Beauty Dish June 2006 Archives (from old blog)

Thursday, June 1, 2006   No More Pencils, No More Books.... Today is the last day of school for Gandalf and Harry! The end-of-year Middle School band concert last night was most excellent - if you're a mom. Think "The Music Man." (That's my baby!) You can barely see Gandalf and his trombone in the pic below. He's the determined-looking chap next to the euphonium: It's gonna be a long, hot summer.... boys, you better be ready to help momma hawk some serious Avon! 10:43:43 AM    doorbell  [ ]   Sanctuario de Singularity - Part Two (The End) VLBA site in Los Alamos, New Mexico The boys ate handfuls of our homemade trail-mix as we bypassed Santa Fe and hooked a left onto the isolated freeway toward Los Alamos. The road was lined with safety signs dictating an unusually low speed limit. Safety Corridor! Do Not Pass! 40 mph! We wound through three unoccupied lanes snaking through a heat-stroke landscape pock-marked with a million dinky wind caves, my foot hovering over the brake. "Mom! Why do we have to go so slow? There's no one around." Harry stuck his hand out the window and let it rise and fall with the turbulence surrounding us. Gandalf considered the question, and I watched him in the rearview mirror, his mind sifting through all the possible explanations. "Well, the road isn't that steep. And it doesn't look like it gets a lot of traffic. Maybe they're doing road construction? But why's this road so big?" He shook his head to himself. He knew he wasn't right. It didn't compute. "Guys, I know the answer. This is the only road that takes you to Los Alamos. Here, look at the map." I passed the folder paper to the boys. Two police cars huddled in the desert median, radar guns at attention. I continued to crawl through the hills. "Los Alamos is where the Los Alamos National Laboratory is. Everyone in the entire town either is a scientist, a researcher, an engineer, or works for the lab or to help support those who work in the lab. This town is all about science. Nuclear science, for the most part. Sometimes they have to transport hazardous materials to and from the lab. The road has to be kept safe and slow for those trucks. You don't want a nuclear spill. I'm going to take the main exit. There's a science museum that tells all about the lab, so let's head there first." The boys grinned. I heard the rustle of the map as they pinpointed our position, heard them whisper to each other about the space wonders they might see. I wondered, too, what to expect when we rolled into town. Our local paper liked to mention that Los Alamos held the greatest per-capita income in the entire state. Would the streets be green, lush, filled with sprinkler-soaked lawns? I rolled off the exit ramp, onto the streets of Los Alamos. My boys hung their heads out the window like smell-starved hounds. The town didn't notice us. It looked beat, tired, somehow more poor than my own cowboy town. Old cars lined the streets. I didn't see any Mercedes, any yuppie SUVs. Weeds poked through the sidewalks. The famous laboratory perched above the town like a high-tech falcon, claws gripping a mesa rife with juniper and rattlesnake, the only entries into its nest a series of gleaming security checkpoints. I pulled the car into a strip mall and cut the engine. The Bradbury Science Museum loomed before us. "Ok! This is the official museum of the Los Alamos National Lab, gang! Let's see what the hoopla is all about! Time for some science!" The sign on the door listed the rules: No Food! Free Admission! Cameras OK! The boys didn't stop to read. They tore through the entrance and bounded into the exhibit hall. Dr. Robert Oppenheimer and General Leslie Groves greeted me with stony silence. I stared at their cement faces, tried to understand what drives a man to consider atomic annihilation. The museum surprised me, the way the town surprised me, the way it snuck mental weeds in its paved displays, the way it catalogued and supported defense, destruction, the cheerful stewardship of our nation's nuclear stockpile. My boys ran from poster to computer, from a replica of the Fat Man and Little Boy bombs to a six-minute loop film extolling the virtues of weapons testing. This wasn't what I wanted my boys to see. I wanted to see the forward gallop of new technological discoveries balanced by the karmic weight of our nuke-dropping past. I wanted reflection, a sense that we are tiny in this cosmos, that we make mistakes and strive to learn from them. I wanted the awe of new discovery placed in context with the blood money it took to arrive. I wanted to leave. I didn't expect my boys to see the museum the way I saw it. I watched them press buttons and slide cards, imitate the motions of super secret scientists. I sat. The loop film started once more. The narrator began again, spoke in chipper voice about the Manhattan Project, explained that we dropped two bombs to end World War II. The camera cut from serious researchers to a mushroom cloud to waving American flags, a crowd of cheering, excited people. No mention of the deaths that followed, the way the land still carries shattered echo. I pulled a pen from my purse and drew a dove on the back of my business card. I set it on the empty seat to my left along with an Avon Super Shape sample. Two middle-aged men sat in front of me. They grunted approval when the loop ended. I noticed their laboratory badges. "Mom. Let's get out of here." Gandalf tapped my shoulder. Harry stood behind him. "Mom. This place is all about death." I grabbed their hands, and we ran for the car, left the heavy glass door to shutter behind us. I pointed the car home, back down the slow safety hill. We didn't speak for miles, not until the sunset-hue structures of Santa Fe filled the horizon. "Mom." Gandalf leaned close to the back of my head. I could feel his breath on my neck. He sounded on the verge of tears. "Mom. We started at a place that's all about healing. And we ended at a place that's all about death. It seems like everybody believes too much. Those church people don't question things. They just believe it. And maybe those scientists who work on weapons don't question things outside of their science either. What's the difference? I don't want to end up believing in nothing." I opened my mouth to speak, to tell him he's right, that science is a religion sometimes, that people get immersed in their world and forget it's a huge universe, but Harry beat me to it. "Well if you ask me, they should marry each other. Then they would have kids that can think about both things. Because that's what's real. Both things. But right now all those people are lopsided. Isn't that right, Mom?" "Yeah, Harry. That's exactly it." Gandalf lay back in his seat. Santa Fe faded behind us with the sun. We pulled off the road at Pecos and watched a lone coyote hunt rabbit. She lifted her head to the twilight stars. Technorati Tags: New Mexico, Avon, Los Alamos 2:22:43 PM    doorbell  []

Friday, June 2, 2006   I am the Avon Lady. I come in peace. A few weeks ago a desperate man called me, looking for an Avon Lady stripper for his best friend's bachelor party... Read about it here before you read what happened next! I pedaled my bike to Wal-Mart the day of Rocco and Julio's party. I left it tethered to the dented mailbox standing sentry by the garden department and headed inside, past a canned pyramid of refried beans, past the little boys' clothes, past toilet bowl cleaner and push-up bras and boxes of Little Debbie treats, straight to the clearance corner. Sure enough, I found just what I needed - a huge green woven Easter basket for the princely sum of one buck. I pried the pale plastic duck off the handle as I waited in line and handed it to the middle-aged cashier with my handful of loose change. She didn't blink, just stuffed it in a wire bin filled with hangers and discarded merchandise as I waved goodbye. I hung the basket on the right side of my handle bars and headed home. My two boys watched as I artfully crumpled pieces of pink tissue paper and layered it in the bottom of the basket. I added a tube of Avon Bust Sculpt and a fancy handwritten set of instructions for... uh... male "performance." A spritz bottle of RPM, a Mesmerize Soap-on-a-Rope, a bottle of Avon Bug Guard, and three discontinued (and two-year-old but still smelly) Avon vanilla-scented candles completed the set. "You're charging how much for this basket?" My older boy wrinkled his nose. I looked at the goods. The handle of the basket was discolored where the duck used to perch, so I rubbed it, tried to soften the harsh edge, but the oils from my hand made it worse. "Nevermind how much. This is Avon lady business, young man. Now you two clean your rooms and get ready for your club meeting." My boys shuffled down the hall. I heard them shove toys under the beds, hide dirty clothes in the closet, heard them change from school duds to Star Trek uniform in anticipation of the Sci-Fi Club movie night. I stared in my own closet. What does an Avon Lady with a gift basket wear to a stag party? I sifted through my clothes, looked for something demure, chaste, something that screamed No Stripping! A knock at my bedroom door interrupted my thoughts, and I cracked the door to see my youngest son in his yellow science officer's shirt. "Yeah? What do you need, honey? I'm trying to get dressed!" "Mom! Can you wear your uniform, too?" Why not? I grabbed my Star Trek Voyager Captain's uniform, the full-sized one-piece one with the velvet piping I made for Halloween, and decided it was the perfect foil for a handful of horny bachelors. I added my gold-toned communicator pin and a pair of serious black boots and twisted my hair into a commanding French twist. "Ok, crew! Front and center!" My boys fell into line and we marched to the car, the boys with stacks of dog-eared comic books, me with my gift basket and the directions to Rocco's house. I dropped the boys off at the recreation center as twilight hit our hills. I left them with an official salute and pointed my car toward the railroad district, the poorest section of town. The vanilla candles gave off a chemical scent as I passed the train depot. I rolled down the windows, hiked the fan up to "high," tried to force the sickly sweet odor as far away as I could, but other smells invaded my senses, made me roll the windows closed. Rusty cans and glass liquor bottles sprinkled the sides of the road like heavy forgotten confetti, the signs of someone's pleasure turned environmental hazard. The splayed body of a dead dog hoarded the middle of the street. The legs and arms formed a cross like a canine crucifix, and I swerved to avoid it. The sun continued falling behind the Rocky Mountains. I switched on my headlights just as I found Rocco's street. I parked my car nearly a block away. It was obvious which home housed the party. The thump, thump, thump of cranking bass shook the air. I felt my internal organs vibrate in time to Latino rap. I wished I carried a real Star Trek phaser. I climbed the rotten stairs leading to Rocco's door and hovered at the top. The unmistakable bump and grind of cheesy porn music wafted through the door, mixed with the clink and pop of a thousand beer bottles and the rap baseline, an unholy symphony. I brushed the front of my uniform, arranged the gift basket neatly over my arm, and took a deep breath. I rang the bell, but I could tell it didn't work. I knocked. A scuttle of foot motion fractured the noise. Someone switched off the movie, and a pair of clicking shoes stopped at the door. I felt a cold eye inspect me through the peephole. I smiled my best Starfleet greeting. I heard the hard catch of a breath, then a Spanish swear. I wasn't prepared for what came next. "Oh, man! It's a narc!" To Be Continued... Technorati Tags: Star Trek, Avon 8:12:22 PM    doorbell  []

Saturday, June 3, 2006   SO much to do!!! I got your number, buddy! I am spending at least half of today packing things to mail. I'm way behind on my business due to my travel and subsequent illness. But I'm having fun catching up and letting life slide by me. It's easy to get caught in the stress of making things happen NOW! The start of summer is a good time to let your body decide its course, let your mind take one step at a time. Everything will come together. It always does. Now, the other half of the day is exciting! Today is the annual county Fiesta! My cowboy friends across the street are going to let me ride a horse and rope a REAL STEER! Moooooooooooo! Any advice for the new cowgirl? Any Avon products I should bring to help me conquer the beast? Technorati Tags: Rodeo, Avon 8:43:16 AM    doorbell  []

Monday, June 5, 2006   I am the Avon Lady. I come in peace. - Part Two (The End!) Read part one here! The sure hiccup of a deadbolt slid into place, bulging the door slightly out of its frame. I could see shadows running this way and that through the crack, and heard hushed voices in anxious code behind the relentless Latino rap. The man at the door didn't budge. I could almost feel his breath through the pine. I rapped the knuckles of my left hand against the door and yelled. "Hey! I'm just the Avon Lady! I'm no Narc! I have a gift basket for Rocco! Open up! Avon Calling!" The man's eye loomed in the peephole. "Avon? Why you have that uniform on?" He coughed. I extended my right arm with the basket and tilted it so he could inspect the contents. Several more pairs of feet collected behind the door, followed by the soft sounds of pushing and shoving, jockeying for ocular position. "That's no Avon Lady." "Lemme see!" "Who wears shit like that? Feds?" "Yeah, that's the Avon Lady. I see her around town. She's got a, whatchamacallit, you know, a Yoda costume on." "She's the stripper?" The deadbolt released and the door opened. Five young men stepped back, let me enter. Another half-dozen guys milled about in the background. Empty pizza boxes covered every possible surface in the room, and the spaces between them were accented by empty Tecate cans. The room smelled like pepperoni and green chilies and booze and pot. A poster of Che Guevara hung lopsided over a beige chenille couch. A pile of rented adult DVDs sat on the floor. I almost stepped on one sporting a bleach-blonde Latina's generous backside. One of the crowd stepped forward. He wore low-slung baggy jeans and a black t-shirt with the Virgin of Guadalupe on the back. "I'm Rocco." He pulled a canvas wallet from a back pocket and removed some bills. We exchanged goods. "So are you like the Avon Police? Heh heh." The men laughed. I held the money in my hand. My uniform had no pockets. "I'm a Starfleet captain. Ever see Star Trek?" The men shrugged their shoulders in unison. I couldn't tell if they meant Yes or No. "Well, it's a little different than what you were watching before I arrived. Now, I don't know who the lucky guy is, but this gift basket has some items that will make you irresistible to your sweetie. I wish you a wonderful life!" I turned to leave with a short wave. "Hey, Lady! Wait!" Rocco motioned to his posse to sit. They meandered to the couch, to the floor, pushing boxes, crusts, and cans out of the way, one of them parking his butt on a stained particleboard coffee table. Rocco handed the gift basket to a slight man in black canvas pants and a wife beater. He pawed through the contents, lifted the paper with the Bust Sculpt instructions to his eyes, held it close. His lips moved as he read. "So why you wearing Star Wars? This some kind of joke?" Rocco's voice challenged me, chastised me, accused me of interrupting their stag party with some kind of white chick slap in the face. I stood for a moment, my heart beating too fast, too scared. The rap song ended and a new song began, one I knew, an upbeat love ballad called Es Por Ti by sultry singing hunk, Juanes. "Hey, I love this song!" I paused, let the music move through my uniform, find my heart, let it slow, slow, make my pulse match its gentle beat. I closed my eyes, tried to think of a way out the door, a way out of trouble. "Rocco, come here. Let's dance." The men Wooooooo'd, fanned themselves in fake passion. Rocco's eyes grew wide. He didn't know what to do. I raised one Spock eyebrow and motioned to him with one finger and my lopsided smile. "Come on, Rocco. I love this song." Rocco grinned and moved forward. I lifted my collar away from my neck and stuffed my cash inside my bra. The men giggled. I aligned my body and arms to dance the Cumbia. I figured he would remember the steps from childhood, from a Grandmom or aunt with Latin culture on her mind. He took position, and we danced. He smelled like pot, like six bottles of aftershave, like chilies and beer. He knew the steps and I let him lead me through the minefield of bachelor excess. "Listen, Rocco. I wore this outfit because my son asked me too. Star Trek is cool. It gives my boys hope that our world isn't lost. You should watch it some time." I whispered my message as the song ended. The men-boys clapped and nodded in satisfaction. "She's all right. She can dance." I waved goodbye, let myself out the door. One plaintive cry followed me outside. "Hey! Ain't she gonna strip?" This story would end here, with me a hundred bucks richer, one dance older, one stag party wiser, but something I didn't expect happened. I stood in line at the drug store last week, still recovering from strep throat, a bag of strong cherry lozenges in my hand. A man walked past me, a man I recognized. A man from the party. He hovered next to me, rubbed his mustache with his hand, then lifted it in a split-fingered Vulcan salute any Star Trek fan knows. "Larga vida y prosperidad." Technorati Tags: Star Trek, Avon 7:57:56 AM    doorbell  [ ]   ... and summer vacation begins for all good Avon Ladies and their broods My two young boys spent an hour this morning stamping my new Avon brochures while I pasted delivery confirmation receipts to a stack of packages to mail. Now we're ready to begin our first official Monday of school vacation! On today's schedule: Post Office, and then we're heading to the shooting range to see if I can hand out some Avon Men's Brochures. (Plus we'll practice our aim. I'm a dang good shot!) Then we'll stop by the recreation center during open swim, and while my boys fly down the water slide, I'll be chatting up makeup with the other poolside moms. Coming soon: reviews on the new Avon Color Instant Manicure (Ladies, this product is SUPER NEAT!) and on the new Avon Super Shape Anti-Cellulite & Stretch Mark Cream. 11:02:51 AM    doorbell  []

Tuesday, June 6, 2006   I like the challenge I'm so darn behind on Avon, life, love, housework, pet care, earwax maintainence, you name it. I keep telling myself it's OK to be behind, but somehow my subconscious hasn't bought my affirmations. I didn't get any Avon accomplished yesterday. I'm still coughing from my recent bought of bacterial stew, still running slow. But life doesn't stop for the hacking, the slow, the wistful. I want a new watch, one with a pause button as big as its dial, one that lets me breathe, count happy midnight sheep, one that fills my bath with warm rose water. In Avon news, I am loving the new online interface for representatives! It's easy to use, much more friendly than the previous incarnation. Lots of interesting features. I'll post more on this soon. 11:44:15 AM    doorbell  []

Wednesday, June 7, 2006   From the archives: This story was posted at the Virtual Occoquan a year or so ago. I thought it would be fun to post it here. Miguel called me last night, and is planning on visiting me next month. I can't wait! Don Juan Miguel Every couple of weeks or so I buy two chocolate croissants and two Mexican mochas with extra whipped cream at the French bakery and carry them across the parking lot to the 76 gas station garage. I give a pastry and coffee to the mechanic, Miguel, and we sit on oil-stained metal folding chairs and talk. He always eats too quickly and jumps up to finish rotating tires or replacing timing belts or changing oil. I take longer to eat, and sip my mocha and watch him work while he tells me his theories of the universe. Miguel emigrated from Mexico City twelve years ago. He snuck over the border by way of the Imperial sand dunes, and three members of his alien group died of heat and dehydration. The Border Patrol found the rest, gave them water and food and sunscreen, and trucked them back to Tijuana in a green van with tinted windows like they always do, but not Miguel. He rested under the sands with the sidewinder rattlesnakes, knowing his destiny was United States or death. It didn't matter which one. I'm not sure how he ended up a mechanic. Maybe he learned his trade in Mexico. I asked him one day and he told me again of his night in the sands when an angel appeared and told him to burrow and hide and keep his ears covered with sand, pressed into the dunes, so that he could hear when it was safe to leave. "Wow. No way! What kind of an angel," I asked him, "Can you describe her?" Miguel laughed and told me I didn't understand. "Birdie, not one of your Catholic angels. A desert angel. They don't have wings." He shrugged his shoulders and the buttons down his shirt pulled uncomfortably apart. "And man, you gotta stop bringing me this stuff. I gotta go on a diet." He picked up a wrench and bent into the hood of a silver Thunderbird, and I heard the echo of metal against metal against his smooth low voice. "I'm too fat to hide in those dunes now. For the young, that is. For the young." He laughed again. Miguel isn't an ordinary mechanic. At least I don't think other mechanics drive to the desolate areas in the spring and take time-lapse photographs of ocotillo and sage flowers and write longhand letters to physicist Stephen Hawking and speak to angels and demons on days when the garage sits empty and the marine fog rolls in and around the piles of broken greasy parts. I met him when I brought my minivan to his shop for an oil change. I watched him feel the hood with lovers' hands, saw his eyes roll white under his wild Latino afro as he listened, heard him match the engine drums with a human hum.  I must have stared too hard because he raised one side of his mouth and gestured toward the ceiling. He spoke like a priest, slow and clear with soft rounded vowels, almost a sign song tone. "The spirits tell me what to do. Your car is alright but you drive too fast and she doesn't like it." The other day we sat and talked about time. Miguel told me that I felt the hands of the clock because culture and church and convention played tricks on my mind. The universe is one point, he said, one point of existence where time and space collide. "It's like this. Time is space, and there is no time. It's like it all already happened one moment and now we just live bites of that moment. Get it? Just a bite at a time but it's one big donut. You gotta small mouth. You can only eat one bit at a time." Miguel wiped a fly off his forehead, leaving a timeless splotch of black oil in a line above his eyebrows. Time is space, and there is no time. I started repeating this to myself, hoping the mantra would chip tiny cracks in my rigid thought, leaving a crevice into which enlightenment can seep. The message is clear: everything happens at once, not only in the garage, but also in my heart, in my mind, in the whole, huge, entire expanding universe. I just didn't get it. I'm in my late thirties. But this moment today is the same moment I lost my first tooth, it's the same moment I began menstruating, it's the moment I lost my virginity, and the moment I married for the first time. It's the moment I married for the second time, and the moment I became a mother. It's the same moment I met Miguel, and the moment I eventually die. It all happened at once, in the same first breath as the universe was spun and the same last breath as it decays. Time is as simple and profound and as enigmatic as birth. I closed my eyes and listened to Miguel grab a rusty nut with pliers, heard him grunt and pull, the sound of oil splattering into a plastic tub underneath the car. "So Miguel. Is this what you wrote to Stephen Hawking? All this stuff about time?" Maybe new theories about the nature of reality would arise from my mechanic's interaction with one of the greatest scientific minds in all history, I wondered. "Nah. I told him he was wrong about black holes. You can see what's happening with those black holes if you just look at the pictures. Doesn't he look at the pictures? Who's an expert anyway?"  He tapped a new filter into place, and for a second, as Miguel squeezed hard to tighten the seal, out of the corner of my eye, I felt him breathe, felt Steven Hawking breathe, as if our mouths were connected to one starburst lung spilling mocha oil into the center of the galaxy. 7:40:25 AM    doorbell  []

Thursday, June 8, 2006   Should Avon Pay For Celebrity Wrinkles? The LA Times has an article detailing how some cosmetics companies are using gorgeous older models - who have wrinkles! Should Avon consider a marketing campaign with older, more realistic models? Does new Avon spokeswoman Julia Roberts fit this mold? Technorati Tags: Julia Roberts, Avon, beauty 7:55:18 AM    doorbell  [ ]   An Avon Lady's World Cup Pick! Let's talk about what's really important, ladies! Everyone I know has World Cup Fever! Mike over at Chew Toys is hounding me to post my finals pick! After doing extensive research into the teams, the managers, the coaches, the injuries, the players - you name it - I have come to the inescapable conclusion that the Netherlands will win. Why, you ask? Because with HOTNESS like this, how can they loose?! Patrick Kluivert, my next boyfriend Ok, ladies, tell me YOUR favorite hot soccer player! Technorati Tags: World Cup, Avon 5:09:33 PM    doorbell  []

Friday, June 9, 2006   Review of Avon's AvonColor Instant Manicure Stickers for your fingernails! The new AvonColor Instant Manicure dry nail enamel strips are a runaway bestseller for Avon! Unless you've been living off the media grid (or you're a guy and genetically immune to fembot marketing), you've seen the television and print ads sporting lithe, sexy fingers with tips of the finest rubies. The Avon brochure blares the product's exclusivity. "Only at Avon" "The World's first real nail enamel that goes on dry!" The literature continues with Instant Manicure's alleged amazing properties. "Get a complete manicure without smudges in minutes," "stays shiny, smooth and lasts up to 14 days," "base, color, and top coat all-in-one." Once again, another Avon product solves world hunger, develops a cure for cancer, and promises eternal beauty bliss in one Avon brochure page. I have to be honest - Avon's no doubt right about one point - I've never seen any product like this other than the old school Lee Press-On Nails my sisters and I sported back in the early '80s. Instant Manicure isn't a set of fake nails, however, it's actual individual slices of polish you stick on your nails for immediate glamour. Instant Manicure comes in an assortment of warm, neutral, and cool colors like any other Avon nail polish. You can choose reds, purples, blues, clears, earths, and shimmer tones. I decided to try the advance pack samples that came in my Avon delivery, a set of glossy nail-covers in a space-age cream shimmer. Now, even though I sell Avon, I rarely wear nail polish. With two young boys at home, a cactus garden to tend, a pot-bellied pig, dog, iguanas and three parrots as companions, having fancy fingers is a bit out of my reach. I keep my nails ultra short and pray no customers notice my ragged cuticles. Here's a photo of my sorry fingers before application: Yeah, I know, they are warped and wrinkled. Pass the Skin So Soft hand cream, please. The polish comes in a strip of fingernail-shaped pods covered in a glossy film. You peel off the protection (yes, ladies, this is a sexy operation!) and find the pod that best fits your fingernail. Finding the proper size is easy: I was laughing so hard while imagining my nails so sleek and shiny that the camera shook. You peel off the little silver tab attaching the nails to the film and remove your chosen pod, then place the rounded edge close to your cuticle. It's a sticker! Press from base to tip, smoothing out the air bubbles as you go. To be honest, this process takes a bit of practice, as you are essentially one-handed as you size, stick, and smooth. More coordinated fellows than myself will do a better job. The pod hangs off the top edge of your nail. You simply rub the polish film gently across your nail edge and it just falls to the floor. Voila! Instant Manicure! As you can see, not a perfect job, but my nails are covered, smooth, and shiny! The Instant Manicure strips allow for mistakes. Several extra pods are included in each packette. (This would be helpful for those with more than ten fingers, too!) I ended up sticking the extras on my toes for a good laugh. It works! A full thirty days later, the dang polish is STILL on my nails, and looks nearly identical to when I applied it! No chips, just a small edge at the cuticle where my nails have grown. I can't believe it. Avon met and exceeded its promises. I expect them to cure world hunger any day. Thirty-six days later. Nail Polish intact. Space Age fingers, indeed! Technorati Tags: manicure, Avon, beauty 4:20:52 PM    doorbell  []

Sunday, June 11, 2006   Links for you! If you write blog entries or post photographs you feel might be of interest to the world at large, you should check out the brand-new Scoopt and ScooptWords. You can sell your blog content and photos to those who may wish to syndicate your efforts. Beauty Dish is now listed at Coutorture, a partnership of beauty blogs. Check them out! I am adding Graham Holiday's excellent Noodle Pie blog to my Bird House links. I met Graham in London at the We Media Global Forum. His blog discusses street food in Saigon, where he lives! It's a wonderful read, so please add him to your list of "must read" blogs. 10:15:47 AM    doorbell  [ ]   Lazy Sunday Beauty Discussion We have a great conversation that started in the comments section of Friday's Avon Instant Manicure review. Why do we women stick colorful slices of nail polish on our fingers? Why do we wear mascara, paint our lips with cherry and rose? Do we do this for ourselves? To look good for men? To look good for women? Post your thoughts below! 12:00:51 PM    doorbell  []   Coen Brothers new movie being shot in my town! The Coen Brothers new movie, No Country for Old Men, is being shot in my town! Filming begins this week and continues through July. I'll be taking lots of photos to post here and handing Avon samples to the crew. I'm thinking they'll need sunscreen for this hot New Mexico sun! The movie stars Tommy Lee Jones, Josh Brolin, and Javier Bardem. Technorati Tags: Coen Brothers, Avon, film 12:55:57 PM    doorbell  []   Coen Brothers new movie being shot in my town! The Coen Brothers new movie, No Country for Old Men, is being shot in my town! Filming begins this week and continues through July. I'll be taking lots of photos to post here and handing Avon samples to the crew. I'm thinking they'll need sunscreen for this hot New Mexico sun! The movie stars Tommy Lee Jones, Josh Brolin, and Javier Bardem. Technorati Tags: Coen Brothers, Avon, film 12:55:57 PM    doorbell  [ ]

  

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Little Tidbits! My Secret Bird Call list became much too large for me to manage, and my email application hasn't allowed me to mail to it in months! So I finally got an official mailing list set up so that I can send out a little weekly "private" update to all those interested. Please submit your email in the form under the Avon Lady Cam, and you will be on the list! I respect your privacy and will NEVER give out ANY email addresses to anyone! This is my own private list for updating you on all my secrets. We have such an awesome discussion going on in comments on Sunday's discussion post. Please join in the fray! Folks have been asking for this, so I added a page describing how to add html excitement to your comments, you can read it here. 8:10:28 PM    doorbell  []

  

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

It's all so progressive.... My boys told me I signed their summer lives away when I filled out the permission slip for them to attend our city's state-funded day camp. I rolled my eyes in the way they hate most. "Come on, you two. Look at the schedule! You're going to learn CPR! First Aid! Bike Safety! Art! You're going to learn Latin Dancing! Healthy Ecosystems! Geeze, I had no idea this town was so liberal." I wanted to attend the darn camp myself. But Avon customers and a stacked up backlog of life await! Here it is, two day camp days later, and I have a dilemma. A big dilemma. My older boy, Gandalf, loves it, loves the community service portion where they pull trash from the Rio Gallinas, loves learning the hip-sway steps of the Meringue, loves the loaded nachos and green chili enchiladas they serve for lunch. He made friends! Friends who are girls! Real seventh grade girls! "It's really like a real summer job more than dumb kids' day camp," he told me with middle-school authority. "They pay us old kids a hundred fifty dollars at the end of the summer if we show up every day." I didn't have the heart to tell him they're paying for his complacency, his good attitude toward public property. Truancy is a big problem in dirt poor New Mexican towns, and a hundred fifty bucks goes a long way toward curbing slash dot graffiti and the smell of illegal smoke behind the train station. But my younger boy, Harry, scowled and told me he hated it. He wouldn't tell me why yesterday evening, just made faces and tried to bargain his way out of jail. "I'll clean the bathroom if I don't have to go. I'll brush the dog. I'll do anything, Mom! I don't wanna go!" But I marched him across our fire hazard fields, past the taco man parked in the Walgreen's lot. His sad face stayed with me all day. This afternoon I learned the problem, the reason he wants to pack Avon, fold laundry, and Cinderella away his June and July. Bullies. Stupid chicken peck bullies in the playground. Bullies who push and shove and call out grim reaper names. Bullies. "Honey, did you tell the teacher?" I hugged my boy, thought he would cry, but his body stiffened with something like disappointment mixed with unexpected grit. "The teacher told me to ignore them. He didn't listen to me. I tried to ignore them but they keep pushing me and throwing sand at me, Mom!" I told him he doesn't have to go back. You can teach all the right things, people. You can pretend you're making the world a better place with lesson plans about change, about the future. But until you open your eyes, take stock of the world in front of your face, take care of your own, you're just playing games. What would you do? Technorati Tags: bullying, Avon, New Mexico 4:55:05 PM    doorbell  []

  

Friday, June 16, 2006

Lucky Campaign 13 I'm slapping together my Campaign 13 Avon Order. While I tabulate, telephone, and type, please caption this photo of Harry, taken just two minutes ago! Let's see if my super space laser can scratch that Instant Manicure! 2:26:11 PM    doorbell  []   Guest Review time! One of my favorite bloggers and blog buddies, Patia, has been a great friend and a loyal customer. She sent in - unsolicited! - this great review for Avon Nailwear. Please drop by her site and say Hi! She's an incredible photographer and a thoughtful and insightful person. I love her! Avon Nailwear nail enamel review By Patia Stephens of A Drivel Runs Through It So, I have a little bit of a foot fetish. But only for my own feet. I think I have lovely feet. They have a shapely high arch, elegant toes and good toenails. Also, my second toe is longer than my big toe, which means I'm going to be rich when I grow up. I was shocked recently to read that something like 70 percent of women don't like their feet. (Of course, I can't find that article now, so don't quote me.) But then, I have long thought that one reason I like my feet so much is that they're one of the few parts of my body I don't have issues with. To assist the 70 percent of women who don't like their feet - seeing as summer sandal season is upon us - I offer the following advice: Exfoliate, exfoliate, exfoliate. I like to squirt a bit of gritty scrub onto a pumice stone and have at it. Do this a couple times a week and your feet will be smooth as the proverbial baby's bottom. Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize. This is especially important during the summer, when our feet are exposed to the elements. I don't like having slimy feet in the daytime, so I slather on some foot cream - Avon's Planet Spa makes a good one - and wear socks to bed once or twice a week. If you have never treated yourself to a salon pedicure, do so immediately. There are few better ways to pamper yourself on earth. But don't get so blissed out that you fail to take notes on the techniques and implements the nail tech uses. Organize all your nail tools and polishes in one convenient carry-all, such as a cute basket or bucket. Having all your pedicure supplies in one place makes caring for your tootsies ever so much easier. Buy Avon Nailwear nail enamel! Which brings me to the real point of this review. Today I received an Avon order I recently placed for four new shades of nail color: Rhinestone Rose, Garnet Jewel, Fusion and Flutterby. (Who comes up with these names? I want that job.) These four are in addition to the twelve shades of Avon nail color I already own. Yes, I'm a fan. Avon Nailwear nail enamel lasts like crazy. Since I discovered it, I have renounced all other brands of nail polish. With base and top coat (Avon, of course), my pedicure goes a month, easy, without chipping or peeling. In fact, I've decided to stop using base and top coat during the summer, because I want to change my polish color more frequently. The Avon Nailwear I just removed - one coat, that's all - still looked great after three weeks. Now I've got a fresh coat of Avon Speed-Dry nail enamel in Flutterby on my toes. (I can't vouch for the Speed-Dry yet, as this is my first time trying it. Perhaps I'll follow up with a mini-review in a few weeks.) Avon Nailwear goes on smoothly and dries in a reasonable amount of time. Be sure to use toe separators to prevent smudges during drying. (These and other handy pedi tools, like cuticle pushers and buffing blocks, can be found at your local beauty supply store.) Use an Avon Neat Nails corrector pen, or just a Q-tip dipped in remover, to tidy up outside the lines. Another tip: Decorate your beautiful feet with jewelry and great shoes. There are few things sexier than toe rings and anklets. I catch people checking out my feet all the time. Once, on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, a handsome blond man knelt and ran his hand over my toe-ring-embellished and leather-slide-encased foot, repeating "Beautiful feet" three times before disappearing into the crowd. Foot worship? Fine with me. I have even posted a few pictures of my feet on Flickr - here, here, and here - to show off my pretty pedis. If I think I have beautiful feet, why shouldn't others get to enjoy them, too? A final tip: My favorite shades of Avon Nailwear are Lagoon - a brilliant blue - and Rave - a metallic pink that looks a little strange in the bottle but becomes positively addictive on. (The shimmers and dazzles are definitely the way to go.) However, be warned that the colors on the Avon website don't always match the actual color; better to order from a catalog, if you can. Avon Nailwear: Tops for toes. Oh, and you can paint fingernails with the stuff, too. Technorati Tags: beauty, Avon, feet 8:13:49 AM    doorbell  []

  

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Barbeque I invited the bullies who tormented my son and their parents to a Father's Day afternoon barbeque. I'm not sure anyone will show, not sure what I'm going to serve, not sure whether my extended hand will be grasped in friendship or slapped. My first Secret Bird Call with the new maillist goes out Monday! If you haven't yet signed up to be on the list, please fill in the little form under the Avon Lady Cam. And in Avon news... Frankie the pot-bellied pig discovered my tube of Avon Super Shape Anti-Cellulite and Stretch Mark Cream. I found him, a few moments ago, curled and content on his cedar-filled pillow, a few plastic tube remnants hanging from his snout, a jaunty mustache of firming cream lining his nostrils. Update: Ok, I was worried. I called Poison Control. Here is the actual conversation: Birdie: Hi, I'm not sure I should be calling you but I might have an emergency. My pig just ate an entire tube of Avon Super Shape. Poison Control: Excuse me? Can you repeat that? Please speak slowly. Birdie (much slower): My pig just ate an entire tube of Avon Super Shape Anti-Cellulite and Stretch Mark Cream. Should I be concerned? Poison Control: click 10:42:03 PM    doorbell  []

  

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Happy Father's Day!!! Happy Father's Day to all Beauty Dish readers!!! 4:46:55 PM    doorbell  [ ]

 

Monday, June 19, 2006

Last Chance! ('till next week's edition) Today was nuts! I'm sending off the first Secret Bird Call tomorrow. I decided to wait a full week for sign-ups so that no one would miss out, and to make Tuesday the official Secret Bird Call day. Tuesdays Rock! Tomorrow's secret story involves the movie shoot in my town! It's fun and funny, so sign up for my list now if you haven't had the chance! Each week will feature an original story NOT posted to the blog! Plus fun Avon tips, and some.... surprises.... Tomorrow I am also posting (finally!) my Avon Super Shape review after seven full weeks of product testing. It's a doozy! 9:49:30 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Secret Bird Call #1 delivered! I have just sent out the first Bird Call! If you are subscribed to the list and don't receive it by this evening, please let me know. I am new to this maillist software and want to be sure I'm not missing anyone. Everyone else, you can sign up now and not miss next week's edition or any following edition! Stay tuned for more.... 5:47:21 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Dilemma and What Should I Wax? I am nearly done with that Avon Super Shape review, but I have a dilemma. I took before and after photos to accompany the review, but holy mother of beauty products, I don't think I should subject any readers to close-ups of my cellulite! What do you think? Yes or No? And another question, my brave friends... In my Avon delivery last night, I received a bottle of the new Skin So Soft Pre-Wax Pain Relief Spray. Of course, this makes me want to wax something! The spray was bundled with the Skin So Soft Hair Removal Microwave Wax Kit, so I'm good to go! My dear Turkish friend is in California, and I don't have a willing volunteer, so that means I must be my own guinea pig. What should I wax? 9:01:36 AM    doorbell  [ ]

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Review: Avon Super Shape Anti-Cellulite & Stretch Mark Cream I gave birth for the first time as a scared teenager in a cold metal bed. I gave birth the second time at 20 years old, with a dreadlocked midwife at my side as I squatted against my bedroom's parquet floor. I gave birth again at 22, another hippy midwife rubbing my back, another sloppy apartment, another tiny baby to feed and clothe with no money, nothing but endless time and pathological optimism. My body bounced back, didn't look different than it did at 15, really, after three kids. I still rocked string bikinis in my backyard while I lounged on folding lounge chairs, toddlers naked under a grass-flooding sprinkler. The year I turned 29 everything changed. I spent my birthday eight months pregnant with number four, my belly distended to a phenomenal distance, my back weary and sore. My feet swelled two sizes. I cursed my pregnancy, wished it over, please God over. But the fates laughed, made me carry my son two, almost three weeks beyond the calculated distance as my tummy grew and grew and grew. I didn't know my stomach mapped an interstate highway, a heaving spiral galaxy, a universe of crack-edged stars. I didn't know this as I plodded through my apartment, didn't know it the moment of his birth, when my midwife held him high, declared him eleven pounds, as I looked at his father and demanded something to eat. I didn't know until three weeks later, when I stood in front of a full length mirror and stared at my unfamiliar body, tired skin marked with nine months of hard history, nine months of collection, of cellular division, of gentle monster creation. How could my body let me down, I thought? How could it? Eleven years later I still carry those marks. They've faded to silver, to memory, and years of exercise and cocoa butter and vitamin E haven't done a damn sorry thing. I'm no different than my sisters, than my friends, than millions of women with children and pets and wistful dreams. I have stretch marks. I have stretch marks! And not only that - as time pushed me from 29 to 40 I developed a small bit of cellulite, too. I still wear bikinis and run through backyard sprinklers. The marks of a life lived fully don't stop me from feeling sexy, hell, from looking or being sexy. I keep in good shape. I like to run, to walk, to swim and bike and climb. But, to be honest, if Avon developed a product that erased them, I would certainly use it! My rejection of cultural conditioning only goes so far. So, with my customary glee, I ordered the advance pack of Avon's new Super Shape Anti-Cellulite & Stretch Mark Cream and hoped for the best. The advertising, like all other celebrated Avon products, greeted me with incredible fanfare. "Our first dual action cream to target and visibly diminish the appearance of cellulite and stretch marks." "Skin renewal acid to help improve the appearance of older stretch marks." "Butea flower extract to help new stretch marks appear less visible." The literature sports a perfect panty-bottomed butt with the word "cellulite" imprinted on one thigh. I stared at the rounded cheeks, at the taught thighs. What cellulite? Another photo of a slim, toned and stretch mark-free tummy sits below the wondrous ass. The little person who caused my stretch marks, my son, now 11, caught me staring at the brochure. "Uh, Mom? Shouldn't the butt be under the belly and not the other way around?" He has a point. Avon Super Shape costs $16.50 and comes in a generous 6.7 ounce squeeze tube similar to Avon ReFine and Avon Cellu-Sculpt. In fact, if you peruse the list of ingredients for these similar items, you will find many of the same components designed to pull and pinch and erase and plump and firm. As an Avon Lady, I'm not sure exactly which product or combination of products to recommend to a customer with a flabby attitude. The day the product arrived, I opened the tube and inhaled. The smell is not what I'd call offensive, but it sure isn't pleasant, either. It has the same hidden chemical odor as Cellu-Sculpt that slightly irritates my nose, with more gentle overtones of rose and cinnamon. The color of the cream is a light golden beige. I rubbed and massaged it, as recommended, into my thighs, butt, and tummy. It melts into the skin easily and leaves it feeling soft and supple. I could feel an instant tingle as the product slightly tightened my epidermis. The sensation lasts but a moment, and a couple hours later, any initial tightening is sadly gone, a figment of beauty imagination. I used the Avon Super Shape faithfully - morning and night as instructed - for a full seven weeks, until I was squeezing bare molecules from the tube. I ate well, too, lots of veggies and fruits and lean protein, drank a boat load 'o water. I exercised, meditated, did everything good and healthy for my body that I could. But in all those weeks, I didn't see any real, lasting effects from Super Shape. My stretch marks have not faded or smoothed. My cellulite laughs at me, waves along the top of my thighs as if brushing my ideas of extreme beauty far, far away. On the plus side, my skin is softer, and perhaps a teeny tiny bit firmer in the areas deluged with Super Shape. To be completely truthful, I do not recommend this product. I, and my customers, are seeing better results with Avon Lift and Tuck, which costs a little bit more than Super Shape but is worth the extra pennies. I even traded one unhappy customer her used tube of Super Shape for several other Avon products she liked better. It's just not living up to the hoopla, at least in my experience and in that of my customers. What bothers me more than a useless product, however, is the way that I felt when I first read the Avon news that Super Shape would soon appear, the way I felt when I look at the pretty woman in the panties. I wanted it to work, wanted to look like 15, like new, like the smooth vixen women I see in magazines, like the women we women expect ourselves to be. What kind of attitude is that? If Super Shape gave me anything, it's the gift of reexamining who I am, what wonders I've produced with this crazy body, the ability to see myself with new eyes and to love every wrinkle and tear. Yeah, I'm 40, and I have kids! Bring on the next 40 years, baby! I'm ready. My sexy swim suit butt cellulite! Before and after Super Shape, it's all the same. 8:56:54 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Friday, June 23, 2006

Turn to Page Five... I have a new human interest stories column in the Las Vegas Times! (Las Vegas, New Mexico, that is...) My first column appeared in today's issue. If you would like to subscribe and support local journalism at its best, please email editor Chris Lopez at lasvegastimes@gmail.com. Just $25 a year for the best small town news in America, including a weekly look at rural New Mexican life by yours truly! 1:05:26 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Thanks to Carroll for sending in this wonderful collection of mini-reviews! "A-Von, A Little Dab'll Do Ya!" by Beauty Dish reader and Avon customer, Carroll OK, so other than from one line of a Jimmy Buffet lyric, most of us Beauty Dish Readers aren't nearly old enough to remember the old Brylcreem jingle of long ago. But when I was thinking about what I like so much about several of the Avon products, it popped right into my head, and I don't think I'm going to get rid of it until I offer Birdie's readers this little multi-product mini review. Sure, although it's considerably less than most department store products, Avon may cost a bit more than your average drugstore line. But I tell ya, folks, from the products I've experienced so far, a little goes a long way. The Planet Spa hand cream? At first I was very disappointed at how small the tube is. I mean, I use a *lot* of lotion, especially in the winter when my hands turn into lizard skin if I'm not right on top of things. But I've discovered that a small dab of Planet Spa, mixed with a generous dollop of my usual unscented drugstore stuff does the job just fine and provides that wonderful earthy Planet Spa fragrance without using the whole tube up in a week. The Moisture 24 Long-Lasting Hydrating Cream? Again, such a small jar! But gosh, the merest "smidge" on a fingertip or two, and my face stays moist and soft for the rest of the day. Same with the Anew Clinical Eye Lift stuff. You only have to touch your fingers to the two products (for upper and lower eye areas) and a tiny trace will provide all the coverage you need. That little jar is gonna last forever! And, oh, my beloved Wattles-Be-Gone! When Louise showed up unexpectedly on my doorstep last week, and gleefully made off with every ounce of Avon stuff I could foist off on her, I was amazed to realize how much was still left in the partially-used tube of Anew Clinical Lift and Tuck. I've been using it twice a day for months, and there was still plenty to share. Just a pea-sized "dab" (or even less -- can you visualize half a pea?) is plenty to cover my whole neck and upper chest area. Ditto for the shampoos! So, the bottom line? I may pay more upfront for Avon than I'm used to spending for similar products at the drugstore, but they sure do last a lot longer. Not so good for Birdie's bottom line when it comes to repeat orders, but I'm most definitely a happy camper :-) Now, as for the Avon *website*...IMO that leaves a *lot* to be desired! I just trolled around over there to try and locate the name of one of these products, and dang that's a tough one to navigate! Cluttered. Some of the pull-downs don't work. Annoyingly small number of items displayed per click. Ask it to "find" a product with "moisture" or "24" in the name? No luck at all getting to the product I wanted! I ask you, how's a good Avon Pimp supposed to be successful with support like that? Feh! I'd much rather flip through a paper catalog than try and make my way around that litter. Might be time for a focus group of folks who've never used your site before, Avon -- see what they think. I believe you could do with a makeover! 1:52:47 PM    doorbell  [ ]   It's the Beauty Dish Radio Melancholy Show! Geeze, I haven't done a radio show in absolute months. My mind has been elsewhere, fighting fires caused by my ongoing drought. But, I'm ending the dry streak this week with a special Beauty Dish Radio Melancholy Show, designed to bring y'all down and lift ya up at the same time! A funny new Avon story! Some crazy (and I mean CRAZY) beauty tips that work! Plus fun music and an appearance by a special guest! Have a music dedication or request? Get it in by Tuesday night! 3:31:42 PM    doorbell  [ ]   Caption the photo! What are these crazy Norwegians doing in my town??? Find out in Tuesday's Secret Bird Call! 3:33:47 PM    doorbell  []