Age like Christie Brinkley

I went to a party this week and talked to a bunch of people.

As is typical for me, I tended to hang out with my friends instead of meeting new people, which is the WHOLE POINT of a party.

[No wonder I’m single.]

While I was there, an older woman approached me and gave me a lovely compliment.

She told me I had great skin.

I thanked her and told her my secret: SUNBLOCK and YOUTH.

I grew up in California.

I remember being a teenager and slathering myself with baby oil while laying out in the backyard.

But ever since I worked in a spa in my 20s, I’ve religiously applied sunblock every day.

I don’t avoid the sun though.

I go to Burning Man, after all.

It’s nothing but sun and dust.

When it comes to my youthful appearance, I like to quote Carrie Fisher:

It’s just a matter of time until I look older.

I miss my 19-year old EVERYTHING!

And although I’m quite pleased with what my DNA has made me into, it’s impossible to ignore that I’m not going to age like Christie Brinkley.

Standing next to supermodels

It sounds like a nightmare, doesn’t it?

Having to stand next to a supermodel.

What could be worse that being side by side with a leggy blond or brunette with perfectly symmetrical features and cheekbones that could cut wood?

I personally try not to follow too many fashion models on Instagram because it’s bad for my mental health and self image.

I try to follow curve models.

They have curvy butts and thighs and sometimes even a soft belly.

It’s comforting to me to see women with body types like my own.

It makes me feel like less of an unlovable freak and more like a beautiful woman.

I’m not sure beauty magazines understand the impact they have on young women growing up when all they promote within their pages are size 0 models.

It’s a 445 BILLION dollar industry based on convincing women that they need this lipstick, dress, purse, face cream, etc, in order to be beautiful.

I am reminded of a line in “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)” that goes something like this:

DO NOT READ BEAUTY MAGAZINES, THEY WILL ONLY MAKE YOU FEEL UGLY.

Beauty magazines are in the business of making beautiful women feel ugly.

When I was younger I loved beauty magazines.

I used to subscribe to several of them and I’d comb through the pages of the magazine picking out makeup, clothes, and accessories that I really wanted.

It gave me a little thrill.

Now, it makes me shudder.

And yet, I am a beauty consumer of the first water.

A VIB Sephora member.

A Platinum member of ULTA.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t also buy makeup from Milani, Beautylish, and elf.

If the amount of makeup we buy is proportional to how ugly we feel inside, then what do my spending habits say about me????

God, there’s a frightening thought.

Pretty comes with a price tag

Let’s face it, beauty is a multi-BILLION dollar industry.

People make their ENTIRE CAREER out of creating beauty.

And though I believe that our views of beauty need to be broadened, I can’t help but also feel thankful that there are people who focus on making others feel good and look good.

We’ve established that I’m the quintessential consumer.

I impulse buy.

Shopping for me is entertainment.

The one thing I haven’t mentioned on my blog yet is the steps I go through to get ready for a trip, particularly one which involves the company of a handsome (and perhaps Swedish) man.

So, Florida.

I’m getting five beauty services to prepare for my trip.

First, I’m getting a Korean scrub and massage at the Korean spa.

If you haven’t read “Wet vinyl beds and belly fat” then you need to.

It tells you all about my experience at the Korean spa, which I equate to heaven.

Imagine getting noodles of dead skin off your body via the most exquisite raw silk full-body scrub.

Second.

I’m getting my hair colored.

I mean, is there anything more of a pick me up than a fresh head of hair color?

Third, and this one is KEY, I’m getting a SPRAY TAN.

Because let’s face it, if I can’t tone it then I might as well tan it, am I right?

Finally, I’ve got to get my mani/pedi freshened up.

Because nothing is worse than chipped nail polish while on vacation.

Okay, there are worse things, but not in the limited realm of beauty treatments.

So there you have it, my five beauty treatments I’m CRAMMING into two days to get myself ready for Florida.

Man, I hope he notices. . .

Burning Man Beauty

I’ve got 10 events in 10 days at work so I’m reposting some old content I find funny.  New content will resume on February 6th.

Reposted from 2018:

 

It takes less then 24 hours for the playa to destroy your brand new gel manicure.

I’m not kidding.

My nails are destroyed.

My perfectly blown out hair is a hot mess.

Playa dust sticks to everything, including your hair, making it sticky and hyper-texturized so much so that you can barely run a brush through your hair.

If you shower, you need to IMMEDIATELY dry your hair or risk absorbing all the dust in the air into your freshly washed hair.

I learned this the hard way when I went on a bike ride into deep playa during a dust storm in 2015 right after I washed my hair in camp.

My dust storm this week happened while I was riding home with a friend from 9:00 and A to 6:00 and E (the long way, not the Esplanade way).

We rode our bikes to Tejas’ RV.

In a dust storm.

Riding into the wind.

When I arrived at the RV, My eyebrows and my formerly jet black lashes were “playa dust white.”

And yet, despite the elements, playa women look magically sexy and beautiful.

And I’m not talking about the ones who look like they’re fresh from the default world.

No, I’m talking about the ones who look like they’ve been up all night dancing in a dust storm at Opulent Temple.

I’m talking about the ones who look a little “rode hard and put away wet” but also wear a smile that could power a million light bulbs.

Inner radiance.

That’s where true beauty lies.

Standing next to supermodels

It sounds like a nightmare, doesn’t it?

Having to stand next to a supermodel.

What could be worse that being side by side with a leggy blond or brunette with perfectly symmetrical features and cheekbones that could cut wood?

I personally try not to follow too many fashion models on Instagram because it’s bad for my mental health and self image.

I try to follow curve models.

They have curvy butts and thighs and sometimes even a soft belly.

It’s comforting to me to see women with body types like my own.

It makes me feel like less of an unlovable freak and more like a beautiful woman.

I’m not sure beauty magazines understand the impact they have on young women growing up when all they promote within their pages are size 0 models.

It’s a 445 BILLION dollar industry based on convincing women that they need this lipstick, dress, purse, face cream, etc, in order to be beautiful.

I am reminded of a line in “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)” that goes something like this:

DO NOT READ BEAUTY MAGAZINES, THEY WILL ONLY MAKE YOU FEEL UGLY.

Beauty magazines are in the business of making beautiful women feel ugly.

When I was younger I loved beauty magazines.

I used to subscribe to several of them and I’d comb through the pages of the magazine picking out makeup, clothes, and accessories that I really wanted.

It gave me a little thrill.

Now, it makes me shudder.

And yet, I am a beauty consumer of the first water.

A VIB Sephora member.

A Platinum member of ULTA.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t also buy makeup from Milani, Beautylish, and elf.

If the amount of makeup we buy is proportional to how ugly we feel inside, then what do my spending habits say about me????

God, there’s a frightening thought.

Burning Man 2018: Beauty

It takes less then 24 hours for the playa to destroy your brand new gel manicure.

I’m not kidding.

My nails are destroyed.

My perfectly blown out hair is a hot mess.

Playa dust sticks to everything, including your hair, making it sticky and hyper-texturized so much so that you can barely run a brush through your hair.

If you shower, you need to IMMEDIATELY dry your hair or risk absorbing all the dust in the air into your freshly washed hair.

I learned this the hard way when I went on a bike ride into deep playa during a dust storm in 2015 right after I washed my hair in camp.

My dust storm this week happened while I was riding home with a friend from 9:00 and A to 6:00 and E (the long way, not the Esplanade way).

We rode our bikes to Tejas’ RV.

In a dust storm.

Riding into the wind.

When I arrived at the RV, My eyebrows and my formerly jet black lashes were “playa dust white.”

And yet, despite the elements, playa women look magically sexy and beautiful.

And I’m not talking about the ones who look like they’re fresh from the default world.

No, I’m talking about the ones who look like they’ve been up all night dancing in a dust storm at Opulent Temple.

I’m talking about the ones who look a little “rode hard and put away wet” but also wear a smile that could power a million light bulbs.

Inner radiance.

That’s where true beauty lies.

Being me

I just had a very difficult conversation.

A new friend saw THIS picture of me, taken about 7 years ago:

Of course, as you all know, THIS is what I look like now:

Yes, there have been some changes. No, I’m not thrilled about all of them.

Nevertheless, I think I’m a pretty lovely human being and sexy in my own right.

So it was hard to hear someone say, “The images that you showed me – from a few years back – you looked dramatically different.”

Gulp.

Oh dear.

“Did you have a major health issue?” he asked.

The answer, of course, is YES.

I did have a health crisis which is over now.

But the medications I’m on to manage my illness themselves cause health problems.

It’s a double edged sword.

I suppose I could feel bad about the conversation.

In the end, I opted to take it at face value, a friend telling another friend that he was in her corner when it comes to being healthy.

The truth is, what I look like is the LEAST of what makes me beautiful.

So whether I’m a size 14 or a size 24, I’ll always feel happy with who I am.

In the pale

I am a white girl.

And as far as white girls go, I’m on the lower end of the scale as far as melanin production goes.

I’m fair.

I am 75% Nordic/British Isles and 25% Portuguese.

I joke that this means that I burn easily but I can hold a tan.

It’s true though.

Every summer when I was growing up, I’d slather myself in baby oil and lay out at the pool for 30 minutes.

I’d get a wicked burn which would fade into a beautiful tan.

Those were the days (before skin cancer warnings).

Briefly, I went to the tanning salon and laid in their (cancer inducing) beds and got a lovely tan as well.

But no more.

I have to be good and take care of my skin.

So, I get spray tans.

Recently, I’ve decided I’m going to try to do it myself and I bought Cocoa Brown Tan Mousse and a pink velvet glove to apply it.

[Side note:  I’m sorely tempted to use the pink velvet gloves for bedroom activities and NOT self-tanner application.]

I want to be brown like the models we see in summer ads – all long legs and golden shoulders.

I know I can’t get their bodies, but it seems unfair to deny me their color as well.

I don’t want to be pale anymore.

I want to be TAN!

And with my trip to Hawaii coming up, it’d be nice to be more bronze goddess and less pale ice queen.

[Post script:  I’ll let you know how it goes.  I bought the darkest mousse on the market so I could turn out striped like a zebra!]

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Perfect 10

fisherI had a little too much to drink and “accidentally” signed up for a 3-month Zoosk membership.

I couldn’t help myself.

The men online looked SO DELICIOUS.

Needless to say, my foray into Zoosk has not turned out that great.

First, they double charged me.

Then the app wouldn’t work.

And when I finally managed to get everything working, I got pinged by two guys asking for MORE PHOTOS.

Sigh.

I bet men would ask for a bikini photo if they thought they could get away with it.

It’s so disheartening to be reduced to your appearance.

I say this because lately, I feel like my 43 year old appearance is sliding from slightly seasoned to old.

And so much of who I am is wrapped up in what I look like.

It’s hard to age as a woman.

I feel like I have to develop a new identity – one that isn’t focused on what I look like.

That also means that my self-esteem has got to find a new anchor – my intelligence, my humor, my kindness, my adventurousness?

The irony is, everyone’s beauty fades – except for George Clooney and Michelle Pfeiffer.

So these guys who are out hunting for the Perfect 10 will one day be disappointed in their choice.

To quote the late, great Carrie Fisher (may she rest in peace):

“Youth and beauty are not accomplishments. They are the temporary, happy byproducts of time and/or DNA. Don’t hold your breath for either.”

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Relax

My forehead has gone on vacation. It is in Jamaica smoking a big fat one. Talk about relaxed! My mid forehead couldn’t move if you put it on wheels and strapped it to a jet pack!

Sadly, the other muscles in my forehead have gone into hyper-movement mode in order to compensate for the lazy ones.

I had no idea that botox would give me eyebrows like Jack Nicholson!

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That enormous void in the center of my forehead? I paid someone an obscene amount of money to create that nothingness. On the other hand, my forehead is pretty smooth.

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