Lipstick at the Mailbox

Just Whatever

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 13:10:00 +0000

I love unseasonable weather. I don't care what it is. Cold when it's supposed to be hot; darkness during the day; any weather scenario that is out of place is at least entertaining to me, sometimes exciting.

Mid-December we had a warm Sunday with temperatures near seventy. It was also windy and cloudy and therefore held an ethereal and introspective quality for me. It was the perfect day to wander through some gardens and roam around a museum. So JBB, Pretty Girl, and I did just that. The next day was cold, rainy, uneventful...you know, seasonal. Here are some photos of that gift of a day.

Happy Tuesday to everyone! xoxo

Expression of Love in Sail Cloth or One Day on Crutches is One Day Too Long

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 13:08:00 +0000

Mr. Lipstick, my singer/songwriter, master carpenter-turned-lawyer husband can do anything. It's totally true. I'm not even making that up.

Take for example this contraption. We lovingly, laughingly...loathingly called it the L.E.S. Full name: The Pottery Barn Style-inspired Leg Elevation System. Here it is.

Notice the sail cloth (which came from an old pillow, but whatever) and those beautiful creases. The black strap (from a long since discarded duffle bag) which held my leg in place just may be the piece de resistance of the whole invention. Dare I say it...form following function. I can't even tell you how much I squealed with delight at the sail cloth though.
[By the way, notice the Veranda magazine which snuck into the edge of the picture. I became completely addicted to this magazine upon first viewing and immediately subscribed. I like Traditional Home and I love Architectural Digest. I tolerate House Beautiful. I delight in Elle Decor. Veranda is definitely my new crush, and I find myself looking at those pages as much as I do Architectural Digest.]

I was in dire need of this crazy invention because the day after Christmas I had surgery on my troublesome ankle. My surgeon removed a flap of detached scar tissue and a bone spur. This was me until a few days ago.

The only redeeming quality about this outfit was my pink Uggs. Well, more accurately...Ugg. I fell in love with those bows.

I had to keep my leg propped sky high to stay out of pain (along with taking those blessed narcotics), but any time it fell from the pillows I would wake up in tears. Literally. Mr. Lipstick built the above device to keep my leg propped up and in place. It took him hours to get the height and angle just perfect. He (and it) were a godsend. I didn't wake up in pain one more time. Sigh...I love my Mr. Lipstick.

Thank goodness the crutches are gone. I'm undergoing physical therapy now and although it hurts, I can tell that my ankle is better. Still in an ortho boot. No pretty shoes yet. My day is coming though. Baby steps.

I'm still on leave from work too. I miss everyone. I feel isolated being at home all the time. I'm excited to return. I'm terrified too. It will take months for my ankle to be 100%. Baby steps.

While I've been on recovery assignment, it has become glaringly obvious to me that I don't watch tv. At all. My only favorite new show True Blood is, well, let's be honest, a little too, ahem, naughty to stare at for hours and hours and days and days. I've long since given up on anything else I used to watch and so that left what I used to watch a really long time ago. Friends.

Turns out the pilot aired in 1994 which doesn't seem all that long ago unless you do the math and realize that was a staggering 18 years ago. Monica's first portable phone has a giant retractable antenna and none of them have cell phones. That looks more outdated that all those floral prints, pleated pants, and Rachel's hair. If you find that you don't remember some of these things, just check out Nick@Nite. A month's worth of Friends airs every night. I have to admit that I enjoy it all as much now as I did the first time around. I am re-addicted.

And finally....
Thank you, dear readers for staying here. I am immensely grateful.

"Mrs. Lipstick on Crutches"

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 05:17:00 +0000

That's the new name JBB has coined for my blog. He informed me tonight of the new title. This just proved to me that according to the way children measure time, I have been in a cast forever. In adult time...only six weeks. That's still long enough to have had purple, then blue, then back to purple. A bunch of screwy tendons plus three cast colors equals new blog title per eight year old son. Pretty Girl is way more concerned about the fashion implications, strongly advocating for a pink cast at tomorrow's doctor visit. I, however, am tired of selecting fiberglass colors.

I imagine tomorrow's visit like reaching Oz. My astoundingly learned surgeon will give me her opinion of last week's MRI, and then life will change accordingly, right? Right? Well, hell's bells, I don't know, but my foot feels like it just had a c-section and I am dying to get fixed, repaired, somehow patched up. It's all I can think about. Can't you tell?

I haven't blogged lately because reading about other people's aches and pains is right up there with reading about their vacations. Oooh. Can't wait. Bookmark that.

But...
eventually these posts sort of write themselves, you know. Sometimes inspiration stares back at you. Like this.

Thoughts can even be categorized by little symbols.
For example...there is A LOT of sitting and waiting and propping up on pillows...

which can make you want an adult beverage almost immediately (most specifically a caramel apple martini)...

which can make you actually want a drag on a cig as if you were 21 again...

WAIT...what?!...then you remember you don't smoke and therefore must not crave such unhealthy vices...

which makes you want to snack. on anything.

But then you remember that you really, really don't want to get fat just because your foot is in a cast.

Sigh...yep, you are still staring at your foot which is still in a cast and boy, do you feel like a baby for whining about it.

It could be sooo much worse. Like being in a cast and having no one to make you appletinis or tell you that you are perhaps the first person to actually get toned just from hauling your leg atop a mountain of pillows. Yep, that would totally suck.

The Viral Siloheutte

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 19:01:00 +0000

Originally from August 26th of this year, this image created by Jonathan Mak is extra poignant now.

RIP Steve Jobs
1955-2011

Learning but not yet Learned

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 11:12:00 +0000

I just turned thirty-sven. It seems a little more real if I look at the actual number...37. It also seems like I should be all grown-up, have a balanced perspective of reality, be able to make and complete to-do lists, as well as be capable of expertly hosting a dinner party and folding a fitted sheet. Well. I merely stumble through the things on that list. I am stumbling around a lot these days. I can tell you with absolute confidence that under normal circumstances I would not stumble in these glorious, gaudy, almost tacky, yet lust-evoking shoes.

But...just like it doesn't seem normal to be (gasp!) 37, it seems weird that I haven't worn heels in at least a month. Ta da! Presenting my latest my undeniably tacky and thankfully asymmetrical footwear...

Thank goodness my work attire is scrubs which are so very baggy that the cast doesn't appear quite as bulky as it is; real clothes, not so much. I do try in vain to look decent in outfits. I am grateful that women still tote around purses the size of carry-on luggage.

People at work at so sweet. They bring me things and stuff and paper and bags. Pretty Girl is a sweetheart too. She keeps rubbing my cast and saying, "Does that feel better, Mommy?" I don't have the heart to tell her I can't feel her litte hands through these layers cotton and fiberglass tape.

This whole thing is definitely a new adventure for someone who has been accustomed to prancing and prissing around for the better part of thirty six years, and the truth is that I am terrified of my appointment Wednesday because I was supposed to be better at this point and yet I am not. Perspective arrived though when I got two unusual birthday presents that morning at work. Within an hour of my arrival I talked to two of my favorite patients. One survived a vicious attack losing part of the skull and the other has battled metastatic cancer for years. Neither have any sizable material possessions remaining and yet both never fail to express gratitude for merely being alive. They are not alive and well. But they are alive and have people who love them and whom they love dearly. And they are both grateful. This thing with my leg will pass. It is a minor inconvenience, I try to remind myself...like those kinda goofily cryptic bumper stickers, "Igbok": It's Gonna Be OK.

Can You Tell Me How to Get to Sesame Street...even through The Mud?

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 10:48:00 +0000

I think those original google guys grew up watching Sesame Street. I surely did. I turn 37 this week and I don't even feel one bit older (at least in my head). Maybe it's because I still love me some Sesame Street, and probably because I don't spend copious amounts of time reading about how revolutionary, controversial, innovative, and brilliantly educational it is. I like those giant eyelashes on Snuffleupagus...

and my all time favorite is The Count.

The Sesame Street website includes a treasure trove of gloriously fun and mentally stimulating activities that you can do with your child, but whatever. The best part is that it includes clips of celeb cameos and oh yes, (drumroll) classic videos...like Kermit and the Twiddlebugs Party.

Warning: depending on your level of fandom, you could spend more time on your initial visit than polyvore, peopleofwalmart, and amazon combined.

Now, ignore that warning and proceed to watch this giggle-inducing video starring the always impeccably clad Anderson Cooper (which also had a good youtube listing). Enjoy. hee hee ha ha

Oh my goodness, how could I have forgotten this yesterday...

Fiberglass Is the New Fetus

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 10:58:00 +0000

It seems to me that there are two things that cause people to violate the unwritten code of Proper Elevator Behavior. The first is the giantly pregnant woman. Random strangers seem to have no compunction about saying, "is it a boy or a girl," or "my goodness, you must be so miserable by now," or "you look like you are about to pop." What in the world?! Why do people say that sort of thing? I think you could ask all moms everywhere and there would be unanimous agreement that the most egregious elevator offence is the touching of the pregnant belly. That universally infuriating experience is only made worse by the stranger who ASSUMES it is alright to touch your preggo tummy without asking. Ugh. Bleh. Outrage. I have never met a woman who is ok with that sort of thing. And by the way, why do some people think that all weirdness ends just with the request to touch, but I digress.

Funny how the close proximity of an elevator creates an artificial sense of intimacy. I can't decide what has netted more unsolicited elevator chit-chat...my twice preggers tummy or the purple cast on my foot. The giant moon boot from the previous post just wasn't a favor to any of my tendons so now I am sporting this little number.

By the way, I think the old tyme cast has gotten a bad wrap. Admittedly, the boot is more convenient for showering because it is removable, but no one seems to mention that it weighs about a ton. And it's freaking huge. A little bit of fiberglass weighs approximately nothing and it's comparatively thin. Perhaps it is because the boot is the in-vogue-ortho-wear and the cast has gone by the wayside that some people feel so compelled to comment about it. These comments seem fairly easily divided between mock horror ("WHAT happened?!") and some benign yet inane joke about having kicked someone too hard. People are sooo chatty about it that I am downright bored with the fastest answer that I can muster which is, "twelve years of tendonitis." Yes, adding the duration of this injury in there seems silly, but it has been my experience that leaving that part out opens the door to every stranger's story about any tendon injury that was remedied by ibuprofen only. You know what all that is? More conversation than is necessary.

Of course, the other thing that is pretty pesky about this whole situation is the actual pain associated with it. At the end of the day, way before I'm ready, I can be found lying down with my leg pointed skyward. Ahhh...some relief, and yet oh-so-boring. After watching tv and checking email and examining our ceiling, the only easy form of entertainment is to play on my phone. Thank you little EVO and the zillions of apps I have now downloaded to stave off boredom. Sometimes though boredom results in some very low-brow forms of entertainment. Like this.

Sigh...it hasn't even been very long. There are a myriad of blessings present-like how I'm sooo grateful that I'm not both pregnant and sporting purple fiberglass. Heaven help any girl similarly situated...she would never make it out of any elevator.

Even BCBG Can't Salvage This Outfit

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 07:22:00 +0000

Alright, so what if it looks like a lampshade? Well, to Mr. Lipstick it is downright comical, although he was too polite to say, "lampshade." Instead he said, "fashionable." I'll take that.

I'm talking about my favorite skirt. BCBG. Taupe-ish. Tiny little stripes in the fabric. Beautiful pleats at the waist. I wore it to church on Sunday. Here, I'll show you a picture.

Notice those pretty little pleats and the belt that...oh, wait-how could you notice those delicate features? Yes, I have mismatched footwear. I am not a fan of either one.

Das boot entered the realm of Lipstick on Thursday. I really shouldn't complain. I have been treated intermittently for tendonitis for twelve years and have avoided the boot until now. I have to admit that my ankle does feel better when I am wearing it. I don't even know which tendons are inflamed this time around. Everything everywhere hurts. At night it hurts as much as my tummy the day after my C-sections. And grrr...I can't even cheat. Gimme three steps, gimme three steps mister (random Lynyrd Skynrd tribute); not meant to be. My foot plus the floor equals cringing and tears. I have a follow-up visit in two weeks, but I'm afraid the boot will be leaving with me.

Any fashion ideas? Any tendonitis stories? I'm a captive audience.

Sigh...this is not the greatest Lipstick fashion phase, but my goodness, at least I don't have to wear Maryland's new uniforms...

James Lang, Presswire
although mismatched helmet and gloves, mismatched footwear...whatever, it all sucks.

Well....My Goodness

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 11:10:00 +0000

You've just gotta see this to understand it. OK, even then it takes a little bit to really get it.

[YONHAP]

In Seoul, South Korea, Homeplus (big, discount chain store) has opened a store with no products. Just pictures of products. So you go into the store, take "pictures" of the products with your (smart)phone, pay for it with your (smart)phone, and the items are delivered to you. Of course, there is a specific app that you must have to accomplish this feat and get this, it is available on android first and then iPhone months later.

Now this kinda, sorta, fake store seems really innovative. Alright, I admit it; this concept is innovative, but OH. MY. GOODNESS. Do you know how much stuff and junk and trinkets and cleaning supplies and makeup and tchotchkes and toiletries I would buy if it was merely a list on my phone? Gasp!!! I might have to go work for Homeplus to pay my plus-size bill. Sorry, just couldn't resist that bad pun. See how that works...giving in to impulses and all. Oh, the horror.

Reminds me in part of the fabulous cartoon, "Big Box Mart" from the folks over at Jib Jab. It is not a complete and direct parallel to the Homestore concept, but the notion that people easily and readily overspend when variety meets convenience is certainly the same. Also, it's not one of their newer ones, but it is funny, super cute, and remains relevant. Therein, of course, lies its brilliance. Homeplus-scanning-virtual-store...brilliant? For whom? I guess we'll see. For now, enjoy the show.

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

I Kissed Your Hair...Dirty

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 04:53:00 +0000

I used to think that I didn't want to have kids. I was really die hard about it too. Got all offended when people would ask if Mr. Lipstick and I were going to have kids. Couldn't contain the lashing out, returning rudeness in exchange for stupidity.

Well, I felt that way until...I didn't. Thanksgiving 2002. I wanted a baby. All of a sudden my previous resolve seemed so foreign, so bizarre that I would have sworn it all occurred to another person in another lifetime.

In January 2003 Mr. Lipstick and I went to NYC.

It just so happened that one of my dearest friends Candlelight was there too.

Mr. Lipstick and I were there for a wedding. About twenty people got some kind of food poisoning or virus and vomited the next day...including Mr. Lipstick. He spent most of the day sleeping in Mr. and Mrs. Candlelight's hotel room while everyone else toured the city.

Thankfully everyone returned home safely and vomit-free, but wouldn't you know it...shortly thereafter I started vomiting. A lot. At home. At work. People even asked me if I was pregnant. "Nooooo!" I exclaimed. "See, we went to this wedding and alllll these people got sick..."

January 26, 2003. Super Bowl Sunday. Tampa Bay Bucs v. Oakland Raiders.
Mr. Lipstick and I found out we were indeed going to have a baby.

Here we are eight years ago.

The anesthesiologist took that picture. I always thought that was funny. Talk about being over-qualified for the general point-and-shoot.

Eight weeks into our sweet JBB's life, we looked...hmmm, like we hadn't slept in eight weeks.

Sometimes he didn't sleep either.

Mr. Lipstick called him, "Grumpy Sunshine."

By JBB's first birthday, we managed to take a nap and do some laundry. And lose 68 pounds. Well, that last part was just me. Mr. Lipstick got a haircut though.

I can't believe my sweet JBB has just turned eight years old. It seems like yesterday that the doctor put him in my arms for the first time. "I love you, I love you, I love you," were my first words to him.

His head was covered with that fine baby hair that grows haphazardly in all directions. I would hold him for hours and hours, kiss his head, and bury my face in those little tufts of fluffy newborn hair. I remember Mommy Lipstick saying, "Sweetie, you kissed his head dirty!!" The next morning the nurses had washed his hair before they brought him to my room. I remember how we oooh-ed and ahhh-ed about that.

I still kiss JBB's head all the time. Last week it occurred to me that it won't be much longer until he will be taller than me and I will have to be sneaky about the whole thing. I tell him all the time, "when I am 79 and you are 50, I will still kiss your head." He smiles. He knows I mean it.

You Don't Even Have to Like Dogs

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 15:07:00 +0000

(photo credit: Lisa Pembleton)

Poignant. From the French poindre. Meaning, "to prick,sting."

This picture/video/story will do that to you. Amazing, intriguing at first and then as your mind processes the myriad of subjects, you feel pain. It is rather like being pricked over and over by a sharp pin. Little waves of pain punctuated my thoughts as images and ideas of funeral, military, family...human and furry, loyalty, love, adoration, sacrifice, and loss filled my mind. Each one caused that painful feeling in my heart, that boulder in my throat, and my eyes stung with the tears that we were waiting to fall.

Apparently, this video and story are viral. You've probably seen it already. I'm sure everyone has written about it. I couldn't resist either. I guess sometimes we all just need to talk about it.

"So..." (head tilt) "how was your summer?"

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Thu, 25 Aug 2011 11:51:00 +0000

I know a lot of people who went to a beach. Some people even went to a lot of beaches. I hate them. Not really. Well, maybe a little.

I picture my blog like this.

Covered with cyber-dust and in desperate need of an infusion of creativity. I probably should have asked a guest blogger to fill in for me this summer, but you know, with everyone at the beach and all...

My summer has been long, arduous, stressful, and devoid of the usual joys of rollercoasters and sandbuckets. Now I can't moan too much lest I moan too much, but it would be downright disingenuous for me to express much other than my utter relief that the whole thing is over.

I confess that summer began in a glorious fashion. Mr. Lipstick passed the bar and in a few weeks secured a job in a downtown office! Here he is the day he was sworn in by our state's Supreme Court justices.

After lunch we stopped by his office. Here I am beaming with pride.

My stunning Mr. Lipstick is officially Attorney at Law, business cards and all, and although he swears it is not glamorous, his days are the stuff of innumerable tv shows. Appear in court, depose someone, talk to client, then walk to Supreme Court Building while carrying Important Papers that say Important Things all sound glamorous to me. He looks hot in a suit too. Sigh...I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, The Tale of How Summer Pretty Much Sucked.

Well, you know there's no taking a vacation when you start a new job. [INSERT: "Lipstick, you (include as many expletives as you are in the mood for) should be ashamed! So many people have lost jobs and you have the audacity to whine about the beach!!!"] I had a few adult beverages to curb the whine of my inner monologue and yet I can report that prevailing logic did little to decrease my desire to frolic in the ocean. Letting waves thrash me about, inhaling the salty air...it rejuvenates my soul in a way that I lack words to explain. I missed it dearly.

JBB had a vacation from school though. His respite from vocabulary words and math facts mounted stress upon me like an endless pile of boulders. The quest for summer camps that are stimulating, fun, not insanely expensive, AND offer after care until 5:30 or 6:00 was worse for me than applying to college. Although JBB's overall experience was positive, the camp that was centrally located with the best hours for the most reasonable price was a poor fit. Mommy and Daddy Lipstick saved the day. Five weeks of grandparent camp included swimming lessons and art lessons and fun visits with relatives. A godsend. Except...Mr. Lipstick and I didn't see JBB for weeks at a time. Sort of like if you getting hives every time you ate manna. How fabulous.

You see, Mr. Lipstick and I live in Leave-It-to-Beaver-land. It is so rare for a family to not to have a stay-at-home parent that camps end at 3:00, birthday parties are on weekdays, and parties on school holidays are from 11-2. After care? Difficult to find, tough to coordinate, and nauseating dealing with the administrators who are shocked that you need it in the first place. I hate that stress.

I have the most enviable pharmacy job there is. No nights, weekends, holidays, or on-call. I don't even have to stand up, but I do actually have to be there Monday through Friday for 40 whole hours. Most women that I meet are incredulous, puzzled, aghast. "Monday through Friday....all day....," they coo. "Oh my, how grueling." Not really. Nine years of college and pharmacy school was grueling. The guy outside the office fixing the pothole in 97 degree heat is working a grueling job. While my job has stress, it is not grueling. Using my education and having the blissful knowledge that I could single-handedly provide our lifestyle for my family is actually pretty relaxing.

So if having kids is the best thing you've ever done and your job is great, then why does life's schedule have to be so damn inconvenient?

Just as Numb

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Mon, 02 May 2011 06:35:00 +0000

I was in my last year of pharmacy school when I saw this.

American soldiers went to war. We all saw a lot of this.

Many military operations have been executed in the nearly ten years since the September 11th of 2001 became September 11th. I wonder what bin Laden thought when he saw these guys.

I watched a lot of television on September 11, 12, 13, and 14th of 2001. I stopped on September 15. I had no more tears left. I was numb. My soul felt shredded, and time seemed to stop.

Mr. Lipstick and I happened to be in New York City over the Thanksgiving holiday in 2001. We saw Ground Zero. It was burning. People filed by in relative silence. I remember when I saw those tall steel remnants of the World Trade Center. I gasped out loud with a horrified cry. I was numb. My soul felt shredded all over again. Time seemed irrelevant in the midst of such pain.

I saw the Statue of Liberty for the first time on that visit. So very beautiful, even from such a great distance. The island was closed, you know. Security.

Tonight Mr. Lipstick, JBB, Pretty Girl and I got home from our church small group meeting (aka great food and company...all occurring every other Sunday night). I helped JBB clean out his closet, sorting childish toys to give away, making room for his art supplies and new golf clubs. Pretty Girl wanted her two baby dolls and a lollipop. I had to wash glitter off of her entire face. I forced myself to deal with laundry before turning on my beloved laptop and curling up on the couch.

I saw the words, "Bin Laden is Dead," and I immediately thought that I must be missing something...something like the words that would show me that it was just a tag line, a teaser...

You just have to love tabbed browsing in times of urgency. Email, News, Twitter, Facebook...open simultaneously. Everyone I know and don't know all confirm that while I was putting away Power Rangers, President Obama was telling the world that yes, bin Laden is DEAD.

I felt numb. Totally numb.
But not in a bad way. In a I-need-to-sit-down-so-I-can-breathe sort of way.
Fast as lightning my mind was filled with...the flag stickers we all had in the days after, the singing of the Battle Hymn of the Republic at the memorial, the man who died in the twin towers because he stayed in the stairwell with the man in the wheelchair, the firemen who went into the towers, "Let's Roll," the widows, the politics, the politics, the politics, the moving on, four ounces of anything in a plastic bag at the airport, the cynacism, the grief...gasp.

Numb.
No longer numb with pain and grief, but numb with joy, relief, gratitude.

Bin Laden is over.

Leather and Lace

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Sat, 30 Apr 2011 05:19:00 +0000

You know, I wasn't even going to watch it. The wedding. I mean, THE Wedding. I don't know...something about all that exaltation of human beings who an entire country has collectively decided are more special than everyone else. Well, wouldn't you know, on Wednesday I had the pleasure of working with one of my favorite pharmacist friends. She's practical, frugal, logical, delightfully enigmatic, adventurous, tough as nails, immensely loyal, and has a passion for contemporary design. Turns out she is seriously into all things Will and Kate. Hmmm, who knew? Once she pointed out that this wedding is, after all, a historic event, I decided that I would be in attendance. Via Channel 4 HD, all comfy on the couch and possibly even hours late thanks to that glorious invention-the DVR.

photo credit: Anwar Hussein/WENN

I actually woke up just in time to see Kate emerging from the car. I was on Facebook and Twitter too, and I can't even adequately express how much fun that was! Otherwise I would have been watching all alone because y'all may be surprised to hear this, but Mr. Lipstick is just not a royal watcher.

I have to admit...I loved it. The dress; the music; those totally weird, architectural wonders perched atop the women's heads...perhaps they were hats; the carriage; the soldiers in uniform...
I really am glad that I watched it. Even though I adored the dress and the tiara, my favorite part was Kate Middleton's utterance of, "Wow" as she stepped onto the famous balcony and saw the throngs of people cheering for her and her groom. An endearing, universally understandable response. Delightfully common even, don't you think?

Extreme Couponing and Hoarders

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 03:37:00 +0000

Sometime in the 1930s or so it became really offensive to use the word "freak," as in displaying a giant placard with the words, "Come and See the Freak Show." No doubt that was beneficial for humankind, although the folks who would eventually be called little people lost their primary source of income. Thank you History Channel documentary from a few years ago. You were really interesting and I totally stayed awake too.

I can't help but think that both TLC and A&E have some polite little freak shows going on right now with their shows about the folks who dive into dumpsters for coupons and buy two hundred boxes of spaghetti at a time. Saving feces and pizza boxes and chickens
is too twisted for color television.
Don't you love "Steel Magnolias"? I don't actually watch it anymore. I've got it memorized. I digress.

Did I just say the people on those shows are freaks? Hmmm...I guess I did. I am awful. I surely do LOVE those shows though. Back in da day, the traveling carnivals were extremely profitable. A ha! Imagine that...humankind has not changed all that much, has it? Anyone a few standard deviations from the mean is inevitably a subject of interest. Those subjects of interest (i.e. the not-so-politely titled "freaks" are quite savvy to capitalize on our interest). Given their savvy and our willingness to pay to watch, who is so freakish...the unusual or the voyeur? I'll tell you right now that I feel quite freakish sitting on the couch with my mouth gaping open watching someone spend eight hours in a grocery store or seeing some dude with a big beard living with hundreds of rats.

Now this post just wouldn't be complete without a little confessional. I really, really want to get the Sunday paper and get me some coupons and track when stuff goes on sale and save a whole bunch of money. You know though, I just don't think I am going to prepare for the apocalypse every time I go to Publix. That just seems like too much damn trouble. If I spent my time doing that, I wouldn't have time to watch all those crazy people on TLC.

oh, and P.S. Mommy Lipstick (aka Martha Stewart) told me that Hoarders made her want to throw away everything she hadn't used in the last fifteen minutes. I told her it made me feel organized. I only have like, seventeen loads of laundry instead of eighty. Also, in my favor is that I do not harbor small animals under that laundry, although yesterday Pretty Girl saw an ant on the floor and totally freaked out.

Jewel Departed

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 03:20:00 +0000

Elizabeth Taylor was breathtakingly beautiful. Glamorous. Captivating. Those pictures from the 50s and 60s are so stunning that it is difficult to pull your eyes away.

I rather like this more recent picture. An aging icon, no less glamorous, and still festooned with the accouterments of fame. Despite mounting health problems, Elizabeth Taylor always dressed up, always put on her jewelry, and always wore lipstick. I suppose it is no surprise that someone whose moniker is Lipstick would find this especially admirable, but it does transcend the obvious. Her enduring devotion to maintaining her appearance, to me at least, always represented a kind of tenacity...a sort of never-give-up philosophy. Who of us really feels like dressing up when we are going to a doctor's appointment? I'm quite sure that Elizabeth Taylor didn't feel like doing it either. But she always did because the public had always seen her that way and she wasn't going to change. The show must go on.

No wonder she is described as "Old Hollywood." It seems the rest of Hollywood has no qualms about going anywhere and everywhere wearing some form of pajamas. I can identify. I did my fair share of that in college. Having aged a bit though, I now have reverence for the effort and energy of Elizabeth Taylor's late-in-life glamour.

I don't think any tribute to Elizabeth Taylor would be complete without mentioning her support of HIV/AIDS related charities. Thankfully, it is pretty common nowadays to see celebrities at award shows with those little red ribbons pinned to their designer clothes. Elizabeth Taylor deserves much of the credit for that. She began speaking publicly about HIV/AIDS in the mid-80s when it wasn't fashionable or interesting or even safe for one's career. She did it anyway. She stuck with it too. It wasn't a cause du jour; her devotion never wavered. Because of the hundreds of millions of dollars that she helped raise over the years, AIDS is not the immediate death sentence that it once was. What an amazing and beautiful legacy. Rest in peace Dame Elizabeth Taylor.

When a Tornado is More than a Freight Train

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 03:20:00 +0000

Save for people living in idyllic locales like Hawaii, who hasn't seen...over and over...some curmudgeonly old lady with wild hair proclaiming that the recent tornado sounded, indeed, like a freight train. Freight Train Lady always seems to be wearing some kind of haggard fuzzy bathrobe too. Now, I suppose it would be cruel to critique some one's post-disaster fashion. After all, weather disasters never provide much advance notice. Somehow, though, don't you get the feeling that Freight Train Lady wears that thing all the time anyway and why on earth does she want to be on the five, six, and ten o'clock news so badly?

I've always lived in the south. Tornado watches and warnings are an inescapable part of life here. Seeing the devastation on the five, six, and ten o'clock news is a part of it too. Hearing reports of the dead and the missing...that's part of it too. Deep down, we love those Freight Train Ladies. Everyone needs a smile in the midst of tragedy whether you are directly affected, whether you empathize, or whether you are reeling from the knowledge that you nearly lost everyone and everything you hold dear.

Union University is a small Baptist college in Jackson, Tennessee. Three years ago on February 5th, at 7:02 pm, an EF4 tornado (166-200 mph winds) destroyed most of the campus, including most of the dorms. The band of tornadoes that roared through eight southern states that day killed more than fifty people. It was the deadliest series of tornadoes the United States had endured in twenty three years. Union sustained about forty million dollars of damage. Classes were canceled for two weeks.

One thousand two hundred students were amongst this.

No one died.

It's poignant for me, because I lived in those dorms. Endless memories of late nights and hanging out with sorority sisters...even an epic ice storm in '94. The ceiling collapsed on our toilet, and we all had to pee outside in the middle of the night until maintenance could fix it the next morning. Now that is the sort of memory that roommates always share with laughter.

Why was Union spared the devastation of loss of life? It does seem very unlikely that such a thing would happen. The close proximity of the students to one another, the small campus, the old dorms, their two-story, concrete block construction, the time of day, and the severity of the tornado all seem to indicate that some loss of life would have occurred.

I don't know if any atheists or agnostics have offered any theories, statistical or otherwise. We Christians have unilaterally cried, Praise God.

Why was Union spared when thousands suffered so horribly? I offer this to you. God isn't any more a fairy godmother providing a constant safety net against all problems than He is a hapless, bumbling pseudo-deity somewhere in the sky. His intervention invariably defies human logic and often runs contrary to what we humans deem best. Or tolerable. Or humane.

My explanation, however, requires some biblical assistance in the form of James 4:14, which says the following:
"yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes."

I tend to think of life like waiting to be seated at a restaurant. If the entirety of my life is that long compared to eternity, is anything I suffer so egregious? Who I am to demand intervention...to shake an angry fist skyward if my desires are not met? I merely marvel when God's intervention occurs.

Like Union University on February 5, 2008. When an EF4 tornado destroyed a small campus with over a thousand people present.

And no one died.

photo credit: WithoutWax.tv by Pete Wilson

To The Extreme

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 09:12:00 +0000

You know, there are probably a fair amount of people who would argue that blogs are simply narcissistic online confessionals. I have certainly confessed plenty of things to those out there in internet-land. One of these is my general messiness, my scatter-brained method of housekeeping. Sigh...a Mommy Lipstick aka Martha Stewart I am not.

I do not, however, have 300 rats in my house or piles of paper or chickens. Have you seen Hoarders or Hoarding: Buried Alive? Compulsive hoarding, the shows explain, is a disorder in which people are irresistibly and irrationally compelled to keep anything. At all. It is, well, rather extreme. And, I have to say, rather addicting. The gruesome car wreck that you simply must stare at regardless of your better judgment is an oh-so-obvious analogy. Very apropos.

There are plenty of other extreme shows out there. Intervention is about people with extremely tragic lives, I've lost count of the shows about extreme weight loss and people with very bad fashion sense, I thoroughly enjoyed the show about the extreme coupon-using folks, but I am most perplexed by My Strange Addiction. That one includes a story about a girl who eats chalk and one who sleeps with her hair dryer...on. Very odd and extreme indeed.

Why are these shows so popular? More and more of them seem to be appearing. Clearly we are riveted by the utter weirdness and the ability to be voyeurs. One more Lipstick confession...me too.

P.S. People of Wal-Mart provides some pretty extreme entertainment. It's no secret that I heart pink and green. What a combo this is.

Happy New Year, Eddie Vedder

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 10:33:00 +0000

Saturday morning before the kids awoke and lovingly hijacked the big T.V. for the likes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Yuki Oh 5-D's, I watched part of some psychology show on one of those science-y channels. I'm not sure how I found it. It was way up in the hundreds. Probably one of the few that wasn't showing an infomercial at such an absurdly early hour on a weekend morning. I saw something like this video.

Now wasn't that interesting? I missed the girl in the umbrella too. Or...maybe you didn't. The idea is called, "selective attention." Most basically, the premise is that if the human mind is concentrating on something complex, multi-tasking (or multi-concentrating) is impossible.

Ah ha...well, I do know a little something about that. It has been a bit restful to have a blogging hiatus. I felt as if I had run out of anything to say. And any time in which to write. And there was much too much multi-tasking to be done.

Perhaps the most monumental event was Mr. Lipstick's graduation from law school. It was wonderful and fabulous and exciting and I cried tears of joy from the moment he approached the stage 'til the time he sat down. I took a zillion pictures. Like this one of Mr. Lipstick with Daddy Lipstick. I asked other people to take about a zillion more.
I even crawled on the floor in a valiant (yet markedly unsuccessful) attempt to take a picture of Mr. Lipstick in the processional.
It seems that I am making a habit of crawling on the floor during major events.

In other news, JBB and Pretty Girl are growing like dandelions. I would like to record, video, photograph, and archive every second of their lives. So precious. So beautiful. And with each new shard of independence, the little bitty child becomes lesser and more fleeting. Sigh. Perhaps only mothers mourn such things as the slipping away of chubby child feet and soft angel hair. The lilting voice with quizzical inflection...even in a declarative sentence. Sigh...

I drive JBB to school in the mornings now. It is a short, but beautiful drive, through several winding roads, past a park and some stunningly beautiful houses. It is relaxing and sort of like looking at Southern Living and Architectural Digest all at the same time; great inspiration for ways to decorate my front door. Pretty Girl rides with us, and it is one of my favorite parts of the day. I cherish that time, perhaps more than any other time of the day. I have had to let the battery in my iPod die though. My children have WORN ME OUT with Michael Jackson. 1983 called and wonders what the hell is an iPod and why is it's music permanently stuck on there.

I have had one brief respite from Michael Jackson (whom I love, by the way...but after all those years plus every single morning...just sayin'), and thank goodness that hasn't been John Denver. When JBB was 4, we had to listen to "Country Roads," every. single. day. Now Mr. Lipstick has never allowed such nonsense, but that lilting child voice that I want to record and archive puts me in a trance, and I comply with these tiresome requests.

This musical interlude has been delightful and profound...at least for me. Sometimes I beam with joy when I hear this song and other times the poignancy rips tears from eyes before I even realize it. "Just Breathe" by Pearl Jam.

Lyrics like,
"Yes I understand that every life must end, aw huh,..
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, aw huh,..
I’m a lucky man to count on both hands
The ones I love,..

Some folks just have one,
Others they got none, aw huh,..

Stay with me,..
Let’s just breathe"
reveal multi-tasking...
multi-concentrating...
to be the worthless pursuits that they are.

Hearing that beautiful song over and over makes me think more soulfully than I have in a regretfully long time. Especially when the kids sing along in the backseat...or when Mr. Lipstick is there singing too. If I join in, the kids ask me to stop. I have to burst out laughing about that.

Amongst all of those deep thoughts, besides the inner commitment to slow down and always look my children in the eye when I am talking to them, and to just not let the laundry get piled up because hey, don't forget that is stressful...I have realized that without eyebrow tinting my eyes look like very boring, yet merely functional orbs, and that I really miss blogging. Also, it is not good to stay away so long; there is just too much to talk about when you get back.

Much, much love to all of my followers. Thank you for staying.

Not Dead Yet...or Caffeine, Inspiration, Leftovers, and No Homework

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Mon, 18 Oct 2010 11:47:00 +0000

I've decided what I want to be when I grow up. Arguably, I should have already made this decision. I am (stage-whisper) thirty-six years old now. Sometimes, however, momentous decisions require the catalysts of admiration and insight.

I am privileged to know a pharmacist who works a couple of days of month when he is not traveling with his wife, spending time with his grandchildren, or attending a myriad of community, church, and professional meetings or sporting events. Being a 72 year old practicing pharmacist means having a wealth of knowledge, experience, and crazy, cool stories. The best thing about him though is that he is engaged in life. He can look around with blissful contentment and bask in personal and professional success. I don't see him a lot though. After all, he works sporadically. He is retired.

That is it. I want to grow up and be retired.

With Mr. Lipstick a scant six weeks away from law school graduation, JBB in first grade and flag football, and Pretty Girl in preschool, we have simply been too busy to take delivery of our private yacht so that we can sail away from all shreds of reality and responsibility. Heh, heh...I want to retire.

There is one thing though that I've noticed about my friend's retirement. It took many years of hard work. To still care about your profession, to actually enjoy the time that you spend with your spouse, and to have meaningful relationships with your adult children are not accidents or products of luck.

Sigh...gulp. Deep breath. I have years of practicing and more practicing of my practice of pharmacy so that it doesn't grind me down, and that late night laundry and school projects, those two athletic events on the same day, and the making sure that Mr. Lipstick and I are able to talk about something other than the kids.

So since I'm not retiring from the businesses of pharmacy, mommy-ing, or being the wife of Mr. Lipstick, I am retiring from Lipstick-land.

Sort of.

Just like my retired friend who works a few days a month, I am still going to blog some. Here and there. That is, when my eyelids aren't too heavy after the kids' baths and I can decipher the little notes scrawled on scraps of paper and the back of receipts that I desperately intend to morph into a blog post.

You see, my desire exceeds my energy.
My ideas exceed my time.

On most days.
But not every day.
And those days...I will be in Lipstick-land.

Thank you dearly for reading.
Don't leave me.
It's not Bye...it's more like, see you later.

Two Canes and A Trailor

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 11:47:00 +0000

Sometimes patients say things that are ridiculous. Sometimes patients say things that make absolutely no sense at all. Then there are those times that patients say something that is undeniably profound. This is one of those times.

I have come to learn that this husband and wife were both blue collar workers who had the misfortune of being injured in serious work-related accidents. Both are now disabled and they come to Lipstick Pharmacy frequently.

I didn't know for a long time that they were husband and wife because their appointments are never on the same day. It's taken a while to know them, but now that I do, I like them. I find them both intriguing and interesting and in some way, I empathize.

This week I benignly asked Mr. Cotton Shirt, "How's your wife doing?" I know them well enough that he told me. Honestly. "She ain't doin' no good." He told me about the permanence of her injuries, her previous vitality, and how great she was at her job. Before.

Then he told me about their life before their accidents. Six acres, horses, and a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar house [note: that would be giant and fabulous in the country a few years ago].

"It was a poor man's dream." Whoa. That statement instantly became embedded in my mind. "Now we live in a trailer on one acre." I feel instant remorse for any mobile home joke that has made me laugh.

A poor man's dream...the sort of dream that depended a great deal on maintaining excellent physical health. That is, the upkeep of horses and land, but why a "poor man?" How does a "rich man" dream differently? Maybe social status, different types of possessions, entirely different cars, acquiring art instead of horses perhaps.

I have not stopped thinking about this statement since I heard it. Two of the most interesting offerings I've ever read on the subject are Class by Paul Fussell and Class Matters by the New York Times.

I also can't stop thinking about how they are still married...still together through all of the stress of injuries, surgeries, and losing their possessions. Whoa. I haven't gotten that out of my head either. Actually that memory probably needs to stay there forever.

Da Booty Giggle-Licious

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 10:06:00 +0000

JBB, Pretty Girl, and I are addicted to Centric TV. We could just hug the execs of BET J and VH1 Soul. Now in case you are wondering...well, why, since we don't exactly fit their self-defined target audience. Let me reintroduce you to Hannibal, Face, Murdock, and B.A.

Multiple episodes. Every day. It is absolutely fabulous. Pretty Girl loves Murdock and JBB can totally imitate B.A. I can't get enough of Face. Time for a reminder, y'all.

Isn't he pretty? Sadly Dirk Benedict did not age as well as George Peppard. I think the warning is probably, "wear sunscreen."

Now as is common with any brand new network there are some rather, er...humorous commercials. You can learn a lot about the Shake Weight by watching Centric.

In fact, you will see it so often that you may be tempted to purchase it. (By the way, I tried it a couple of weeks ago at the sporting goods store when we bought JBB's cleats for flag football...it is is oddly very annoying).

But by far the most hysterically ridiculous B-rated commercial is for the Booty Pop.

Apparently this product is popular (and not new...it was introduced in 2008. I am late to this laughter). Even Kelly Ripa likes it.

Has the Booty Pop garnered a glowing review in Women's Wear Daily? Hmmm, I'm not sure about that, although they mentioned it back in 2008. This product is now so profitable that it is sold in Walgreen's and Target. Frederick's of Hollywood and Victoria's Secret even have their own versions. The creators must be very happy. I am quite sure that they just love it when a plan comes together.*

*Hannibal's phrase at the end of a lot of A-Team episodes for the uninitiated...now my goodness, go watch you some A-Team

Music Television and 22 years ago I was...

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 03:50:00 +0000

Have you seen Palladia? I called it The Butterfly Channel forever because of this logo.
Turns out it features the actual music from MTV, VH1, and CMT. Hmmm, you mean the music those networks don't show because they are busy showing crap like...well, I digress. I am a huge fan of The Butterfly Channel (old habits die hard) for wonderful things like the recent airing of U2's 1988 concert film/documentary Rattle and Hum.

As I recall, the film was considered a bit slow-moving and self-indulgent back then. We die-hard fans loved it though.

I saw Rattle and Hum in an old theatre in a very small town with a really cool friend of mine. I remember though that we were such U2 fans that we weren't sure if it would be packed because, after all, IT IS U2!!!!! or...it would be totally dead because the movie was being shown in a town that was, ahem, interested in other things. Turns out we were the only ones there.

The whole experience was still oozing coolness because we were watching a movie here.
The Ruffin Theatre is an art deco theatre built in the 20s, restored in 1937 after a fire, and became extremely dusty in the 80s when it ceased to be used as a movie theatre. (I think Rattle and Hum may have been the last movie shown). FYI: It is now used for live entertainment and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Now, back to the way the whole experience was oozing coolness...besides the whole 1920s theatre thing, we were watching U2 in what was basically a private viewing. I have to keep saying the word "oozing" because if my very cool friend ever sees this post she will cringe. She effing hates the word "ooze."

You know, I loved Rattle and Hum (and all things U2) so much that I had the video tape, the cassette tape, and the t-shirt. In 1988.

So, when Palladia aired Rattle and Hum in HD 22 years later, I simply had to DVR it. I just watched it. Still love it. It doesn't seem all that long ago to me. Bono sure did have a big ole mop of hair though and I would really love it if my very cool friend would find her way to FB and we could kill a few hours tormenting each other with crazy old memories.

Take This Job and Shove It (or Steven Slater Meet Johnny Paycheck)

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 03:32:00 +0000

I just cannot stop singing this song. It's been in my head for two solid days. Well, really longer than that because the 45 is on Nonna and DeeDa's jukebox and has been since 1977, and therefore this song has been embedded in my psyche since I was...well, the age I was in 1977. I digress.

Since Steven Slater slid onto the scene with a few F-bombs and a couple of beers, my mental soundtrack has played one song. Here it is.

Now, I've gotta tell you, I don't know how they got ole Johnny so cleaned up for that album cover, because every time I ever saw him on TV he looked like this...

About Steven Slater...my goodness. Opening the airplane chute and taking off with a couple of beers after you cuss out the passenger who just cursed at you...well, that's not the smartest thing in the world, but apparently it is far from being the dumbest thing either. His behavior has generated world-wide media attention and the Los Angelos Times reports that $100K has been raised for his legal defense. On Facebook. Seems that there are a whole lot of people who are just sick of putting up with sh*t. The best part is that the dude grabbed two beers on the way out. Cheers.

A Bloody Good Time

noreply@blogger.com (Lipstick) — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 03:38:00 +0000

There are some things that I just can't resist. Gushing about last night's episode of True Blood is now one of them. I'm so sorry if you are not a fan and are now just lost and bored on this post...or maybe just plain ole grouchy at my HBO fandom. Nevertheless, I am very nearly magnetically drawn to rave about...let's begin...Jason and Crystal. I think she is a witch. Now I haven't read past the first book (because I didn't like it-blasphemy!), but my boss tipped me off to this witch business.

Eric staking Talbot. Oh, my gracious! I actually was surprised with that one, and what is the deal with that crown? More than it seems I'm sure.

Jessica is really starting to show her vampire nature. How cool was that scene of Bill instructing her how to fight? Oh, how I want she and Hoyt to reunite. I guess everyone does. It will probably be hit and miss the entire season. Sigh.

I stumbled onto true-blood.net while looking for some super hot picture to post of last night's episode. There were lots of strong comments about last night and no one could agree about Bill and Sookie. The Lipstick opinion is that last night's Bill-and-Sookie show was hot. Delightfully so...and I am just giddy about more delights coming my way in six more days.