A little bit of red lipstick goes a long way...that and a new haircut!
All of us girls have felt this way at one time or another: maybe a little dull, tired out, and frumpy to the point of hiding at home for a while. (If you have never felt that way, I'm going to have to call you out as a liar). Looks certainly are only the shell of who we are, but you have to concede that when you aren't feeling confident, you don't come off as confident.
I was going through one of these little periods, and it lasted a little longer than normal. I was sick of my stupid hair style and color, I'd gained a few (fifteen) holiday pounds, I wasn't working, and well, I just felt like hiding away. Let's face it: I'm in my thirties, I have two (awesome) children, and I've been married for eight years; do I even need to look pretty anymore!?!? I say, YES!
I had bought myself a tube of true red lipstick from my beloved Chanel counter, and it sat in my "tackle-box" for weeks before I took it back out again. Red lipstick is not for the faint of heart. One afternoon, when I'd simply had enough, I called my hair stylist and she booked an appointment for me the following weekend. She knew that she had a tough job ahead of her, so she booked me from two p.m. until close. That's a lot of time. One more week passed, and I wore my baggy sweats, my darkest shades, always a beanie, and I avoided public interaction as much as possible. And then, Saturday arrived.
I walked in and told Kim, "Shave it all off, I honestly don't care. I'm sick of it." For the next five hours she worked her magic, as only someone that's been in the business for over 25 years can do. I looked like a radio antenna with foils covering my head, and was relieved to finally...FINALLY....see a color that I loved. Much like a psychiatrist, we talked about why I wanted to grow my hair out. 'Did I really? Why? Who likes it long? Not you?' Turns out I DID want to chop it.
So, long story short, (not really...it turned out quite long, didn't it!?) I have this new style that makes it fun to go out again. Pair it with some Chanel Red lipstick, and I can't help choose something cute to wear over the ole' sweatpants. Thank you Kim and Chanel!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Today the unthinkable happened: an event that I have literally had nightmares about for years. Before I go into greater detail, let me explain a couple of things. I genuinely believe that living simply is the only way to go through life. "Things" do not sum up to happiness. Now adding to the equation that I am human, I cannot help but fall prey to the occasional materialistic indulgence. In fact, my last blog entry was about a few of the items that I enjoy having in my everyday life. With that said, I do make a conscious effort to focus on things like love, health, happiness and good will; and I try not to get overly concerned with material possessions.
About six years ago I was Christmas shopping, when low and behold, I found the perfect gift.....for myself. I was at Urban Outfitters, (which is essentially The Goodwill but with crazy expensive price tags), when I spotted a coffee mug that I couldn't live without. There was something about it. What first caught my eye was the art that decorated the cup. It looked just like the San Francisco skyline, but drawn in a way that looked like a sketch or a doodle. Lots of pretty colors. Very simple. Unlike everything else in the store, the mug was marked at an affordable fourteen dollars. Like I said, I had to have it. It called my name and spoke to my heart.
In the seventy-three months that I've owned it, I can honestly say that I have used it nearly every day (with the exception of out-of-town trips). That's almost 2,220 times. Even if every other cup in the house was clean, and that one alone was dirty, I would make the effort to wash and dry it....because simply put, no other cup compared. It was lightweight. The diameter was just perfect. The rim of the cup was not too thin, nor too thick. I never got tired of looking at the drawing, and it often reminded me of the time I lived in SF. I loved this stupid mug. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I've had recurring nightmares of this silly mug breaking. Many, many times I have woken up in a panic. I've even gone as far as to look for a "back-up" online for the inevitable day that it would break.
Today, as I sat in the living room with my son, I heard a crash and knew immediately what had happened. You hear about twin siblings describe how they knew the moment something bad happened to their twin? Today I felt the same. (I just re-read that sentence, and I hang my head in embarrassment). I knew that fateful crash was that of my beloved Julia Rothman mug. I didn't even bother getting up. My poor little six year-old daughter walked in, eyes filled with tears, and could barely make out the words, "Mama, I broke your favorite cup." I was disappointed of course, but told her, "It's okay honey. It's only a dish. You didn't get hurt did you?" After all, it was only a cup. (A cup I'd give my left pinky toe to have back in one piece).
Today I lost a friend. A constant companion. My "blankie." Why on earth did this silly little token mean so much to me!?!? I feel like I live pretty simply on a daily basis, but today, I feel quite materialistic; and that's okay... I will allow myself to grieve. :) Rest in peace, my simplest pleasure.