Waxing and Waning

Very recently I caught about 10 minutes of a daytime talk show, and the segment was showcaseing a woman who designs jewelry. She's extremely creative, successful, and has a appearingly loving husband and beautiful kids. Yet, despite this "yay woman" pat-on-the-back special, I found myself distracted by her eyebrows. The more I watched her speak about her life, the more I ignored what she was saying and stared at her eyebrows. Surely she knows they are so unruly! I thought. Didn't the crew of the show delicately suggest she do something about them before going on air? WAX, anyone? As my curiousity climbed, I couldn't help but wonder if it was really the eybrows that were bugging me or the fact that they didn't seem to bother her? Or her handsome husband. Or her kids. Or the people slapping cash on the counter for her wares. Yet I kept thinking how she'd be so much prettier without all that wild shrubbery above her warm brown eyes. But prettier wasn't what she was about. Or maybe she is quite content with it all. And feels beautiful. And doesn't need an eybrow wax to be a better woman.

I'm a little torn. Have I fallen prey to our appearance obsessed culture? Am I bordering on shallow? I'll admit it, I'm a girly girl. Love sparkles, perfume, clothes... but I don't think sporting all the flash makes me have less depth. I don't feel like I'm trying to overcompensate for anything. I just like to do that stuff because it's fun...and a little freeing for me at times. I once told a friend that I was convinced I was some kind of exotic, Egyptian cat in a former life because I was so attracted to shiny things...to which he replied, "Either that or you were a crow."

I didn't get the impression that woman felt like a crow. So maybe that's the point. I got how she felt, even though I didn't get how she looked.


Who Bit the Bitter Bar?

I think it was perhaps moi. Big, huge mouthful of it. Upon reading again my last post, I realize that maybe I was leaking a little bit of resentment with a sprinkle of Scrooge. And the truth of the matter is that I really have only been annoyed by a few Holiday letters. My beef (besides single-spaced travelogues and bragfests) was that I was an unwilling participant in one particular letter of 2004. It was MY dirty laundry, and a third party decided a mass mailing was her perfect platform in which to announce to the Christmas Letter Reading world my personal BEEZWAX with her spin on it. The letter was sent to her people. And mine. It was also sent to me. I thought it was tacky, insensitive, and inappropriate. I had experienced enough pain, and didn't need a cup of Morton's dumped in the proverbial wound.

Hey, call me insensitive. Call me a little bitchy. Call me George, I don't care. My family says I hold a grudge. Maybe I do. Or maybe I just BLOG and try to move on.

Honestly, Happy New Year y'all!!