Super Makeup!

If it isn't already obvious, I like cartoons. Comics. Hand-drawn characters.

Makeup has noticed that niche. Themed makeup echoing the feisty fictional characters of childhood has its appeals even amongst the adult sect.

While the idea of Miss Piggy eyeliner should be able to reel me in oh-so-easily, I believe certain things in life shouldn't overlap. Makeup and Smurfs are two such concepts.

The more themed a cosmetic item is, the more I consider it incompetent. I do not want my lipstick endorsed by a Princess of the Amazons.

Battle of the Bulge: Chewing

When I was still stuck in a uniform skirt, I had the same issues every lunch. 
 

Bell would ring. Whip out my sandwich. 60 seconds later lick my fingers and gather up the crumbs. 

And spend the next 40 minutes watching classmates slowly consume their lunches. 

I didn't know what I was doing wrong. 

How does one sit there and actually put the sandwich down between bites?

I once attended a fascinating shiur given by Rabbi Rietti, in which he discusses the Rambam's guide to a long, healthy life. Chewing until food is a liquid was recommended.

Digestion begins in the mouth with the help enzymes in saliva. Apparently, wolfing down my food like a python unhinging its lower jaw and swallowing a pig whole is not the way to go.  

You should see the photos right after they have swallowed dinner.

I'm definitely better now. Lunch takes between 10-15 minutes; not yet ideal liquid-chewing, but baby steps.

By chewing thoroughly, the stomach will register the food and tell the consumer's brain that it is full. Otherwise, one can keep on eating and eating and the stomach can't process that it is full until after overeating. 

The Last Holdout

I wasn't happy to go to this wedding. 

Not because I wasn't ecstatic for my high school classmate; rather, as one of the last single girls of my grade, I expected the usual gloating of marrieds and condescension to the singles. 

So I marched into the hall with the most false bravado I could muster (along with the most makeup) and prepared for battle. 

"You're single?" 

"Yes," I bristled, with a "what of it?" attitude.

"So you make money? And you can save it?" Her gaze was not that of hauteur, but rather of yearning envy.

I wilted. 

As the evening progressed, it became obvious that this young wife's reaction was not rare. Not once did I receive patronizing comments; but I did get more than one vicious glare. 

Prepped for a miserable evening of having my ego crunched underfoot, I was, rather, the belle of the ball. 

When rabbanim say that our generation is "fastidious," and so can have leeway when it comes to privation, it says a lot about our mentality. 

It cannot be that every girl back from seminary is ready for marriage. In my mother's day every girl out of high school got a job. When one experiences life under an unreasonable boss, 9-5 work hours, and a commute, one really knows the pressures of employment. Add to that the stress of crying infants, laundry, and a husband to be fed. 

I am not saying it is impossible for a young bride to be happy, eagerly tackling the new responsibilities. But I have noticed that has become more and more of a rarity. 

Many children enter marriage without going through even the smallest of pressures. Is it fair to them, to shoo them hurriedly into wedlock lest spinsterhood awaits?

I found it sad that so many young women - not yet 25 - were not the happiest they could have been as they took on something they were not ready for. At least, maybe, if they were realistic, they would have realized the difficulties as well as joys of marriage. 

But we are not encouraged to think past the wedding. We are just told get a guy before you become a dry stick like Princess Lea over there. Yeah, it'll be wonderful, whatever, love, blah blah blah, just get married, time's a'wastin'.

For those still single and no longer 21, be happy that you have this time to know who you are, what you are capable of, and dabble in other interests, like playing recorder. And we can hope that the extra time will leave one all the more appreciative when the baby cries at 11:05, 2:38, and 5:16. 

I Shall Love Again

I have gone through recent heartbreak. 

My tinted moisturizer has failed me.  

When I discovered Hourglass Oil-Free Tinted Moisturizer, I thought I had met the one. 

You tease.

It was oil-free, which I thought meant would mean non-oily; it claimed to have no questionable ingredients; it matched my skin tone perfectly; it had SPF; the coverage was like a foundation. 

After spending more time together, I noticed that it has been slacking on me. My face goes from stunning to slick in no time flat, getting supremely oily, even settling into grooves around my mouth (!)

Then I noticed that my hands, after application, were oddly sparkling. Despite the fact that I only wear matte, somehow an "illuminating" product sneaked its way into my heart. 

I finally went to a dermatologist because of my milia-woes; he scoffed when I said I made a point to use oil-free. Apparently, unless a product it officially labeled "non-comedogenic," it can still clog pores, even if it is oil-free.

I felt as though I had been had. 

What made me more horrified was that I would have to go crawling back to Laura Mercier, who I had threw over for my new and shiny Hourglass. And she would rub it in. 

"Back, I see. Didn't I tell you it would end in tears? What does it matter if I don't perfectly match your skintone, or if I contain parabens? You know you won't find anyone better than me." 

I can't reward that sort of smugness. I managed to keep my dignity and hit the internet for alternatives. 

Update soon on my search! 

People Who Need People

I was reading William Dietrich's Napoleon's Pyramids (a humorous espionage novel), and a passage jumped out at me. It is a fictionalized conversation with Benjamin Franklin.

"Too many humans will gladly trade rational world for a superstitious one if it calms their fears, gives them status, or gains them an advantage over their fellows. People are always afraid to think. And alas, Ethan, integrity is always a prisoner of vanity, and common sense is easily eclipsed by greed."

It made me recall a letter Rav Steinman released in 2009. One of the matters he addressed was how that many Jews nowadays have abandoned bein adam l'chaveiro, and involve themselves strictly in bein adam l'Makom. Mindlessly mistreating the people around us, we focus on how to "appease" God.

Sometimes I find the reactions of people towards mitzvos to be that of pagan worship; if something is not done just so, then a lightning bolt will hit us. I have known people to freak out about the slightest of things, like having a vachtnact on a Friday night (since a Shabbos bris is considered to have a shmirah, than a vachtnacht is "unnecessary." One family had one anyway since the house was bursting with little boys, and a woman in her 60s was having a fit.) 

If people's feelings are hurt in the pursuit of "appeasement" (such as insulting someone else's religiosity), then that is collateral damage by some coreligionists. One can loudly question another's knowledge of the law or Judaism in general in a misguided attempt to gain brownie points with the Man Upstairs, destroyed egos be damned.

But Hashem would rather that no one is embarrassed. His kavod can stand on its own two feet.

In Judaism, the ends do not justify the means. So think a sec. And consider the big picture. No, bigger than that.

Letting Go

It is not easy for me to let go. I remember every hurt, every insult, every remark from grade school days. I don't even have the best memory in general, but these sort of outdated episodes manage to stay with me. 

I am not proud of it; I am annoyed at myself. I know that I am not always, consistently, nice or pleasant; I hope that others wouldn't hold that against me indefinitely.

I have changed over the years; it should be assumed that others do as well. I shouldn't hold people accountable for things they said or did when they were 10. 

On Facebook the girl that constantly teased me in elementary friended me. She was married, smiling with her sweet-looking husband, a burbling baby bouncing on her knee. I accepted the friend request. It's not like we contacted each other in any other way; simply that every day, there she would be, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, aggravatingly awakening reminders of a childhood when I allowed myself to be pushed around.  

I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't be constantly brought back to that time when I couldn't understand why she was picking on me. I de-friended her, and immediately felt lighter. 

Dorri Olds wrote of a serious trauma in her past. At 13, eager to make friends, she was gang-raped. She never told her parents; she never reported it.  

38 years later the one who instigated it has the chutzpah to "friend" her. He's married with two children, one being a teenage girl. Dorri is knocked mentally senseless when she recalls the helplessness and violation, and she thinks of an apt retribution. She friends his wife with the plan to tell her.

But when I looked at my computer again, I saw she’d written on my wall. She posted a sideways smiley face and complimented the photos of my dog. How could I tell her? She’d done nothing to me. My rage belonged to her husband.

So I went back to his profile page and typed a private message: “I hope that night has haunted you. I was naïve and a virgin. I see you have a teenage daughter now. Better keep her safe from guys like you.”

I wanted to hate him and hurt him but realized that the only way to be free was to let it all go. When I defriended him I felt strong. The past was the past, and my mouth wasn’t covered anymore.

Being able to let go is the only way to move on and be free. 

Hanging onto resentment is letting someone you despise live rent-free in your head. - Esther Lederer

It is not easy. I am guilty for holding on for too long. They don't give the past a second thought; why should I? Why should I torment myself with unpleasantness?

Perhaps as a sign of my new-found forgiveness I should have kept her as a "friend." Her face in my friend list, however, was a trigger for the past. As long as the reminder isn't there, then I can forget for now, no longer blaming her. She certainly won't be in my head.

Mascara Must

If one cannot be bothered with a full makeup routine, here is the basic minimum: mascara. 

It's easy, relatively painless (I have poked myself in the eye once or twice) and with a few effortless swipes, one looks transformed.  

I have recently concluded that for myself, I prefer volumizing to lengthening. Some mascaras I tried that primarily lengthened also clumped my lashes together into a few spidery spikes, making my lashes look fewer. I now make sure to analyze the brushes.

The original "pipe-cleaner" brushes seem to be ideal for volumizing.

My new purchase is Tarte Gifted Amazonian Clay Smart Mascara. 

I love how my lashes look, and it claims to promote lash health, but since I just got it I cannot say if it does or not. My lashes are defined, volumized, and lengthened - I had tried three mascaras before this one that were all returned, since they made my lashes look deformed. This one is a keeper. 

I gave blood the other day, and the nurses were going bonkers. "Look at those lashes!" they gasped. I assured them it was all mascara. "How do you spell 'Tarte'?," they asked, with pen and napkin in hand.

Another option is Kiehl's Marvelous Mineral Mascara. No matter how many mascaras I try, I usually end up buying this one again.

When it comes to mascara, feel free to apply more than one coat. A few. Several. Many. Layer to whatever level of comfort. 

Just remember: it is the absolute MINIMUM.

Brats are Banned

I take my shul going very seriously. More specifically, I believe that if adults are going to shul to daven, children should not be permitted to goof around talking loudly and running noisily. 

While parents may bring their offspring to shul with the claim of "chinuch," allowing children to disturb others' prayer and treating the shul as a playground is definitely not chinuch. 

Since I am a crabby spinster, I will tell off children and chase them out if they misbehave. Usually the kids have the same reaction: initial disbelief, followed by nervous darting eyes for a savior, finished off with a terrified fleeing for the outdoors. Incredibly satisfying. 

The other week two little boys waltzed in, unaccompanied, into the ladies' turf. They most definitely broke records for the most obnoxious; they propped their feet on the shtenders, they had loud conversations across the shul, they clambered over chairs as though they were rock-climbing. 

Obviously, they had to go. 

I pulled myself up to my most forbidding height, I marched over, eyes flashing, and snarled, "Get out." 

The boys said no. 

Come again? 

"You come to shul, where people are davening, and bang? GET. OUT." 

They refused to move. 

I visualized myself grabbing each by the ear and throwing them out forcibly, but I thought that may lead to a lawsuit. 

I sat down, dazed. 

My shul tends to be pretty tolerant, but these two were so mind-boggingly bad that at least five other women approached them, all to no avail. 

Never. Happened. Before. 

I have noticed, on more than one occasion, that there are parents who are either incapable of disciplining their children, or simply do not care if the creatures they are responsible for run amuck. 

It's your kids. You are ones granted their emotional well-being. From who else will they learn proper behavior and decorum? The help? 

Only if you've got SuperNanny.

First things first: children have to learn how to sit quiet and still for a few hours at a time. Then they can come to shul and learn the importance of davening. And if they don't know how to do that first, don't be surprised if some crabby spinster boxes your kid's ears.

Please Don't Help Me

Whenever I go to a sale in a department store, I am besieged by falsely chipper salespeople who destroy my focus as I frantically grab four sizes of the same item to ensure a right fit. 

"Should I take these for you?" she oozes.  

"Not right now," I say distractedly, holding up the various skirts to see which one will be long yet flattering enough. 

"OK, but if you need help, my name is Amy."  

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure." The 8. I'll stick with the 8. 

She re-materializes not five minutes later, while I'm debating whether the jacket in my hand hand has a distinct belly-concealing peplum or if it is just too long.  

"How about now?" 

GO AWAY!

After four more reminders of her existence, I give in and hand over my precious hoard. Of course, when I return to her lair to reclaim them, she barely looks at me. I wait a half hour for a dressing room, while she coos insincere compliments about my patience.

I would also be more impressed with this so-called customer service if, when coming back three days later to the same floor to return an item, a salesperson would actually be there to take care of it. But it seems they have radar for returning merchandise, and the floor is deserted. I finally manage to detect an associate lurking behind a rack. She grumbles and angrily punches the keys as she processes the credit. 

The NY Times believes that it is because of the peaceful online shopping experience that buyers no longer want an over-smiling clerk bopping into their face as soon as they walk in the door. 

Since online clothing shopping does not work for me, I am not going to afford the internet credit for this, since: 

“At the department store, the beauty associate is on top of shoppers from the moment they walk into the section. In our studies, women often described them as ‘sharks’ or ‘vultures.’ ”

A customer’s attempt to get to an intended counter “becomes as planned and calculated as a military airstrike,” he added.

Amy, who obviously thought she had netted a tuna or spied some carrion, didn't even bother assisting once she was safely holding my selections hostage. 

But it was at a sale last year, while I was struggling with various shoes, a saleswoman quietly appeared by my elbow, cradling in her arms the boots of my dreams. 

"Thank you," I breathed. 

So rare is this divine shopping experience that I almost vowed to name my first born after her.

Gown Selection

A while back I decided to sift through all the Only Simchas! weddings from the dawn of the website. Not to gaze upon the happily marrieds and wistfully dream of a nuptials of my own. Rather, to analyze the gowns. 

Lavan Bridal

The grandmother that gifted me with a genetic desire to slather my face in night cream is also a connoisseur of clothing construction. Despite her current feebleness and flirtation with dementia, when I visit her I immediately twirl, having donned a look strictly for her enjoyment. She then beckons me closer and rubs the fabric between her fingers, eyeing my getup up and down to take in the lines and cut. 

She has so far asked for a few pairs of my shoes. 

So, I shall insist that fetish for garments is another familial aberration, and my clicking through thousands of photos to see the current styles in vogue/available does not mean I am the desperate female seeking a man so she can have "HER DAY." 

Here are a few conclusions (visualize all the photos below with sleeves and proper collars): 

1) Short girls should not wear a-line or mermaid. These looks elongate the torso, making it look as though the lower half of the body begins later, so when the gown hits the floor, the kallah looks as though her legs have been cut off by the knee. The short should stick to ball gowns. (Randy from Say Yes To The Dress will back me on this. Ball gowns make the short look taller). 

2) 3/4 length sleeve wisely. 3/4 sleeves can make the arms look longer, so sometimes the kallah looks as though her hands are brushing her knees. This is not a given, but be aware of that possibility.

3) Careful with the round collar. If the collar fits too snugly on the  neck, let's say while in the process of building up a gown, the front of the dress may not sit right, bunching up. Either opt for a collar that is not so tight on the neckline, or try a square collar. 

4) Please, no empire waists.

5) In terms of details such as bows and paneling to highlight certain areas: sashes should be placed on the waist or lower. No higher. 

That top line is a no-no. The one thing that should be emphasized is the waist, which  looks here deceptively non-existent. 

Waists, drop waists or mermaid tails can have sashes defining that area. But no need to have sashes or paneling above that mark, around the, ahem, chest area, unless the gown has a wide sash/stomacher. 

This concept is better, because it holds in and defines the stomach and waist rather than drawing attention . . . above.

6) If going with the mermaid look, where the gown is tight then flares out, it has to flare. Not remain a closed, tight, ball of fabric. If one wants a more contained look on the bottom, rather seek out an a-line graduated flare on the bottom, rather than mermaid. 

7) No one wants to look back at their wedding gown and think, "Man, that looks soooooo dated." Try to avoid trendy, noticeable details so the grandkids (or your little sister) won't laugh. Like the flared sleeve. It was so sharp in 2002, now, not so much. 

8) Iridescent sequins, I find, do not sparkle classily on a wedding gown; if one likes bling, go with rhinestone details instead. But in any case, a little sparkle goes a long way. 

Ad nauseum.

9) Remember what flatters, whether pear or apple. Just because something looks magnificent on the hanger or on that other kallah does not mean it will suit you. Pears: ball gown. Apples: more of a drop waist, and it may take a bit of looking around to find one that holds in the stomach. 

Peplum for the apple!

10) When in doubt, either:

      Tulle; or

Grace Kelly. 

This dress is sublime. There is no other that can match it.

One last point, even though it doesn't have to do with wedding gowns: 

I am not a fan of this "family wearing white" thing. The kallah's stuck when it comes to her gown color; no need to wear a wedding gown, too. The bridal party should be wearing other colors to liven up the place.

Boooo.

How about some jewel tones instead?