Support Group

My nephews and nieces are now old enough to realize that something is not right. Something is missing. They look at their friends' older siblings, ask my age, and are puzzled. "Lea," they ask, "when are you getting married?"

It is particularly hard on the children who have rarely been to weddings, who want to not only be a part, but a center of them. I remember how it was  by my sister's wedding—I'm important, I'm the sister, this is my party. I don't mind if they feel the same way. That's what kids think at 10.

 

On the evening of my bad date, I sprang out of the car, pleading I had to go in to help my folks with the einiklach who were staying over. He drove off, triumphant, not expecting the inevitable "No" from the shachan, and I felt terrible.

I staggered into the house, where three pairs of young eyes  greeted me at the door, looking expectant. I collapsed, faux-sobbing, on the 8-year-old's neck.

"It's okay," she soothed, stroking my back. "You don't have to see him again."

Bless you, child. Despite her burning desire for wedding festivities, where she can sit up front by the badekin and chuppah, where she can have made-up hair and wear a billowing dress, she will put my needs first, trusting my judgment. 

Her sister thinks I'm being unreasonable, however. "Was he really so bad?" she wheedles.  

"Just pick one," the brother chimes in.

Don't be surprised if I have a favorite, kid.

AHA!

My older brother, as a child, was obsessed with growing up. Not to become a mere big brother or even a Tatty; he wanted to be a Zaidy. He would gaze, with anguished longing, at the beer bellies of the gray haired. 

My mother's cream-fueled actions to achieve the opposite, however, had them clash. She would come into his room, freshly shmeared with goo, to kiss him goodnight. 

He would frantically attempt to scrape off any errant lotion traces that had transferred. "I'm going to become young!" he would shriek in panic.

Cute anecdote said, let us explore how to reverse the signs of aging (as speeding up the process is all too easy).

AHA!

Literally, AHA - or Alpha Hydroxy Acid. There are a few subcategories to AHA, such as glycolic, lactic, or citric acids. Wikipedia explains it on the chemical level, but all that matters is that while it helps the skin to shed dead skin cells, it also rebuilds skin, increasing collagen, making it thicker. 

Cool, no? 

Glycolic acid (my particular favorite) can deal with oily skin and be anti-wrinkle. My skin is combination, with an oily T-zone and occasional blemishes, so glycolic is ideal for me.

For those new to AHA, I would recommend starting with low concentrations and gradually increasing the strength. My skin is like the Borg; it eventually adapts to anything I throw at it, but initial use does sting, so move slowly. 

My favorite AHA products, in order of strength: 

Kiss My Face Peaches and Cream Ultra Moisturizer. With 4% AHA, this stuff smells delicious and can be used anywhere - face, hands, body. Love, love, love it.

 Reviva Labs Glycolic Oily Skin Cream 5%. It smells a bit like marinated socks, but it is really good skin treatment. I mix a little with my tinted moisturizer during the summer to hinder oil production. 

Beauty Without Cruelty AHA Renewal Moisturizing Lotion 8%. No smell, thankfully, and more of a moisturizer than the others. Very good for drier skin types as well. 

Alpha Hydrox AHA Souffle 12% Glycolic Acid. After shmearing this on, a moisturizer should be applied on top. Light as air, aaaaawesome. 

The next highest percentage I am aware of is in peel form. That's getting a separate post. 

For those of you with sensitive skin: don't try this at home. I'm going to have angry dermatologists chasing me down. 

To Be Like Theodore

Many people think they have me pegged.

Considering the topics I'm delving in, it could give the erroneous impression that I'm one of those girly-girls whose favorite color is pink, who enjoyed shopping at 8, who begged their mothers to wear lipgloss at fourteen.

They are way off.

My most despised hue as a child was pink (I still avoid it).  It was my dream to be a tomboy, but I fall like a ton of bricks (splat) and can't throw. My out-of-school uniform until I was 15 was a ratty sweatshirt I had stolen from my brother and a Biz skirt. I refused to wear makeup at his wedding the same year, despite my mother's begging/threats. I didn't like to shop until 18. I never wore makeup on weekdays until a year ago - at age 24. 24!

Yes, I am slow.

I came to the conclusion that I don't want to be typical, and I thought my only other option at that time was to eschew fashion in any form. My sister-in-law changed that by showing me by example how to look chic yet unique (not necessarily trendy), and I developed my own sense of style.

I was thinking how everyone nowadays wants to be able to classify their fellow humans. People are no longer permitted to be different. If  one does one thing, then they must obviously do the other. No personal quirks are allowed; they must be categorized and labeled like insects in an entomologist's drawer. 

I was watching an interview of Edmund Morris, who wrote a trilogy on Teddy Roosevelt. 

Teddy was an eccentric, a moralist, an elitist,  an intellectual, a Republican, the trust-buster, a regulator of big business, a man of society, a voracious hunter, the first conservationist - a man of many facets and talents, even seeming contradictions. 

Morris says that he would not have been elected nowadays; presidents must have monochromatic lives (lawyers who become professional politicians) who do not diverge away from their party's mission. Any sort of interesting dimensions are shmecked out and demonized.

I'm not saying that I am not guilty of that sort of prejudgment and classification. But then again, I am sure I have been prejudged and classified. All that matters is that we don't act on it, that we can meet people with our shotgun opinions shoved to the side, clearing the mind for open and welcoming thoughts.

Minerals and The Face

The benefits of mineral makeup are still being debated. Some claim it's all hype, others say it's the best stuff possible for skin.

I'm leery of any company that claims "all natural" - practically everything has a "natural" source. There isn't regulation as to what constitutes "pureness" of mineral makeup. However, it doesn't clog pores, plus many don't have fragrances, binders,  or synthetic dyes (all courtesy of WebMD), making it also seemingly ideal for sensitive skin. Checking the ingredient list is still recommended.

But in any case, mineral makeup is my foundation of choice.

I haven't ever tried liquid foundation; the only way I started wearing makeup to begin with was because of tinted moisturizer, and I never looked back. 

But as the years passed, the moisturizer wasn't enough; it didn't provide enough coverage, and my face would become shiny as soon as I left the house. So I went back to the Laura Mercier counter at Saks that gave me the tinted moisturizer and bought the Mineral Powder, which is highly reviewed and remains one of the top selling mineral makeups.

I've recently decided that the shade (Sand) was too dark, and a useless "color associate" at Sephora still insisted it matched my skin tone. Yeah, if I want a fake tan. 

I asked to be matched up with Bare Escentuals bareMinerals Matte Foundation (the original has "sparkles" in it, the matte does not; matte is also better for oily skin) one of the highest selling mineral makeups. 

This occurred on the same fateful day as the tinted moisturizer purchase, so she, of course, handed me straight yellow, or Light. I exchanged it for the Golden Fair, which was still too yellow.

It was during this time that I learned that there are brands who keep their color palette either yellow and pink, or neutral. Bare Escentuals appears to be of the former.

The week of Pesach had a coupon promotion at Sephora (which Sporadic Intelligence was also aware of). After vigorous online comparisons, reading of reviews, peering at the shades, I decided to check out the: 

Dior Diorskin Nude Natural Glow Fresh Powder Makeup. It contains mineralized water, or something, so it's not as dry as other mineral makeups. The coverage builds up beautifully. 

I came armed with the Laura Mercier and the Bare Escentuals, and after squinting at the two for comparison under Sephora's insufficient lighting, I selected Light Beige 020. It matches pretty close to perfect (I took back the bareMinerals for a store credit).

If I end up not being as pleased with it, I will definitely inform the public. 

My other option to check out was the Clinique Superbalanced Powder Makeup. It's pretty darn cool - the makeup is freshly ground.  The consistency is also lovely, not so dry. The color palette also steers toward neutrality, so if one has very olive or pink skin tones I would suggest they should rather try the Bare Escentuals. 

If one has dry skin, I don't think mineral makeup is the best option; it's very drying, it being a powder and so absorbs moisture. Rather stick to liquid foundation, and a light dusting of powder on top to set. 

I Want My Hands Back

It was my cousin's - actually second or third cousin's, can't keep track - wedding. She had been dorming in the city as she was from out of town, and she had mixed seating by the tables. I was cool with it, although the fellas seemed unhappy at having to sit with people they didn't know, perking up considerably when more familiar faces showed up. 

By the dancing, she beckoned me over. We bounced back and forth a bit, then she stopped, my hands clasped in hers. I was wondering what was going on, as the music was still blaring. 

Uncharacteristically, she began to prophesy and bless me as though she was Mother Theresa. 

May you have this and that, and so forth. I started feeling a little awkward, and made a tentative attempt to reclaim my hands. 

Her grip tightened. 

"And if you should meet your bashert tonight," she continued to intone, "it will give me joy to know I brought the two of you together . . . " 

Now I started to tug frantically. 

Seriously? She seats me at a table with a bunch of guys who'd rather be elsewhere, and she already has me married and claiming shadchanus?

I do not deny that kallahs have a special day. But they are not exactly the status of Devorah HaNiviah. 

I eventually managed to yank my hands away, flushed with both exertion and embarrassment. Did she do this to every poor unmarried sap who danced with her? 

From that day forth, I dance with the kallah with great trepidation. 

Scan Me

And not to prove that you are not a terrorist.

Clothing sizes really depend on the designer. Behold: the scanner that will break it down for you.

While my female religious contemporaries will not know of jean-shopping angst, if this concept catches on beyond pants it can help many aggravated shoppers out there. 

Although, some us (meaning myself) enjoy the whole shopping experience, the thrill of the hunt, the search for savings, even trying garments on, so I would rather have the luck of the draw. 

Tzitzis = Thief?

I am very fond of my TV, and I have always remained loyal to Law & Order. You can imagine my shock when it was canceled, but I hope the new spin-off, Law & Order: LA will survive. I have a thing for Alfred Molina (he can play anything! Anything, I tell you!)

The most recent episode, entitled Reseda, has the detectives attempting to locate a suspect, which eventually points them to a gold dealer. The character is wearing a large velvet kapul and tzitzis down to his knees. They strong arm him into assisting with a sting to apprehend the suspect by threatening to charge him with the fraud he is obviously committing. The following scene has Mr. Molina comfortably donning a kapul and tzitzis, posing as the dealer's nephew (I had seen him play Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof on Broadway, so this is not his first time playing Jew).

My point here is not my L&O fetish, my hope for the future of television, or Alfred Molina. My point is that the writers felt perfectly within their rights to pose the dealer as a religious Jew that of course commits fraud, an accusation which he does not bother to deny. Nor will I blame the writers as being fabisiner anteh-semit.

If the newspapers regularly report of the guilt of observant Jews with financial shtick, why should I hold a bunch of TV writers to task? It is not unheard of to come across a black hatter who has served time.

I have heard on numerous occasions how theft is one of the worst sins a Jew can commit, as it is one of loudest declarations that God doesn't exist. If a Jew believes that everything he is supposed to receive is from God, and that no matter what he does that amount will not change, then how can he steal? What would it gain?

If (and I mean "if") there are thieves amongst us, then it would be one or two misdirected individuals. But that it has come to a point that tzitzis = thief? If anything, a kapul should be associated with a strong desire to do, whether publicly or privately, the right thing.

We are no longer in countries that garnished our income without impunity; we are no longer being taxed unjustly by venomous overlords; we are now in a land that permits us to practice our religion without terror and persecution. Is this how we show our hakoras hatov? Is this how we show our relief at finding a safe haven after millenia of torture and unrest?

Is this how the media can present us? 

Prince Charming WILL Get on Your Nerves

Annoying got its own book.

While reading the whole review, a few points jumped out at me. 

Firstly, the concept how one-sided cell conversations are more annoying then overhearing two people chat. Apparently the brain has difficulty tuning out half of a conversation, meaning my nearly violent frustrations with fellow train or elevator riders (scroll down to "Wait for the Doors to Open") is warranted. 

Secondly, and this is for the lovely ladies and germs on the singles market, the idea that the very quality that drew two people together will become unbearably irritating, given time:

What about your own personal irritant, the spouse who was so enchanting during courtship and is exactly the opposite now? Studies show that precisely those traits that once attracted often begin to repel. Once he was cool; now he is cold. Once she was adoring; now she smothers. Here the problem seems to be a matter of dose.

I was reminded of something Joy Behar said a while back (sometimes "The View" is watchable). She was saying how at the beginning, the wife gushes, "Oh, he's the strong, silent type." A few years later, she's shrieking, "What's wrong with you? Are you mute?"

As a word of warning, keep your eyes open and use your imagination of how a quirk that seems adorable now can become like nails on a chalkboard with too much familiarity. Then draw up a cost/benefit analysis to see if the other person, as whole, is worth it (very often I am sure they are). But then you cannot throw that irritation in the significant other's face ten years later; after all, you knew what you were getting into. 

And don't talk on the cell phone around people. They all want to kill you. (An aside: cell phones use while traveling should be avoided; every time it hits a new tower, the phone gives off a fresh burst of radiation.)

But also, the review mentions how perpetually annoyed people are annoying in themselves. Kvetching all the time is a no-no.   

The Shvil HaZahav must have a balance for annoying as well.

The Fruit Bowl

Now, men may think that women over-analyze clothing and shop waaaaay too much/often, but really, gentlemen, you just have to get variations of the suit. The only patterns are pinstripe and solid. 

Give us females a little credit. 

We have suits, dresses, tops, bottoms. Dresses: wrap, sheath, jumper, with sleeves or without, empire, natural, and drop-waisted; Skirts: pencil, a-line, flairy, high waisted, low waisted, side zip, front zip, back zip; Tops: cropped, long, hip length, 3/4 length sleeve, wrist length sleeve, elbow length sleeve, button-down, pullover, cotton, wool, polyester, thin enough to require underlayer? Then a search for the underlayer and so forth. I haven't even mentioned shoes yet.

Men, I request that you do not mock the process.

In order to look one's best, analysis of the body type should be done, which is categorized as to where weight is usually stored. There are two basic fruits mentioned: 

1) Apple: after 5 pounds of matzah, my stomach protrudes. 

2) Pear: the 5 pounds go to the hips and the . . . ahem . . . derriere. 

As an apple, the best skirt style for me is the pencil. In times of post-Pesach weight crises, I wear a peplum jacket (awesome style for apples - the jacket flares out after the waist, hiding the boch) to camouflage the front territory. 

For the pears, "poofier" skirts are the better option—but they should not be worn with long tops. I have seen this style on pears, and can testify as to the perfection of suitability.

As for skirt length, the general consensus (even amongst the glossies such as Vogue) is for the hem to end right below the knee. Calf-length emphasizes the most unflattering area, and ankle length is fine for the weekday but I don't think is sharp enough for Shabbos or simchas.

Is it Him? No. Maybe. Yes?

If any blog is to survive, tales of dating are needed, the gorier, the better. I don't have many, but I managed to rustle one up. Bad4 threatened to post it if I didn't, so here goes: 

It was one of my earliest dating experiences; my brother knew the suggested date from yeshiva, he wasn't on the terrorist watch list, all was well. I'll be honest - I was young, not the most adept conversationalist, somewhat clueless about body language, and he wasn't having the best time (he could have faked it the way I have on numerous occasions). He made it quite obvious (in word and demeanor) he wasn't enjoying himself, and the shadchan (not the most pleasant woman) gleefully called back expressing the fellow's horror. 

The date in question, for purposes of clarification, will be referred to (in the spirit of the Force) as Ponda Baba, the walrus-looking criminal that loses his arm in the cantina after picking a fight with Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi (Obi-Wan did the actual slicing). 

Ponda here gets constantly re-redt to me for some reason; over six years, he keeps cropping up. It is probably without his knowledge, so I cannot accuse him of stalking; but in any case it is very annoying when, repeatedly, a shadchan calls breathlessly expounding his name. 

A few months ago my neighbor emails me this resume, with Ponda Baba's name in the subject line. I wearily type back a response that I went out with this guy already. I had clicked open the attached resume, and my mother was peering over my shoulder; she said, "That's not him." 

The attached photo had a vague resemblance to Ponda (but better looking, dare I say it). The age wasn't right - only two years older than me, while he should be much older, and having been in school with Luke, he named a different high school. His listed height was taller than he was.

I figured maybe this fellow was his cousin, knowing he came from a large extended family; I emailed an amendment that if it is not Ponda, then what the heck. It could be worth  a date.

The shadchan calls back, seemingly mad at me, that Ponda and the profile are the same thing.

Huh? 

He is younger, taller, better looking, different school, and it's the same guy? 

To be dan lkaf zechus, maybe a zealous younger sister hijacked his information, in an attempt to add flare (if not outright falsehoods). A corrupted file transformed his photo. He freakishly grew 4 inches at 28. The resume was old so it says he was younger. He went for a year or two to a different high school and he didn't want it to get complicated.  

All these possibilities? Or none?