Beauty Dish: Underground Adventures of an (EX!) Avon Lady

Snowed In!

The view down my street:

I just got the call. My boys' school gets out at noon due to snow! Three inches upon the ground so far. So much for my planned day of door-to-door Avon. (Yay for enforced days off!)

Yes, folks, hell has frozen over...

I have started a new category here at Beauty Dish, called "Carroll Blogs."

What?! What's that?! Our tireless commenter, reviewer extraordinaire, dear friend, and fellow Sagittarian Carroll doesn't blog and swore she never would? Well, the times are a changin'!

Carroll is now the permanent Wednesday blogger over at Fluid Pudding!

Get yer buns over there and read her sweet Letter to Louise! I'll remind you each Wednesday, folks.

Signed,
A proud (and charter!) member of the Carroll Wednesday Wenches

Love and Nail Polish During Wartime

My blog friend, Jonah, writes the beautiful Love During Wartime. He writes with sparse elegance, writes the world in simple colors that reflect all those hidden bits of love we forget to carry. Every time I read his site I feel so damn human, feel him sneak his life force into my pockets until they overflow. Jonah simply rocks.

Jonah sampled the Avon Instant Manicure and sent in this review. But please! Once you read about his experience with Avon, click over to his site and get lost.

Review: Avon Instant Manicure

The Challenge:

I’m a guy, OK? I don’t worry much about how my nails look, except that they be acceptably clean for social occasions.

I’m also a guitarist, which means nails on my right hand get a pretty good work-out. I normally strum with my thumb and forefinger; I finger-pick with my thumb, and first three fingers (the pinky seems to just lag behind). I very rarely use finger picks or a single pick. I’m no Chet Atkins, but I do alright.

This is what those nails are up against:

Six-string guitar:

Twelve-string guitar:

I use medium strings on the 6-string; they range in size from 1.42 mm to 0.33 mm. I use light strings on the 12; they range from 1.19 mm to 0.25 mm. The largest string, of either set, is smaller than 5/100ths of an inch in diameter.

I recently realized that those strings act like multiple emery boards, ranging from a very fine grain to heavy grain. My nails are rough, chip easily, and break at odd angles. They can get worn down past my fingertips during times of heavy use, to the point that I don’t have nails to pluck strings with.

Then, on Birdie’s blog, I noticed a discussion of Avon’s Instant Manicure kit. This kit is a thin film that sticks on your nail, and makes your nails look professionally polished. The reviewer claimed that her nails seemed to get stronger while wearing the kit, so that her nails did not chip as easily after removing the film.

This seemed a worthy experiment. Birdie was kind enough to send some samples – three pairs. In my mind, the experiment had two steps: 1) how well the application withstood the guitar strings; 2) whether my nails were stronger once I removed the application.

I put strips on the nails of my index finger and third finger. To make the experiment somewhat fair, I applied Tough as Nails polish on my thumbnail and the remaining fingernails (I’ve been using this product, and a similar Avon product for about 3 years).

Interestingly, no one has commented on how much better those two nails look compared to the other nails. They are definitely shinier than the nails which merely received clear nail polish.

As of last Friday, the two strips had been on my nails a little over two weeks. For most of that time, the fingernails with the strips held up better than the other nails. Sadly, the nail on my index finger chipped last Friday during some relatively intense playing. Which suggests that the kit did not actually strengthen the nail.

However, I am still pleased with how well the kit protected my nails up to this point.

I have a gig this Thursday, and made a point to replace the application on my index and third fingers this past weekend.

Final rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars. I deduct a point because the kit did not fully live up to the folk promise.

My mom made me do this, too.

This is 11 again. In part one, I told you how my mom, 40 (almost 41), couldn't open her Avon face powder. This is part two. I tried to tell my mom that in a perfect world, part two would be more exciting that part one. I'm not sure that's the case here.

None of us at home could figure out whether the face powder container was supposed to screw open or flip open. The internet showed a picture of it opened and it looked like it has a screw top. 40 (almost 41) kicked me off the computer, though. I tried to tell her we were researching Avon, but I think she saw me clicking shut my RuneScape screen. My brother, 9, and I took the face powder outside. 40 (almost 41) told us to go outside and get out of her hair. I think she just didn't want us watching her pluck her eyebrows. When she leaves them alone for a few weeks they meet in the middle. Scary!

I talked Emilio across the street into letting me put the container under the wheel of his sports car:

He ran over it five times. Nothing happened other than the container getting dirty:

I swear this is the truth. After this experiment, Emilio got a flat tire! I told him to sue Avon. He said he would think about it.

I sat on the front steps for a while watching Emilio change his tire. I think 40 (almost 41) was still plucking her unibrow. I decided that maybe all the opening attempts might have loosened the container. I got 40's (almost 41's) best pair of sewing scissors (shhhh don't tell her!) and wedged one side into the lid. I counted to three and twisted:

It opened!

I showed 40 (almost 41). Her skin was a little red around her eyebrows. I told her to dab a little of the powder on those red spots. I don't think that was such a smart thing to suggest.

Right now my brother, 9, has the container. He's using it on his claymation set. We want to upload one of his movies once we can figure out how.

(I just want to say: Ha! I knew I was stronger than that lawyer!)

Segue back into blogging, Avon, and New Mexican life in general

I hope everyone's holiday was most wonderful!

Here are a couple of photos from our long weekend. We took the two-lane roads to my sister's home in Las Cruces, then visited Carlsbad Caverns on the return trip.

What did you do this Thanksgiving?

Frankie comes home from his... vacation... tomorrow morning. I'm sure he'll have something to say about it then!

The Frankie Liberation Movement has taken over this blog!!!

Frankie has been rescued and is hiding in a safe house outside of greater Las Vegas, New Mexico. We've given him a crate of Avon Lift and Tuck, six tubes of SuperShape, and a couple of the Retexturizing Pads to change his appearance. We plan on smuggling him out of town with a herd of cattle.

Do you support Frankie's desire to keep his "manhood" intact? Leave him a message! We're going to drop your notes over the Great Plains tomorrow!

(and if you don't know what the heck we're talkin' about, read the comments under the Happy Thanksgiving post!)

Happy Thanksgiving

I am most thankful for my friends and family this year. So much has happened in the last twelve months, and all of you have kept me laughing and looking foward to the future.

I'm taking a break until after Thanksgiving weekend. See you then!

If 11 gets a chance to finish his story while we're doing some family stuff, I'm sure he'll duck in to post his fascinating conclusion. Other than that, keep safe and all my love to you and yours.

The Real Deal TomKat Wedding at Trementina!

REAL ceremony held at Secret Scientology Compound in New Mexico!

Everyone is following the TomKat nuptuals today in Italy, but what most people don't know is that the legal ceremony occurred last weekend at the Secret Scientology Compound near Trementina, New Mexico.

Our reporter on the spot, Avon Lady Birdie Jaworski, in an exclusive story, gives us the A to Z of the real star-studded wedding.

A is for arroyo, the site of the compound's landing strip where local celebrities were flown in to avoid the 100 mile long drive from Santa Fe to Trementina. The small airstrip is hidden in the center of a mesa owned by the Scientologists and adjacent to their compound.

B is for burritos, lusciously smothered in red and green chili, which were catered by Charlie's Spic and Span out of Las Vegas, and no, not THAT Las Vegas. Wedding guests also enjoyed carne asada, sopapillas, and piñon coffee (Tom's not much of a drinker) during the reception.

C is for celebrities attending the secret REAL wedding. Locals overheard New Mexican Shirley Maclaine expressing excitement at the possibility of channeling L Ron Hubbard in front of such an appreciative audience. Other regional guests included ranch owner Val Kilmer and Taos resident Julia Roberts. Santa Fe property owner, Oprah, wasn't invited to this ceremony, either, but she snuck in on the arm of neighbor Lyle Lovett, who was alleged to sing his hit "Stand By Your Man" during Tom's raucous bachelor party.

D is for Donald Rumsfeld, who owns a ranch north of Santa Fe. Now that he's out of work, he provided security for the operation. Don, a closet Scientologist, was seen sporting night-vision goggles, peering over the mesa rim. Sources say he apprehended a stray burro.

E is for e-meter, one of the party favors given to attending guests, whether they wanted it or not.

F is favors. In addition to the e-meter, guests gratefully received copies of Dianetics, and two samples of Avon Lift and Tuck (at an unheard of cost of $5.61 for the whole lot), Tom's favorite Avon product since he started sporting man-boobs ("moobs").

G is for Governor Richardson, who flew in on his state-provided jet, ignoring local flack about using his jet for private purposes. The potential presidential candidate used the opportunity to talk about New Mexico's Spaceport, which didn't excite the Scientologists who already have one of their own. More on that later.

H is for Hubbard, L Ron, whose cryogenically frozen head was the bridal party's reception table centerpiece.

I is for "I'm Your Man," sung by Enrique Iglesias, during the wedding ceremony. Some laughter was said to have broken out at the choice of song.

J is for John Travolta, who reenacted Tom's famous Risky Business underwear scene on the highly polished floor of the 400-foot-long vault housing all the writings of L. Ron Hubbard, during the bachelor party.

K is for Katie, who thought Tom must be kidding when he actually handed her a Siamese, a dutch oven, and a comb during the vows.

L is for landing pad. Carved into the upper mesa are two large circles inscribed with Scientology symbols. The ceremony was held here, outside, with the hope that Xenu would return at the liturgy climax. (Don was forewarned to avoid "friendly fire" at all costs.)

M is for mañana. Xenu didn't show.

N is for nuts. 'Nough said.

O is for Oprah, whose wedding gift was an engineered couch made with titanium springs, and a helmet and other protective gear for users.

P is for Tom, Posing at the Plaza Hotel with Pistols for local Paparazzi.

Q is for quiet. Everyone's heard about the Scientologist's requirement for silent birth, but most don't know that's also a requirement during "consummation." (Better make it quick.)

R is for rodeo. Guests were treated to a pre-wedding rodeo where Tom "rode" a "bull" until they both "dropped." "Ropes" were "involved" in the "performance." All the riders wore "leather."

S is for Mayor Sanchez, who drove out from Las Vegas, San Miguel county seat, to make sure it was all legal. Sanchez, who is known to have a sense of humor, said to twice-before-wed Tom, "If you decide to, uh, to get married here again, we'd sure appreciate it. It's good for the local economy."

T is for Trementina and Trujillo, the two villages closest to the compound. Trementina Post Master Jose Romero produced special postcards to mark the event. The postcards showed a large mesa dotted with cows, and the inscription "Scientology Mountain."

U is for underwear. Unlike the Italian "just for show" event where Tom and Katie are sporting expensive designer skivvies, the REAL wedding bridal party wore handmade local llama wool undergarments.

V is for Vatican. When told about the REAL TomKat wedding in New Mexico, Pope Benny was overheard to say, "I'm not opposed to Gay marriage, as long as they aren't Catholic."

W is for Wow. What an event!

X is for Xenu. L Ron Hubbard was unavailable for channeling, so Shirley Maclaine tuned in Xenu loud and clear. The message? "Suri will 'hair-ald' in a new wave of baby hairstyles for eons to come."

Y is for Yucca. All the guests were subjected to a vigorous rubdown with the state plant, yucca, done by certified Scientology therapists.

Z is for Zoloft, something this reporter needed after covering this Zany event!

Terrier Torturer

I completely forgot about the Show Dog Competition! This Saturday, I'm Canine Primper to the soon to be Terrier Star, and my young sons, 11 and 9, are my trusty assistants. We're getting paid $100 to fluff the little booger for the big ring. I said we could split the money three ways.

Anyone have any good doggy 'do advice?

In No Particular Order...

While 11 finishes writing his face powder adventure, I'm just dropping a little note here to tell you what's coming next at Beauty Dish!

(We've had a lot going on at home, so I'm giving 11 all the time he needs, no rush, honey, you don't have to finish it today!)

I have a fun review of the Instant Manicure submitted by a blogging friend.

I have the grand finale of the Roswell story finally written and ready to post!

And, last, but definitely not least, I am going to answer that question I am asked in email several times a day: How much do Avon Reps REALLY earn? I spent the last six months interviewing and observing all kinds of Avon reps - some like myself who work hard but don't break the big numbers to those who are heavily into the multi-level marketing "Leadership" aspect of Avon where they recruit others and form a large downline. I have the details, folks, this is one report you won't want to miss, especially if you are interested in selling Avon, if you do sell Avon, or if you work for any other direct or multi-level sales company. Some funny stories in the report, too!

Stay tuned! I'm not promising specific dates for any of the above, but that's what's next in the queue (plus the assorted random customer stories that fall into my lap...).

My mom made me do this

This is 11. That's not my real name. My mom won't let me use my real name on her blog. She says everyone knows what "11" means but I think it looks strange. No one calls me that in real life.

I tried to get my brother "9" to help me with this project but he is more interested in making farting noises with his friend "9". See, mom, that number thing doesn't work.

My mom gave me a little brown container of Avon face powder. She couldn't open it. I saw her ask Emilio across the street to open it. (Why can I use his name? Maybe I should call him "33".) He is a professional rodeo cowboy. His best event is barrel racing. He couldn't open it either. Mom asked Art the lawyer to open it, too. He has a big crush on my mom. (Maybe I should call him "45".) I tried not to laugh when he tried. He was obviously showing off. He looked pretty embarrassed when he couldn't open it.

We dunked the container in hot water and stuck it in the freezer. But mom still couldn't open it. She tried prying off the lid with a big screwdriver. My mom wanted to stick it to the train tracks with chewing gum. She's a big gum chewer and can blow the biggest bubbles you ever saw. I told her that the police might arrest her if they caught her doing that. I think she liked that idea so I took the container away and told her I would figure it all out.

Here is a photo of me trying to open it:

I couldn't open it either. And I think I'm probably stronger than Art the lawyer.

Now, my mom says that everyone who reads her blog loves it when she leaves a cliffhanger. So that is what I am going to do right now. Did I get the container open? Stay tuned until tomorrow to find out!

And the bronzer saga continues

So far I have tried wacking the Mark Wordly Glow with a knife. No effect. I have tried twisting the top open using a screwdriver as leverage. No go.

I have tried soaking it in hot, hot water:

I have tried freezing it for an hour:

I have tried Rick's suggestion and opened my heart, mind, and Wordly Glow to the universe:

Ramses wanted nothing to do with it! C'mon, bird, you have a sharp beak!

Mr. 9 gave it his all after these valiant attempts:

Now what?

Still can't open the dang thing

I still can't open my little tub of Mark Worldly Glow face bronzing powder. I have handed the container to every burly rancher in my neighborhood. They avoid me, ashamed their calloused hands can't make the grade...

I am determined to open it today. What shall I try? Stick it to the train tracks with chewing gum? Crunch it in a metal shop vice? Sledgehammer? Post your suggestions!! I'll take the best suggestion and photograph the attempt!

Run, Frankie, Run!!

Run, Frankie, Run! has been delivered to all those who donated to Beauty Dish during the recent "pledge break." Here's the intro of the story as a teaser, so that you can see a taste of what you missed! This is a long story, what would have normally been a three parter at this site.

Run, Frankie, Run!

I follow the same simple ritual each time I cruise my neighborhood for new Avon customers. Backpack. Check. Brochures. Check. Extra skin care samples for bed-ridden Mrs. Gallegos. Check. Turn off the lights, fill my water bottle, one last pee. Check. Check. Check. The last item is the most simple, the one thing I never forget, the one thing my boys never forget, at least never until this morning. Lock the door.

My two boys ran ahead, left me carting fifty Avon brochures, a hundred samples, and three bottles of tap water. I must have been watching the boys chase half-frozen grasshoppers, the sway of my proud catalpa tree in the morning wind, the weaving swagger of the old cowhand with torn Levi's and a carefully brushed ten gallon hat. I didn't notice the unlocked door, the way it must have latched just shy of secure. I hoisted my pack against my sweatshirt-covered back, let it flap, flap in time to my uneven gait. The boys hustled ahead, grasshoppers in their grip. They didn't try to avoid the sidewalk cracks, didn't stop to admire Mrs. Lopez's gentle tabby, didn't skip, didn't slide and arc in the girlish ways my sisters and I echoed at their age. They raised closed fists over head, let captive insects greet the sun. Tobacco wings spread and flew, and for a moment it was summer, it was splintered sunlight through translucent wings, through the swung arms of young boys, it was the four-winged army of summer tossed overhead, tossed into a wind strong enough to blow it back to the past, to September, August. I stopped, zipped the warm navy cloth around me.

The boys stopped, too. They bent low, faces at their knees, eyes on some invisible fortune. I heard the slam of canine against brush as a flock of feral dogs flew behind me, cornered a sturdy hedge of holly and headed down an alley. I turned, but only caught the fading glimpse of four mangy tails on the run. Stray dogs love my town. They own the alleys, the dumpster sites behind Wal-Mart and Sonic. Animal Control doesn't bother to round them up. They'd fill a hundred kennels with one fell swoop. Better to save those cages for abandoned puppies, for pitbulls with an appetite for human flesh. My own neighborhood feeds ten strays, leaves scraps of roast beef and carne adovada in open used plastic sour cream containers after dark. I do this too, leave what little we have left over for the dogs who run like shadows.

Want to read the rest? The story has a biker, a pig on the run, and a pack of wild dogs! This story was sent to those who donated to Beauty Dish during the recent pledge break!

Nope, I didn't drown in the Atlantic!

Please enjoy this photo of Horseshoe Bay in Bermuda while I finish fixing my computer problems...