Debauchery-ville

I have a twisted sense of humor. Now I have a neighbour that joins that tribe and this just can't be good for society. However, we laugh a lot and that always makes for a great life.

One of the things we are currently into is Fairy gardens. There are Pinterest pages full of these adorable little villages with acorn hats, thimble chairs, mossy, glens, and quirky little gnomes. This is all too innocent for my neighbour and I. Instead, we are looking to create our own gnomish version of a Debauchery-ville. 

This all started when my counterparts at the State gave me a going away present of fairy garden supplies and a mason jar of moonshine. I love my life. I also love the vision of drinking out of said mason jar and talking to fairies. Oh what a fantastic (though surprisingly accurate) picture that would give to my new neighbors! 

The moonshine has been brought out as a communal offering (tempered with ginger ale) and distributed to any neighbors coming and going to sit down and bemoan their hard work week. After crawling back to our respective establishments, we formed a somewhat tighter bond and thus paved the way for Debauchery-ville. 

Debauchery-ville is my neighbor's and my view of what our fairy village would be like. Mine started out with a pub. Since the rest of the world has not caught on to our fabulous idea, I cannot for the life of me find a drunken fairy or gnome. I will have to settle for sleeping fairies and hope it translates. My neighbour has opted for the gypsy camp and decided to hide a bunch of witches behind an innocent welcoming sign. 

Next up on her list is to add a few more caravans and a chicken coop. Next on my list is to add a distillery, brothel, and possibly opium den. My sister, though shaking her head and mentally rolling her eyes heavenward, is on the lookout for all fairies and gnomes that might be up to no good. Is it wrong that I am so into this??? 

Apparently, the idea is catching on because one of our Home Owner's Assoc. boards decided to include us on their garden tours. It looks like there are a lot more sick puppies out there than you thought.

The Right Makeup

I am going to go on the mass assumption that autocorrect won't get me an umpteenth time. I will assume wrong, of course. But building on the last post I want to talk about makeup and the VAST change it makes when you have the right palette. Finding makeup (or clothes for that matter!) based on your hair color is just downright silly. I know this now.

Getting draped was awesome and if I only took out of it the effect that color has on my eyes, it would be all worth it. You see, when you have the wrong color against your skin, your cheekbones lose definition, your face looks sallow, there is an orange tinge around your lips, and your eyes lose lustre. Most importantly, I learned to look at the effect of color on my eyes. When you wear the right colors, your eyes go from being a muted greyish non-descript color to a dozen colors all at once. I found that there are mosses, indigos, cayenne streaks, a little whiskey (always good), and turquoise blues in mine. When I'm wearing the right colors, you see all this depth in my eyes and they sparkle. This isn't limited to any eye color. My sister has almost onyx black eyes. When she wears certain colors her skin becomes more luminous and youthful and her eyes sparkle with onyx, amber, and pewter. So cool. 

I showed my sister a before and after of makeup and the effects on me. She at first protested because it was different light so I went back and put the same dress on, the same light, the same doorway, and showed the before and after of makeup. Voila! You can see in my before picture that I just look a little more rundown. All the makeup goes together but it's not the right palette for me. I look dull, all my fine lines are visible, and I look as though I've been plowing a field or two... hundred. Even my eyes are a dull, nondescript greyish-green. It's not as awful as having all your makeup clash but it isn't my best either. In the after shot you can see that I'm exercising the same principles of basic makeup: eyeliner and neutral eyeshadow, blush, and red lip. But what a marked difference! In the second picture my skin looks more luminous, my cheekbones more refined, and everything is just brighter. The fine lines aren't as marked and my eyes have a complexity of hues.

To really highlight this, here is a close up of my eye. This is what you should look for: clothes and makeup that give a true white to your outer eye, as well as the bright and complex color range that your eyes have. See what I'm saying? If you notice that a lipstick or blush individually brings out these complexities in your eyes, I think that's a good place to start. Then match the rest of your makeup. I am nowhere near an expert on this but there are blogs about 12 Blueprint analysis with lists of makeup for each of the 12 seasons and what goes with what. It's a start though, and what a lovely way to celebrate you!

Stranger in a Strange Land

Being in a new area is always a mixed bag. I'm happy to leave the South but I'm not as far north as I'd like. I'm excited to meet new people but I'm shy and it takes every ounce of energy for me to be social. I like the new job but I feel that constant fear that I'm somehow off track. Meh, I've come to expect these peaks and valleys when it comes to settling into a new place. Now my grey hair has added and additional kink- meeting people.

I am so happy to be in a place where there are a lot of people of my faith; I have a choice of churches to go to, I can meet a lot of other people with the same values, and there are actually young adult clubs for meeting new people. This would have been an ideal scenario 5 years ago- I would clearly belong in the 18-40 age group, I was much more of a joiner, and I had red hair. Okay, I STILL did not blend in with the Greeks but I did much more then than I do with silver hair. My theme music should be Iron Maiden (as it often is). See below:

Everyone dyes their hair in my faith- EVERYONE. The men, the women, the children. Eighty-somethings still sport jet-black hair and I never saw so many faux blonds in my life. I'm a bit more than an anomaly for not following this route, I'm an "xeni," or stranger. This is not exactly how I want to feel when I walk into a church and precisely why I went to a Young Adult League (YAL) mixer. I had met one girl that I knew was going but unfortunately she didn't get there until the speakers started. Sigh, I will have to be sociable.

I felt very different than I normally do. In my everyday life I don't think about my appearance. I feel polished as I'm wearing suits and colors that look good, I now always have the right red lipstick, my hair is as coiffed as I can manage, and all the DC walking is trimming me down. But when I walked into that mixer where even the Priest had a mere few silvers, I felt old. I talked to some girls who were my age, happily married and wanting to get out and make new friends. We would talk about the impact of religion on our lives and how nice it was that a group like this existed. Inevitably, they would get something to eat or drink in anticipation for a long series of lectures.

That is when I was left at a table with four young bo-- men. Scratch that- guys. The guy next to me was part of this gang of bo-- guys but looked over at me and introduced himself. Very polite and I'm sure his yia yia would be very proud of how well he was raised. He had just moved here so I asked if he was here for school. I assumed he was starting out at College yet this question slightly offended him. He proceeded to tell me he was doing graduate work. Okay, 15 or 25 what's the difference? He's perhaps slightly more than half my age rather than slightly less. He further clarified that he was working on his PhD.

Sigh. Apparently I am really bad about treating young people as well, young. I just figured he was being nice (he was the only person at the table that went out of his way to introduce himself) so I was nice back. At least I thought so. As the females returned to the table and as my young-ish acquaintance got something to drink another girl in her 30s sat down in his place. The lectures began followed by everyone in the room introducing themselves with icebreaker factoids about themselves, and one girl leaned over, "See? They met here at a mixer and they got married. You could be next!" "??!! Huh ??!!" was my shocked-into-silence response. Is that why people go to these things? Am I giving off a wrong vibe? Or is it more that they look at me and think I must be thinking that? I stewed over that for awhile, hopeful that no one witnessed this odd exchange.

At the end of the lectures I introduced myself to a few more people. I ran into my young-ish acquaintance and we talked for a bit about our mutual love of Tolkein. Finally I had someone who would listen to my theories on linguistics and what nation the Elves represent. He took one for the team. Yes, I took full advantage of his kindness and well-mannered polity. But let's face it, he wasn't even born when I was fighting my way at concerts to catch a guitar pick or touch Bruce Dickinson's sweaty hair, the spike leather cuffs, the spandex... Whoops! I'm back. Where was I?? See if you don't get Iron Maiden... can you really be my friend?

I kid (sort of) but the day was a new awareness for me. I went for one reason- to make a network of friends; to start the foundations of friendship so that whenever I went to a church I would have people to talk to. I found that I don't easily fall into a category anymore. I'm not young and I'm not old. I'm somewhat more of an xeni than before. It was somewhat awkward and I don't know if I'll go again. But the few people I talked to I hope to run into at some point and maybe a few friendships can arise after all.

Graduated!! Class of 2014

Today is my two-year anniversary of when I stopped coloring my hair. Yesterday I went in and just asked that the remaining dye be cut off. That left me with a shorter bob than I would have liked but who cares?? I'm dye-free!!!

Two YEARS??!!, you may be asking yourself but that was what it toook me to get through my journey. Each woman (or man)transitioning has their own way to do it. I never recommend someone stop  coloring their hair (although it's harder to bite my tongue when they clearly have a dangerous allergic reaction or thinning hair), but there are so many ways to do this: buzz cut, skunk stripe, highlights/lowlights, layers, curls, etc. 

My transition was inadvertant highlights. I had my color stripped to reduce the damarcation line and it redeposited color on my virgin hair. So it took longer but only a hair stylist could see the line. I knew it was there though and it bugged me. 

But even though I crave long hair again, I happily traded that for dye-free hair. I did not have a great stylist and did not get a great cut but right now I'm celebrating the graduation. I love my hair color and texture now. I love the crazy waves and curls it does. I may tame them into submission (for those days that I don't want the world to think a squirrel is nesting in my hair), and I may fight frizz in the DC humidity. But so what? I accept my hair with all the flaws it has. 

I think that has been the best thing about this transition- I simply accept myself and others- flaws and all. I feel sorry for those people that are hell-bent on perfection. You'll never find it. And if you did, how boring! I look at my dog, a seeming princess with delicate ways. But no, she barks at everything: the hated squirrel nation, a blade of grass, or simply because I'm on a conference call reporting out across the nation (seriously, EVERY time). But I love her as she is. 

As for myself? I have a tendancy to over-analyze, to have too many fleeting directions, and I tend to say exactly what I think regardless of whether the timing or situation is appropriate (it seldom is). But yet I love myself too and accept that I am a very flawed human being. Not everyone is going to like me and not everyone is going to like my hair. That's okay, they don't need to. If you can get to a point of self-acceptance and acceptance of others, you have won considerably. 

Many ladies as well as myself really got there by embracing ourselves for exactly as God made us. This includes the grey. But instead of being ho hum we decided that there is beauty in it and we celebrate the sparkles and muted dove tones of our grey. We also envy others' arctic white while still loving our own unique blend. Your natural hair blueprint is as individual as your fingerprints and this should be a celebration-- of you. Here is my 24-month transition in all its glory and shortcomings:

It's been a long time coming but I am so happy to close this chapter and start a new one. Now it's all about growing my hair out and getting the right cut. 

What Not to Wear

I recently had my colors done. Do you remember when someone in your family went to the Estee Lauder table in the '80s and were told what season they are? Because I was a ginger it was just assumed that I was an "Autumn" and that meant I could wear brick reds, browns, and earthy tones. What did that mean now that I am a silver? See, I got into this bad habit of dressing per my hair color. I kept the same makeup thinking that it had worked in the past and really I was hit or miss when it came to clothes.

None of this really bothered me until last year when I knitted my first cardigan. I had carefully picked out this super cool yarn, spent countless hours knitting everything and then wore it exactly twice. Two F#@^ing times. You see, the muted greyish purple makes me look like a cadaver. I look as dull as the grey and so it has respectfully been put in the back of my closet knowing it will never see the light of day again.

THAT was what piqued my interest in having a personal color analyst evaluate me. So I drove up with a fellow silver sister to Philadelphia to get a 12 Blueprint analysis. I would like to buy clothes and makeup and yarn that looks amazing on me, not just spend all this time and money and it sit in the back of the closet.

I'm not sure what I expected. I saw subtle differences in the colors on my friend, but even that took awhile for me to grasp. Then more and more you could see how some hues worked and some REALLY didn't. When it was my turn I had nothing but a grey smock and head wrap and a giant mirror. THEN I saw the power of color. The light grey put on me made me look like a corpse. The brown was so awful that both the analyst and my friend cringed and turned away.

Most colors fell under the following: I look like a corpse; I look right out of the Grapes of Wrath; I look like I'm wearing baby Easter clothes; I look like a freakin' rock star. I chose the colors that fit in the latter category and it turns out that this color wheel is Bright Winter. Now some winters and autumns looked okay but the difference lie in colors that made my skin a bit duller, the eyes darker, and the rock star palate which made my eyes a million vibrant shades, my skin luminous, and my fine lines disappear. It really was as extreme as that. And this is what I recommend to you. A color that looks wonderful on you makes your eyes look brilliant.

I would say that it was surprisingly emotional. Knowing that I have never looked 100% my best is well... humbling, to say the least. None of my makeup worked and even the 2% that did never went with the rest of my makeup. More on this in the near future, but here is a look at my drapings. The first pic is that awful brown and look at the difference in how dull my skin looks as opposed to the following pics; it's the same lighting, just the pure effect of color.

Settle Down

Remember when you were a kid and thought the world was yours to grab? It may be a cultural thing but I know Americans are taught that at birth. The higher you reach, the greater your accomplishment. We were expected to dream big and the more obnoxious you were, it was simply labeled "precocious." This might be one of the many things that annoy the world to no end about the US. Because those that continue that line of thinking become quite entitled and vocal about it. For the rest of us we learn at some point that maybe we can’t have the world. Maybe we should settle.

It’s in this phrase that’s been bothering me for a little while. Now that I’m officially 40, do I settle? Should I return interest to that 50-something man who already has grown children and we have okay conversation, and I’m not very attracted to him… should I settle because he’s so into me??? Even writing that down I have a shudder of denial pulsing through me. First of all, I don’t even know if I can have kids. It may be a moot point. Second, I don’t mind if a guy has kids of his own. It’s not ideal but it’s not a deal breaker. But the idea of settling for someone I’m not really into, I just can’t do it.

Recently I posted my type. Those are not hard and fast rules, just what gets my blood boiling. I’ve certainly had just as much interest in someone who doesn’t fit any of those molds. But I had to remind myself of an email I sent to a friend who was dealing with a similar dilemma. Enter Brenda, an extremely successful, beautiful, witty, and adventurous woman living in California. She is always traveling the world, cycling, trying new things, in fantastic shape, and she supports herself to a rich lifestyle. How is this girl available?? She wasn’t connecting with the men in her life on all levels: head, body, and heart. I am paraphrasing from a great book called The Tao of Love of what happens when you have only 2 out of the 3 elements with a partner:

Head and Heart
You become like brother and sister. He may be your best friend but there’s little to no sexual chemistry. You feel like you have to take the reins in everything and become resentful. Your partner now seems weak and you are constantly distracted to men who are the opposite of your partner.

Head and body
This is where most young people get caught up. You have great sex and great conversations but when it comes to hard times one of you grows distant and/or you just can’t connect. You crave a deeper connection and this lacking connection translates as apathetic or even hostile. Any rough patch and your relationship falls apart.

Heart and body
You love this guy, and the sex is great. However he really can’t hold up his end of the conversation. He feels intimidated by your intellect or you dumb yourself down so he doesn’t resent you. Then you resent him. Since you're one fantastic chica, you are frustrated and unfulfilled.

I have been in each of these relationships and I’m glad I’m not in any of them now. I recently have started a flirtation with a very attractive man that gets my blood boiling. Knowing that I can feel that way, why should I settle for a man that I would just go through the motions with? I’m not saying anything will come of Mr. Flirtation but it was a timely lesson to me that I should never settle for less than the trifecta.

How To Tame Your Cowlick (or Catholic to autocorrect!)

I recently went to see How To Train Your Dragon. It was adorable and I feel no guilt in seeing it in 3D. I love the concept of Medieval Vikings drag racing dragons. Actually when I put the words down it seems downright dorky but it is actually a clever and cute movie.

Much like the wild and unruly dragons of the Nordic world, my cowlick is even more unruly. Any silver sister has noticed a change in the hairline since they stopped coloring their hair. Mostly, they notice a lot more growth. Mine came in the form of a huge white clump of hair- baby fine, and forming at the left corner of my temple. I also have the "wiry greys" that everyone talks about. I call them my wild little forest children. They're absolutely crazy looking until they grow out and become assimilated into the rest of your hairline.

My clump of white hair at the temple has become the bane of my existence. This is also more commonly known as the cowlick. I have done all kinds of bizarre things in order the tame it: I've tried talking reason to it, trying to force it into submission with every styling tool under the sun, and apparently screaming and yanking at it. All to no avail.

So I politely asked- okay, inappropriately cornered and held captive- my hairdresser and asked him how to tame my cowlick once and for all. Basically there are two ways: either crisscross your hair wet and keep them in barrettes and let air dry; or you need to blow-dry it into submission.

Here are a series of pics before and after. HORRIBLE pics but it describes my rather remedial process that everyone on earth knows but me.But for my own sake I will write out the process.

After applying heat protection product, start by blowing your cowlick section to the front. Then blow dry it to the opposite side of your part until it's almost dry, and then finally blow dry it the side you want. As you can see the first pic shows what happens if I leave the cowlick to form a coup. The second pic it's wet and rebelling. But by the final pic- voila! I have beaten it into submission!!