Lady Gaga

I Don’t Wear Mascara on Fridays

I don’t. I put on the rest of the make-up I wear for work like I do every other day, but I leave my lashes bare.  I suppose that’s my pathetic attempt at sticking it to the man: Listen up! My lashes will not conform to the beauty standards dictated by a patriarchal society on Fridays.

I think the reason I picked mascara for my rebellion is because I wear contact lenses, and if I don’t wear mascara, I don’t feel like I have to wash my face Friday nights when I’m usually dragging from the weight of a week’s worth of toil. I should wash my face because I’ll wake up feeling gross on Saturday, but not all rebellions are fully thought through.

I don’t think I wear a lot of make-up.  I don’t wear foundation, but I do wear a tinted moisturizer so I can have some color.  I recently started to use BB cream, and I’m still trying to decide how I feel about it. It has a slight fragrance that I don’t like and it takes longer to put on because it highlights every bit of dry skin on my face, and I’m scraping at places around my nose as if I’m scraping a popcorn ceiling. However, once everything isn’t flaking off, the result looks good. I think.  I also wear mineral powder, concealer, blush, eye shadow, the aforementioned mascara (except on Fridays) and lip gloss/lipstick. This regimen has been the same for the last decade although it occurs to me that maybe I should look into what make-up a woman of my age should wear.

I can’t do foundation. I remember watching my mother put on her “face,” foundation, powder, the works and do her hair before we could leave the house, while I felt frustrated that we couldn’t simply get up and go.  I swore I wouldn’t wear make-up like that.

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This Sunday, Jimmy and I were supposed to head to DC for the Lady Gaga concert.  Yes, Lady Gaga.  Remember, my husband is a Little Monster. Unfortunately, Lady Gaga had to cancel the rest of the tour due to injury, and Jimmy is a sad panda. Instead of trying to piece together an appropriate ensemble for a 35-year-old to wear or making up a tween so other parents at the concert don’t think we’re pedophiles, we’ll be at home, watching our DVD of The Monster Ball Tour over and over, Jimmy clutching his tour t-shirt and me wearing my new Gaga socks. A tear might even be shed.

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I haven’t updated on my weight loss efforts.  They are going well.  I’ve been low carbing for 7 weeks and have started to notice results in the last 2 weeks. The only thing I’m really craving carb-wise is pizza.  Pizza helped get me into this problem, so I’ll stay strong and experiment with making reduced-carb pizza instead.  Alas, the push up challenge isn’t going as well.  I’ve had a few bad weeks and probably need to start over.

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I have a few good reads for you:

A Thanksgiving Recap

A day of prep and cleaning on Wednesday.  The first item in the oven just before 9am.  The last item out of the oven at 4:30.  One emergency trip to the grocery store for more celery and onion due to an old sauté pan’s coating flaking into the veggies, thus negating some of the prep effort from Wednesday. Panicking at noon when the turkeys weren’t in the oven yet and beginning to wonder if we were going to pull this shindig off at a reasonable hour.  One clingy toddler who wasn’t thrilled that the meal preparation was getting more attention than he was.  I got a shower (a Thanksgiving first); J did not.

Somehow, it all came together, and miraculously, we were sitting down to dinner at 4:30, the time we had planned to eat.

The dining room table pre-feast

 

And it was delicious (if I do say so myself!).

Good food and fellowship.  Precious time with four generations of family (from 91 to 2 years old – we’re practically the family in The Christmas Song)  who have been through so much in 2011 and still have more rough times ahead based on recent news.    Last night, none of that mattered.  We ate and toasted.  Laughed and chased Daniel who was extremely hyper.

I prefer to eat and run

 

It was perfect.

J and I had the dishwasher loaded and the hand washing finished by 8:30.  The Wee One collapsed into bed at 7.  And then we settled in to watch Lady Gaga (I wasn’t joking about the DVR being set to record it).

J's mom, Daniel and I laughing over a video

 

Happy Thanksgiving!  I hope yours was great too.

Menu

  • Leg of lamb
  • Turkey w/ rosemary and garlic
  • Sweet potato casserole
  • Rosemary garlic mashed potatoes
  • Green beans w/ shallots, bacon and almonds
  • Collards
  • Dressing
  • Corn pudding
  • Rolls

My Little Monster

I remember the day clearly.  It was a nice early summer evening actually.  J and I retreated to our screened back porch to chat, surf on our iPhones and have some wine after Daniel was in bed.

“I have a confession to make, ” said J suddenly.

I looked up from my Twitter feed.  “Huh? What?” I said.

“I like Lady Gaga,” he told me, sheepishly.

I was silent for a moment.  “That’s ok, ” I replied, thinking of my former penchant for romance novels.

Honestly, at that point, I didn’t know much about Lady Gaga or her music other than she was known for outlandish outfits and was very popular.  Something about a Poker Face or Paparazzi?

It turns out that J was downplaying his affection for Lady Gaga.  A few songs turned into buying entire albums from iTunes.  Next he was listening to her interview w/ Howard Stern over and over and texting me about her upcoming Thanksgiving special with Katie Couric.

Then he declared himself one of her “Little Monsters” and proudly displayed his affiliation on his car:

Displaying his affiliation for Gaga for all to see

I wasn’t sure what to think.  Not being entirely out of touch with popular culture, I have a few of her songs on my iPhone.  I looked her up on Wikipedia.  I’ve watched the video of library school students doing Gaga.  She still seemed so weird.

J and I talked about it a lot.  It turns out that he is able to see beyond the meat dresses and pyrotechnic bras to see the weirdo underneath, and I use that term affectionately.  J and I may look like normal, boring people who do yard work, cook pretentious dishes and like nice things, but underneath all of that, we are freaks at heart.  We can identify with not fitting in and not wanting to hide who we are.

I’ve thought a lot about Lady Gaga (WTF?), and forget Britney and Cristina. She is the true heiress to Madonna, only she is what Madonna was trying to be 30 (!) years ago. Madonna pushed the envelope but I wonder how truly different she was. The overt sexuality cheapened her message.  Lady Gaga is different.   She is very talented, yet she walks to her own, very different drummer.  I can respect that.  Thanks to J’s affection for Lady Gaga, I’ve come to appreciate her and what she’s trying to do.  Lord knows if she were going for sheer sex appeal, she wouldn’t pick the outfits she does.  She’s a role model with whom I feel comfortable and would be comfortable for others to emulate if they understand who she is.  Go beyond the wild outfits to understand the misfit underneath.

Maybe I’m a bit of a Little Monster too.