I've never been a make-up wearer. Even when I was a teenager and all the other teeny-boppers were begging their mothers to let them wear just a little lipstick, I was still trying to look and feel less like a dork (I had just recently started wearing contact lenses and was no longer four-eyes). I learned to wear make-up on stage, when I was playing a character, and to this day, I still feel the same way when I have make-up on.
Even though I'm not sure I look any different here.
I used to say that if you never start wearing make-up, no one will expect you to, and that bit of wisdom (which probably sprang more from teenage laziness than anything) has served me well over the years. I (almost) never wear make-up. I have a fondness for tinted chopsticks, and wore Dr. Pepper flavored/colored Lip Smacker for years. I still will when I can get my hands on it. For my 30th birthday, my aunt bought me, at my request, some Clinique Almost-Lipstick in "Universally Flattering Black Honey." I love it, but like anything I put on my lips, I need to reapply frequently, and so you can really only tell I'm wearing it for the first ten minutes after I've put it on.
Plus, the fancy stuff doesn't fit in my pocket very well.
That doesn't mean I don't like make-up. I do. In fact, I am fascinated by it. I own a Bare Minerals starter kit, in the wrong shade because I over-estimated the level of the tan on my face, of which I used all the colorless Mineral Veil and some of the mascara. I have one of those eye make-up sets that are supposed to enhance your eye color. I have even in recent months tried wear eyeliner and eyeshadow, but rather than make me feel more myself as some people say, it makes me feel less myself and more self-conscious. Perhaps that's left over from my days wearing make-up in the theater. Pancake make-up is not attractive on anyone in normal lighting. I never wear blush because I have just the perfect amount of rosacea, right on my plump cheek bones, which is accentuated when I am excited, have a migraine, or have had a drink or two. I did pay a stylist a ridiculous amount of money to make me up for my wedding day. The effect was wonderful, but even the professional application of cosmetics didn't make me look as good in the photos as my ridiculously photogenic husband.
He always looks good in photos. It's sickening.
My sister says she's jealous of the way I can look so natural. I am jealous of her ability to pull off the smokey eye, bright colors of eyeliner, and style her hair. It's an art in which I have no talent, and she does. I can french braid my own hair, but so can just about any woman with long hair. It's very convenient, and makes me look like I put a smidgen of effort into my look. I've also been experimenting with nail art, with various degrees of success. It's the in thing you know.
Box O' Nail Polish
So, in conclusion, make-up is pretty awesome (and have you read some of the ingenious things they can do with color matching and chameleon shades, and OMG is there any way to remove all water-proof mascara? That stuff is industrial). I own some, but don't use it, and when I do, I'm probably not doing it right. And that's OK. A little powder (or mattefying moisturizer) to keep the shine down, a little cola-flavored lip balm (no gloss for me, that stuff is sticky), and I'm good to go. But even though I've given up on full-face make-up, I'm on to new and greater adventures in fashion.
Last night I was craving a very distinct food, which I could not immediately identify. It was sweet, soft, a pastry perhaps. Definitely glazed, but not a doughnut. A touch of lemon maybe? I thought about it and thought about it, and yet, it didn't come to me. I'd been thinking about making gingerbread cookies, could it be that, maybe with cream cheese icing? Thinking about cream cheese icing led me to carrot cake. I had been spending time with a friend I introduced to carrot cake who is now hooked. I started planning to make a carrot cake, making a mental shopping list, wondering what recipe to use, but it still wasn't exactly what I wanted. It wasn't until I was drifting off to sleep that it struck me: what I had been craving wasn't anything I could make or buy here. It was a pre packaged cinnamon roll. That particular combination of preservatives, cold smooshy cake, and hard glaze, possibly with some raisins thrown in. Well, that is not something I'll be getting here. Heaven forbid you have a craving for Cool Ranch Doritos or Hershey Kisses (unless you feel like driving to Dubai). An Entemman's cinnamon roll isn't happening. So I made a rum cake. That will have to do for now.
Since I got this iPad I've rarely sat down to my computer for any serious writing (or at least as serious as my writing ever gets). Well, that means not as many blog posts. To remedy that, I'm going to start writing Hot Pockets. Just like the frozen food, Hot Pockets will be small and u satisfying, but with the upside of always being one in the freezer, aka, in my brain (have I mentioned I keep my apartment freezing?). The length of such posts will be constrained by how long I can type on my iPad. Please address any information on typos to Apple's Autocorrect department.
To the topic!
I like to have a paper, hang it on the wall calendar. Although they are usually available for free (if all else fails there's the Horses of Wells Fargo calendar my mother can always get from work), I like to purchase the most ridiculous calendar possible. Thus I can be entertained when writing down the minutiae I put on a calendar: doctor's appointments, when I put in new contact lenses, what day I last took a migraine pill.
Two years ago it was a Geek Goddess calendar; pinup girls with nerdy themes like steampunk and video games. It had the added bonus of supporting a small group of young artists. Despite being pleased with the purchase, I didn't buy the calendar again because the young artists in question started plastering my Facebook page with prayer requests and admonitions not to drink tap water because of the fluoride. Young artists I support. Young anti-science evangelicals, no.
Last year was a bust: Retro Ad posters. All because I was too embarrassed to buy the bikini babes riding dragons calendar when shopping with my mother-in-law. I won't make that mistake again.
I thought nothing would ever surpass the sheer ridiculousness of Painted Cats 2003, but this year's calendar may have done it. Without further ado, I am proud to present this year's calendar....Dioramas made of Marshmallow candy!
I know, I know, it's the second week of January, everyone is back at work, and everyone is tired of hearing about the holidays. Well, too bad. This is a holiday post.
Deal with it
Although I've said many times there is no Christmas in Abu Dhabi, that's not true. Not at all. Christmas is so ubiquitous here, you can't go to a shopping mall without seeing a tree and a holiday display. Santa Claus and Mrs. Santarina visited my little mall (a slight cultural difference there). There were penguins in parachutes and an elven village in what I would consider one of more "local" malls. Everyone likes Christmas. It's by no means a national holiday (after all, Islam may recognize Jesus as a wise man, but Mohammad never said to celebrate his birthday), but it's still everywhere. That's because Christmas isn't really about Christ anymore. Instead it's a celebration of family, gift-giving, and the victory of the consumer culture. That's why there's Christmas here in Abu Dhabi, because people love a reason to shop. I have no real proof of it, but I would suspect that there's a December celebration involving trees and presents in Saudi Arabia too.
We had a quiet and enjoyable Christmas with friends, and Dan went back to work the next day. I earnestly tried to drink myself into the migraine I could feel coming on (after all, if no one else was going to drink that chianti, I had to), but was unsuccessful at that time.
New Year's Eve was a different story. It was not quiet at all. We went to a black light party on top of the Aloft Hotel next to the Abu Dhabi National Exhibition Centre (ADNEC). We booked a room so we could enjoy the evening and then not have to fight traffic or search for a cab.
Honestly, I did not expect to have as good a time as I did. Usually when Dan and I go to clubs by ourselves we end up dancing for a bit, then sitting around and staring at each other for a couple of hours. This was different. The club has an indoor dance floor and an outdoor lounge area.
With a splendid view of the ADNEC building
That, along with the free-flowing drinks included with admission contributed to a wonderful evening. So wonderful, that Dan was still intoxicated when it was time to check-out the next morning.
And that never happens. I'm the drinker in this family Dan!
And that migraine I tried to drink myself into on Christmas? It showed up on New Year's Day. But it was still one of the best evenings Dan and I have had together in years. Thanks, Relax@12 for having an awesome deal. There were no fireworks, but we got quite a bit of that at Disneyworld, and I promised Dan if we're still stuck here next year, we'll go to see the show in Dubai at the Burj Khalifa.
Or we could just watch them on TV...
I'll deal with the crowds, but he's not allowed to lose me; that's a standard rule when we go anywhere, ever. Don't lose me, and if I wander off, look for the nearest shiny thing. Here in Abu Dhabi, it's probably a Swarovski crystal display. Once, it was this:
I am in a state of confusion. My brain knows it's Christmas Eve. I've looked at the calendar (which reminds me I need to buy a new one soon, the most ridiculous one I can find). I see that it's December 24th. But I still have to make dinner for Dan and myself. I have to go get bread so he has sandwiches for the rest of the week. There isn't a big meal to plan for and thus I can't just plan on eating leftover ham and mashed potatoes for the next week. I don't have to make toffee for my dad or wrap any other presents. There is a Santa at the mall, and the red and green National Day decorations are still up everywhere. I have the ingredients to bake a million cookies, but I don't have anyone other than Dan to feed them to and he is disinclined to haul them to work everyday. So I am confused. I'm playing Christmas music, so I feel like I should be doing something other than playing games on my new iPad, but I don't need to. It's Christmas, but not like usual.
There's no rush or clutter or drama. Tomorrow we're having dinner with some friends I like very much to mark the occasion. I've already made a rum cake and bought the wine. So the organizational part of my brain is looking forward to New Year's Eve. We have reservations at aloft and tickets to their Glow Into 2013 party, to which we're supposed to wear white. So I need to get something white, but it feels unnatural to go out shopping for New Year's Eve before it's even Christmas. No, I don't own any white clothes. Black is more my style.
Because of exactly this
There's nothing wrong with a quiet Christmas, it's just unusual. It doesn't upset me (OK, Dan, it's on the web, I'm not holiday depressed). Not that my neighbors think I'm having a quiet Christmas; they've been hearing music playing every time they pass my door.
This album, naturally
Maybe I'll mix up a batch of toffee anyway. It is Christmas Eve, right?
Every family has their crazy stories, and I believe that mine has a few more than most. My Granny was a trick pony-rider in the circus. My dad had a pet shark as a kid. I caught a shark, and then we ate it. I that shark was a descendant of my dad's pet. The first thing my sister did when she could crawl was pull my hair (something that set the tone for our entire childhood relationship). Once my dad and Gramps decided to make chicken salad in a kitchen with counters too small to hold the food processor, so they brought in a ladder for extra space.
Editor's Note: Not all details are historically accurate
Here is the tale of how Shawna ended up in the lake and everyone got sick except her:
Months ago, being a manly man, my brother-in-law decided he couldn't be seen driving a VW Beetle and traded it in for a 1990-ish Mustang. The nicest thing to be said about said Mustang is that it's a "project car". It will never ever ever be getting back together with Taylor Swift…I mean, it'll never be completely fixed. Never ever. Did I mention I'm still fighting the flu I got on vacation? Moving on.
Shane is always working on that stupid car. Always going to the auto parts store, always greasy, always frustrated.
Not Pictured: Shane's Mustang
On this particular Wednesday he had rented an expensive tool to put some rubber thing back on some metal thing or some such automobile nonsense. My dad, an expert in fixing lemons having worked extensively on my Chrysler LeBaron, was out on the dock fishing and spending time with his grandson, also conveniently avoiding having to get his hands dirty. Shane, knowing how full of wisdom my dad is, went out to the dock with his expensive tool to ask him a question about it. We all know where this is going, don't we?
Dad fiddled around with the tool, and PLUNK, off came a piece and fell, not onto the dock, but through the dock, into the lake below. What happens then? Every possible idea is thrown out.
Shawna: Do you remember that net we had at the beach house? Dad: That would be perfect, does she still have it? <Shawna calls Cathy who says she will find and bring over the net> Shane: You know what we need, a big magnet. That piece costs $127. Shawna: $127!!!! I'm going in to get that damn thing myself. Dad: You know that water is freezing and filled with deadly bacteria. It's practically a cesspool. Shawna: What's a cesspool? <SPLASH>
"The water's fine"
So Shane is gone to get a magnet, Cathy is on her way with a net, Shawna is in the lake feeling around with her toes in the freezing mud, and Dan and Shaedon head off into the sunset to fish somewhere with less commotion.
"My mom is crazy, Uncle Dan."
Cathy pulls up with the net, looking particularly frazzled (she was interrupted getting her house ready to host Thanksgiving dinner) and with her little dogs too, at the exact moment that Shawna uses her toes to pull up the part out of the muck. The huddled masses (Me and the baby), give her a cheer, then she runs into the bathroom to wash off whatever deadly spores might have been living in that water. Her clothing was destroyed.
And I'm the one that's still sick. So I guess the moral of the story is that holding a baby is more dangerous than jumping in a lake.
The baby was confiscated as a biological hazard when going through security
I have indeed returned from my brief sojourn to the New World, and found my family there thriving and the atmosphere most congenial. Unfortunately, upon my return to the Orient, I seem to have contracted a most virulent case of influenza which has thus prevented me from my regular correspondence. I believe I am fully to blame for contracting this illness, as I had the arrogance to wade into the foul air of a public school (children, as you know, are quite unhealthy to be around, especially in large groups).
The sickness consists of a congestion of the head and chest which no poultice or tablet seems to assuage, and a general heaviness and soreness of the limbs. No consistent fever has been detected on my part, or the part of my erstwhile nurse and husband, and I do feel as if I am slowly recovering, although a brief trip yestereve to acquire rations for the week resulted in a my being unable to rise from my bed for almost a day!
More details about my holiday will be forth coming as soon as I have recovered sufficiently to order my thoughts and daguerreotypes from the trip.
