Morning Mirror... before I look into it. 


So, okay. So then it's time to get ready for the day. And that's when the work really begins. The toner, the moisturizer, the concealer, the foundation, the brightener, the eyelash curler, yada, yada, yada. (Please tell me you, too, know the drill.)

Hillary Clinton was right (for once I agree with her): It Takes A Village for me to physically and mentally take on the day. And why is it that now it takes about four (4!) times as long to look maybe, maybe, half (1/2!) as presentable? The math just doesn't calculate. And it is not fair.

Okay. Okay. I know I'm being all superficial and shallow here.

So just to prove to you, my readers, out there (I think my readership is up to like 7 now!!) that I have a little substance, that I'm not always a shallow swimmer, I'll share with you some of my favorite quotes on the subject of beauty.

"Beauty is not in the face. Beauty is a light in the heart."

"Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clear to the bone."

"Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old."

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not!"

"I'm tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin deep. That's deep enough. What do you want - an adorable pancreas?"

Have a BEAUTIFUL weekend, everyone!

When Skinny Grandma Turned 55

(Before I tell you what I really want to tell you here, let me say that as far back as I can remember, my Sister, Claudia, and I always referred to our grandmothers as Skinny Grandma (my Dad's mom) and Fat Grandma (my Mom's mom). And the weird thing is, Skinny Grandma wasn't skinny -- or fat; and Fat Grandma wasn't fat -- or skinny. Note to self: Ask Mom where those nicknames originated.)

Anyway, I remember like it was -- I don't know -- four years ago, when Skinny Grandma turned 55. And I vividly recall that I felt mournful, sad and confused. I mean, why in the world were we celebrating and singing and eating cake?  55 years old!  Are you kidding me? At that old age, surely we should be planning her funeral. I was convinced that she and Grandpa (we did not call him Skinny Grandpa) were not long for this Earthly world, that they'd be going to heaven soon...within months, certainly within the year!

I can picture so clearly the five of us grandkids in the back yard of their pinkish adobe house (wasn't it?) in San Bernardino, California, cavorting and frolicking and singing around sweet Skinny Grandma as she made her wish and blew out the candles on her birthday cake. And since she was, after all, knocking on death's door, I remember feeling so relieved that she had to blow out only five candles.

Reality, thankfully, proved my thoughts and fears wrong. She indeed wasn't decrepit, or past her prime, or close to meeting her expiration date. She remained active, healthy and vibrant for many, many years thereafter.

But here's the irony of life, or more accurately, the circle of life.  Now it's my turn. In six months and two days, I turn 55.

OMGsh! 

But it's all good... 

I no longer look at 55 with horror and fear, through 7-year-old eyes, like I did with Skinny Grandma. And in 10 years, when I'm 65, I bet you anything I'll look back longingly at my "young" 55-year-old self, wondering where the time went. You know what I mean?

It's all relative.

It is what it is.

Savor the moments.

And remember...THESE are the good old days.