Category Archives: Friends

Beauty Hints

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The craziest people in our class are plastic surgeons.  You might expect that they would wield knives, but not necessarily for good or ethically neutral purposes if you know what I mean.

So, one of our group compiled a list of beauty secrets:

1. Still a #1 choice in the lip category — Chanel. Twinkle is a bit more gold tone, and Blizzard more rose. Both are frosted, not matte. Chanel gloss stays on well and is very moisturizing. Unlike regular lipstick and some other glosses, I find it has no taste. I am giving this product 4 out of 4 stars, with a high $$$. Available in most department stores.

2. Trish McEvoy. Excellent cosmetic line in general. I use her pressed powder and eye shadows. This line sells the items with magnets on the bottom so they all fit neatly into one small compact organizer. This is a mid-tier price line for cosmetics, but very high $$$$ for skin treatments. I use her Beta Hydroxy pads, but I cut them in half to stretch them further. Her Beauty Booster moisturizer is expensive, but could change your life.

3. Trish McEvoy lip products. Really love her Esential Lip Pencil in Baby Pink. These pencils are not like some other pencils which are liners or stain — these are all over coverage like lipstick. They are not drying. I use her lip gloss over the pencil in the Very Sexy shade, which is essentially clear. But these lip glosses are very moisturising and also have no taste. The lip pencils and glosses come in other shades, but Baby Pink and Very Sexy are my choices.

4. Cle de Peu under eye concealer and liquid foundation. These are very $$$$$ products, but if you have dark eye circles like me you would pay any amount for the concealer. The foundation is like silk and does not break my skin out like many other products. Has SPF 22. Have only seen this line at Neiman Marcus and Saks — recommended by In Style magazine.

5. Yonka Masque for Sensitive Skin. Had a facial with this line of products at Mandalay Bay. My skin felt like a baby’s butt. I called the spa afterward to get the name of the products. Sold only in salons, I prefer the Trish McEvoy beauty booster, but love the masque.

You cannot go wrong with this list.  The provider of the list looks FABULOUS!!!!!

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Gender Neutrality and other things

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At Reunion, we stayed in the dorms.  Because there is one (count with me, ONE) inn in the entire town.  Don’t think Jesus in the manger.  Think Daniel Webster, as in, “it is a small college, Sir, but there are those of us who love it.”

Our dorm was a “gender neutral environment”.  None of us knew what that meant.  We felt a little dumb asking undergraduates who weren’t alive when we were at the College to explain it.

Apparently, all the bathrooms are co-ed but the toilets and the showers are single room occupancy only.  But the toilet is separate from the shower.  Maybe teenagers and 20-somethings don’t have to pee before they shower (let’s not imagine the Seinfeld episode, for surely it will blind us), but 46 year-olds do.  So we have to go from our rooms into the hall way into a toilet and then out into the hall way and back into the shower.  Too many opportunities to flash too much flesh even though we were wearing our granny bathrobes.  And, as earthy as some of us (me) are, we all wore flip-flops into the shower, because as one said, “there is hair in there and it belongs to someone we don’t know and that is just gross.”

I believe I overheard someone saying she Purelled her feet after taking a shower but I could be making that up.

And, and, many people complimented me on my fragrance.  It was my friend’s bug spray.  I’ll get the brand and publish it in another blog.

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What a difference 25 years makes

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Ok, so I was “chubby” (work that euphemism with me, please) in college.  Once leaving college, coming out and feeling the rhythm of post-college, I lost weight — a lot of weight — and resumed being the skinny kid I was before 11th grade. 

Of course, many people haven’t seen me in 25 years.  (Some one asked me, “so were you thin in high school and then just went out of control for the college years?)  Now the guys, now a little chunkier with a lot less hair, were checking me out.  I was amused by it, and a little creeped out because they were married. 

In fact, two of my married friends were hit on by married-men-not-their-husbands.  Really?  Really?  I thought one of the waitresses was really cute (a grad school graduate picking up extra money — I was in the back talking to a fellow classmate who owns the catering company and she introduced me to her husband the chef and the entire staff).  Hey, if everyone is checking out people, I could, too.  And besides it would be too ooky to check out my classmates, even though many clearly did.  One of my friends, a straight woman, saw this same waitress seemingly sweltering in the heat in her uniform and said to her, “You look hot!”  As in, “it is Hot Like Africa Hot here and you must be sweltering and sweating into my food and that is too gross!”  Still, my friend reported to the group that she told the waitress she was HOT!  I love my friends.

In a too-weird-for-words episode, I was standing with some friends on Main Street and a guy comes barreling out of the nearby café to talk with one of my friends. The guy says “how’s the film business in NY?”  Ok, my friend isn’t in film anymore (as in not for 20 years) and he isn’t in NY.  So, my friend says where he is and what he does and the guy says, “you may know my brother! He died in 1996 but, before he died he was the foremost authority on [the most obscure crazy thing NO ONE has ever thought about].” Ok, now that is a conversation stopper. What do you say, “So, you like staying in the dorms?” or “Got kids?” 

Somethings a person doesn’t need to remember:  nicknames like Crabs, Stain, Fiend and — yes — Swivel. 

Finally, in the too-late for this reunion, but something to remember for next time: 

When someone asks you what you do after blowing hard about all the fabulous things he or she does, just say, ” I just released an album about yodeling.  You might recognize certain cuts from the Sound of Music, but I included more authentic tunes and some new, really edgy stuff.  If you would like, I can put on my lederhosen and bring out my trumpet-like instrument and demonstrate.”

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The 25th College Reunion That Was

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According to the new-ish President of the College, Dartmouth alums are different because we cry when we sing the Alma Mater.  I am not a sentimental type about my college years and it is hard to cry when part of a verse talks about having rocks in our brains (see below).

Dear old Dartmouth, give a rouse, For the College on the hill,
For the Lone Pine above her, And the loyal ones who love her [words omitted]
Though ‘round the girdled Earth they roam, Her spell on them remains.
They have the still North in their hearts, The hill winds in their veins,
And the granite of New Hampshire In their muscles and their brains.

Crazy, right? I cried like a baby.

It was good to be back on the Hanover Plain.  The campus is just beautiful and being in an environment with undergraduates reminded me of the gift of learning.  In the midst of this beauty with a diverse undergraduate body of scholar-athlete-artists, it can be hard to remember how racist and misogynist the campus was in the early 80s, but that, too, must be acknowledged.

And, that, and for a group of friends, who have known each other for 29 years, we celebrated our years there, and also 25 years of life since then and the friendship bonds that have sustained us. 

I think what makes us unique is how we celebrated.

  • First, we talked about deal breakers for new relationships (some of us are not married; and we also talked about when we are — G-d forbid — widowed).   One mentioned that her much older aunt was seeing this man who was terrific in every way (wait, he was really cheap – so not every way) but when they were both in the airport traveling east to see family, she said, “Watch my bags, I am going to the restroom” and his response was, “Oh, I don’t bother; I wear Depends”.  Thereafter, ensued a spirited conversation about medical versus recreational use of adult diapers as a bright line deal breaker.  [Blogger comment: we are 45 but we like to be ready for big life decisions so we start thinking about these things ahead.  Also, many of us after childbirth cannot sneeze without worrying about leakage.]
  • Second, we got teary-eyed about the meaning of our friendships and how we are each other’s go-to people in a crisis.  We laughed, we cried, we hugged and we clasped hands and celebrated being together. [Blogger:  some random people tried to break into these deep moments and change the mood and we wouldn’t let them.]
  • Third, some of us played beer pong until 4:30am just like in college.  Others of us, not so much.  [Blogger comment: Of course, everyone was tired because college beds and prison beds are not that dissimilar.]
  • Fourth, we really played it to the bone. We were direct with each other and with our other classmates.  One asked another, “are we supposed to be ok with your drinking this weekend?”  Another said to a surprise attendee, “You really need to apologize for [disappearing without a word for 23 years after his best friend asked him to be his best man].”  [Blogger comment: This was not for the faint of heart.  We asked and wanted answers.]
  • Fifth, we were each other’s memory-recall buttons and coaches.  One of our number kept asking us, “did I have a fling with that guy?” and we did our best to keep the record straight.  Another gave us a real teachable moment when, being introduced to someone, she said, “Nice to meet you” and he said in a slightly hurt (possibly belligerent) way, “we know each other”.  Then the friend remember the fling that happened more than a quarter-century ago.  The resulting advice was to say, “good to see you” to everyone and anyone.  [Blogger comment: This is in addition to the old standby, “Good for you!” Really, good, GOOD, for you!”.]

Next blog entry will be the crazy things that happened while we were there.

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If you love someone

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If you love someone, then don’t make him or her executor of your will.

It is one of the most thankless jobs.  Sifting through the detritus of someone’s life is bad enough (you simply don’t need to know some things), but, then, you have to file tax returns and speak to the IRS because one never really leaves one’s affairs in order.  And there are clerical errors and the wrong tax identification numbers are submitted and life gets complicated and you remember that you love this person who died peacefully knowing all was in your care, and you know he or she would never have asked this of you had he or she known what it really meant.  [SIDEBAR: Ok, that was one of those crazy long sentences reserved only for established writers who look elegant in smoking jackets and cravats.  I am just a journeyman lawyer.  If I were Hemingway, I would continue on: “That was a damn good sentence.  A f@#$ing good sentence.  They opened a bottle of wine — a damn good bottle of wine —  and took turns taking swigs from the bottle because they were too proud of that f$%^ing sentence to move from the table.”]

I live my life so government stays far away from me, even as I am willing to pay more in taxes for better education, health care, etc.  I believe in Obama’s presidency and what he wants to accomplish because all of my grandparents were immigrants who struggled to provide a better life for their children, my parents.  And my parents embody the American Dream.  And I represent downward mobility or “regression to the mean” (which means that subsequent generations will achieve the stupidity of Joe the Plumber).  I support the “system” because it really can work (witness my parents and their entire generation in our extended family); I just work hard not to rely on the “system”. Yet now I have to deal with the government for the taxes on the estate of a person whose life is now reduced to a spreadsheet of dividend distributions and capital gains.

Ok, worse is to be guardian of a mentally incapacitated person.  I know someone who took on that burden and I believe there is a place in Heaven waiting for her after what I hope is a long, happy and healthy life on Earth.  But I digress.

POB (partner of blogger) believes that, in light of all of this, we need to rethink our financial future so that we give everything away except for two nickels at the second in time immediately before our deaths. That way, no one needs to do anything for us except have a little shiva cocktail party and light a Yahrzeit candle every now and again.  But the two nickels are really important to her.   I think she never wants anyone to say that we didn’t have “two nickels to rub together”.  Which is why I love her so.  She doesn’t want a “pot to piss in” because that is too crass.  She also expects “a roof over her head” so that doesn’t factor in (although she would consider a reverse mortgage so that there is no fuss about the homestead when we “go”).

She picks her aphorisms and saws to conjure a picture that we timed it all with precision and aforethought.  And she wants to live — and die — by them.  Of course, being the disaster planner that I am, I need to have only “two nickels to rub together” but also a sack of gold just in case.  Don’t tell her I have an extra stash, ok?

I guess the point — and I do have one — is that I am one of the lucky few who can be generally self-reliant and avoid government.  And, I have no expectations of an efficient government because I believe that is frankly impossible to achieve and unrealistic to expect.  If we were looking for efficiencies, we would ascribe to the Wall Street model and we know how that turned out.  No, government is tedious, hopelessly inefficient, and sometimes catches the do-gooders in the web of bureaucracy.  It is easy to complain about government.  It is hard to defend government.  There is a lot of paperwork to get benefits, but remember you are asking for money from the government.  It should be hard to get.

So, SOB (sister of blogger), because I love you, I will relieve you of the executrix role.  You are asking, “no, really, why?” Ok the answer is: (i) you’ll torture me for it and I will never get the last word for ALL ETERNITY and (ii) Mom would not want this to come between her two girls.  I believe BOB (brother of blogger) is also protected because Mom would not stand for that either.

Did you think there would be a point to this? Are you a new reader?

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The Circle Game

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My friend’s father passed away gently the other night. He had been chronically ill for three years and then, as it often happens, he deteriorated at a rapid and startling pace.

I read his obituary.  I was stunned.  The jovial, good-natured man I remember from my college years and my friend’s wedding was a marine in WWII.  The things he saw at such a young age could have shattered a person forever.  And then he joined the FBI, in counter-intelligence. He must have had a gun, although this image is totally incongruous with the person I remember.  Maybe he was the slightly rumpled government agent, world-weary yet a never-failing optimist — the quiet hero of our dreams and aspirations.  Maybe it doesn’t matter.  All I know is that my friend loved and respected her father and that makes him a hero.

He had sparkling eyes, was upbeat in nature, liked talking to people and was so proud of his daughter.  In my mind’s eye, I remember him as sitting with other parents at some graduation party, beaming and happy.  Of course, we, the graduates, were in a constant alcohol stupor and so the rest of the memory is a little vague.  Was it at the party my parents threw in one of the condo communities near the campus?  Those of you who might remember, please correct me if I am wrong.

A person lives an allotted number of years on earth and then, if you believe, abides in the hereafter.  A person also lives through that person’s impact on us — whether by DNA or nurture.  Whether good or bad, it is inescapable.  My friend resembles her father and, like her father, is kind and loves a good laugh.  He lives on in her (and her siblings) and her children (and their children).  I hope that my friend feels the portion of her dad’s soul that he put in her as he left this world.  I felt that happen when my mom died and she is an everyday part of me.

The hard part is after the rituals of death, when the world keeps moving and the carousel of time keeps spinning.  It is just brutal.

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Tiger

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Does anyone care if Tiger apologizes?  Why is it news?  Other than his family, whom did he let down?  Certainly not the women who wanted their 15 minutes of fame by having sex with him.  His fans?  Didn’t people root for him because of his athletic ability and his personal story?  Did anyone root for him because he was a faithful, family man?

The unfortunate truth is that if you know something sordid or unappealing about a person, it affects you more than if you knew something positive or simply neutral.  I didn’t listen to Tiger’s apology, but if it took this long to come up with one, then it is a public relations apology to regain sponsorships and not a soul-searching mea culpa.

A dear, wise friend once said, “you do it, you live with it.”  She also said, “the strong eat the weak,” although she has mellowed from that position.  But she is right, life is about taking responsibility and standing up for what is right or taking your lumps when you blow it.  We lived across the hall during senior year at college and I was having an — how shall we say — indiscretion and she cleared the hallway of people for me to avoid embarrassment.  (I am not giving details, so you need to read between the lines and draw your own conclusions.)  The next morning, she was knocking at my door, booming, “if you want to dance, you need to pay the fiddler,” which means if you can’t do something in the light of day (as it were), then don’t do it.

This friend probably doesn’t know that she caused me to look deep inside and start the process of coming out of the closet.  She continues to have high standards, tempered by compassion from life experiences.  She is the standard bearer and I adore her.  She and I have had professional upheavals these past few years and I admire her willingness to take on new challenges in new places.  She is my measuring stick for success and hard work.  If she reads this, she may be surprised that she had such a profound effect on me so many years ago and through to today.  I hope that she puts me in her “win” column.

She could have taught Tiger a lesson or two.  And she would have shaped him up faster than an army drill sergeant.  And, she has perfectly puffy hair.  So, Tiger (if you know what is good for you), be afraid, Tiger, be very afraid.

And, to my friend who is always in my court, long ago you re-directed my life on a bumpy but, ultimately, very happy course.  You make a difference just by your presence among us.  I love you.

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A best friend

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I think many people have more than one best friend, which is an oxymoron.  But let me explain.

POB (partner of blogger) is my BFFL (best friend for life).  SOB (sister of blogger) is also my BFSB (best friend since birth).  My college friends are EDFs (enduring dearest friends). 

I also have a BFWINS (best friend whom I never see).

BFWINS and I were colleagues for many years and sometimes lose touch for a year or more.  And we get mad at each other and give each other the silent treatment for months at a time (and, since many months pass between our communications, we might not know if we are in trouble with the other).  BFWINS and I know many of each other’s secrets (although I never shared pictures of my fat years) and we keep those secrets.  We are also there if something bad happens.

So, BFWINS had to cancel our dinner plans again.  That’s ok because BFWINS is just that — the best friend whom I never see.

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Just the G-d-Awful Flu

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Since Friday, I have been felled by the flu.  I don’t have mad sow flu, or H1N1, as it is supposedly called.

I am now recovering from the usual, seasonal, G-d-awful flu.  It happens.  The non-designer, non-pandemic one.  I even had a flu shot which I have to say probably made it less horrendous than it could have been.

My sister the doctor was concerned that I was dying of the plague because I didn’t blog for days.  Yes, I had to have been pretty hard hit not to blog, or, for that matter, to pay a shiva call to my friend whose mother’s funeral I attended last week (see prior blog entry).

The flu, once medicated, is the moral equivalent of a stubbed toe.  Yet, I longed to hear my mother say, “my poor tsakele, if I could have it for you I would,” as she looked into my eyes and caressed my cheek in that way that mothers do that make you feel better just by having them there.

POB, partner of blogger, has been in the trenches with our son, getting him from place to place, while I lied in bed doing the least I could do.  Really, the least I could do.  And she is a trooper (who is now coughing, because I share too much).

I took a walk yesterday because I was becoming self-radicalized watching CNN and MSNBC in between naps over the last few days.  I was woozy and thought it would be a great idea to go to the gym.  (I need a personal attendant.)  I went to the gym and did nothing except watch the people who are able to go to the gym on a Monday at 3:30pm, while I scrubbed with Purell.  Luckily the medication dried me out so much that I neither blew my nose or coughed much.  One general observation:  the beautiful, the buff and the young don’t go to the gym in the afternoon.  The older, schleppier and grayer do.

I left the gym having not sweat or done anything to shore up my sagging self and walked south for no reason (ok, no sane reason).  I went into PC Richards and Sons and looked at Plasma TVs.  I thought maybe if I bought a big plasma TV, I could tell POB that it was the delirium that did it.  Even in my delirium I knew that was stupid, yet wishful, thinking.

Friends tried to make me feel better by emailing me stories of the weird and blog-worthy.   My old friend started out his email by writing: “My dear son didn’t really do anything wrong (that’s what every parent says).”  Followed by, wait for it . . .

“Gotcha!!!”

Walk-weary, I took to my bed and resumed doing the least I could do.

Dr. SOB (Sister of Blogger), are you satisfied that I am on the road to recovery?

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A typical day in my life

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Crazy day on the road to Utopia.

I had every textbook stress dream a person can have.  Teeth falling out.  Not being dressed at work.  Having to use the bathroom in front of people.  Having to take an exam in a course at school I thought I dropped.  Running and never making it where I need to go.  Have I missed any?  

I woke up in a cold sweat and groggy. My partner thinks it is because she put too much garlic in that new recipe she tried last night. While the amount of garlic was indeed impressive and did require a Tums or 5, it didn’t cause my bad dreams.  Those I was able to conjure up all by myself.

So, I was exhausted when I started the day at the office.  I was able to get some work done before my computer crashed.  Apparently, everyone else’s computers worked.  Mine was the only one frozen.  Maybe it happened because I didn’t have a stress dream about it.  Note to self: Don’t get out of bed until you’ve had EVERY stress dream imaginable.

I walked to the east side to have lunch with a friend.  I bumped into the Columbus Day parade.  A sad little affair with marchers dressed up in period clothes to look like people of Columbus’s time.  If you want to parade, go to Randall’s island. Get out of my way in midtown.  Although I did get perverse pleasure in being jostled into an Orthodox Jewish man who would not otherwise touch me lest I were ritually unclean (I was not).

I did have an opportunity to pass by a prayer station.  I’m not kidding.  See?  Prayer is fine, but you think with all those who are praying, something would have changed by now.mail

I had a really fun lunch with my friend who is so hysterically funny.  Because I want to maintain confidentiality of my sources, her stories will come out over time.

After fighting my computer for the rest of the day (the computer won), I went home on the train.  There was a guy drizzling hot sauce on top of the hugest falafel I have ever seen, as he was swaying in the subway car.   Shreds of lettuce were falling out of his mouth as he ate. I needed to switch cars at the next stop.  In my next car, there was an angry child demanding “eye contact” from his mother and saying hateful things in jags and spurts. I think I witnessed a portrait of a sociopath as a young child.  They got off and a bike messenger who reeked of pot got on and everything got sooooo mellow.

A day in the life.

Off to bed.  To sleep, perhaps to dream.  (Maybe I’ll make a pot of coffee and stay awake to keep the dreams at bay.)

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