Tag Archives: Beauty

{Soft in Unexpected Places…}


With how busy life has been of late, I usually do not give myself a minutes thought but today, as I was running through the Charlotte, NC airport, to catch my next flight, I thought back to earlier this morning and the emotions I was feeling.  I felt completely unsettled.

 In the midst of my morning beauty routine, I stopped and stared at myself in the mirror in a way that I have not done in ages.  As ridiculous as this may sound, it shocked me at how much my body has changed. Not necessarily in a bad way but in a way that tells me that I am getting older. Why didn’t I take notice of this before?  Now mind you, I’m nowhere near the age where I need to start worrying about my own mortality but lately I can’t seem to reconcile the age that I feel I am emotionally with the  age that I know I am biologically.   

As I continued to stare at my reflection, I couldn’t deny that I am softer, yes, and a bit more fragile than I remember.  My skin seems more translucent, less forgiving.  Although I believe I take good care of this temple I call my body, I must say it wouldn’t hurt to treat it with more care.  Pamper it a bit more.  Mistreat it a lot less.  This body is my home and if I plan to live in it for a long while, it’s best that I start thinking of putting this body on a serious maintenance plan.

Be well my darlings!




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Curly Is the New Blonde

(This is not my hair)

Who said blondes have more fun? Not this Latina. I am astounded at the reaction and response I’ve received since going curly. If I had known that this change was going to fabulously impact my life, I would have done this sooner. To think that all of this time I had been fighting my inner curly head. I fought it vigorously.

All my life I’ve tortured my hair with relaxers, potions, lotions, blowers, flat irons and perhaps even a Voodoo dance or two to keep this mane of mine from turning into a Chia Pet catastrophe. Although I’ve admired many a curly head from time to time, from how liberated they looked to how wildly sexy, never in a million years did I imagine I would want to join the curly head club and become one of “them”. And yet, I made the leap. I now stand courageous and curly.

Being a curly head has prompted in me a sassiness I never knew I possessed. I feel playful, outspoken and insanely creative. Seductive in unimaginable ways and outlandishly daring. I now feel liberated from the constraints of the daily straight hairdo. I no longer have the need to follow the protocol of the corporate rat race with a look that’s professionally restraining and subdued. My curls had been screaming to be set free and I’ve now decided to submit to its natural rhythm. And from the looks of things, the masses are delighted that I finally decided to do me.

Rogue Hair

This is not supposed to happen. Not now. Not while I am still young, supple and filled with undeniable exuberance. But there it was. Unmistakable. Taunting me. Unyielding. Sticking out from the top of my head like some kind of RoboCop whose mission it was to take the rest of my hair hostage. I felt vexed by this intruder. This gray, unruly strand of hair.

Yes, I know that there are products that can take care of pesky little problems like this but I didn’t think I would have to entertain the thought until, well, my senior years. But definitely not now, while I still had some pep in my step and could still shake what my momma gave me. But there it was, waving at me from my rearview mirror, as I drove down my miracle mile. Some miracle. Pfft! All desire to go shopping for something pretty just deserted me. Why go shopping, I thought, if I already had one foot in the grave. So, fine, I guess you could say I was way over the top here but I’m Latina. I feel things passionately and ‘the Hubster’ was going to get an ear full of my angst whether he wanted it or not.

After crying for an hour that I was ancient, decrepit and should now be referred to as “The Crypt Keeper”, ‘the Hubster’ tried to comfort me by telling me that I was just aging like fine wine and the best was yet to come. I looked at him as though he were daft. Really Dr. Phil? And you thought that using words like aging and fine in the same sentence were going to get you a “Barry White” kind of night? Well think again smooth talker because that cliché earned you a trip to the dog house without your milk bones.

Seriously!! How could he not understand the significance of a gray hair? I might as well have been carrying a flashing bill board saying, “Look at me. My prime years are over.” Melodramatic? Perhaps. But at the time, I was in break down mode and the pity party was in full swing. Although I feel very comfortable in my own skin, I wasn’t ready to do the AARP shuffle. I wasn’t ready to start playing canasta or wearing hoses that would help the circulation. I still had plenty of life left in these hips and I refused to let a little thing like a gray hair snuff out my zeal.

And to prove it, I went home and took out my oldie but goodie CD collection (I know, I know, we’ve gone digital) and tried to dance like it was 1999. I bounced, wiggled and slid across my living room floor as though I were in a club. I tried a little old school and got down when I should have stayed up. Moves that used to feel natural just felt as though I were imitating my grandmother. Soul train was just old train and my caboose was just plain loose.

‘The Hubster’, transfixed by my performance in the living room, stared at me as though he were about to place a call to the mental house and have me fitted with one of their “special” outfits. He couldn’t believe I was behaving this way and at this point he was almost convinced that I was one burger short of a happy meal. “How can one gray hair drive you to such distraction”, he asked? I gingerly limped over to the love seat, hoping that I still had all of my bodily pieces intact, and slowly sat down. I looked at him with sadness and said, “This is where you trade me in for a fresh, newer model.” He walked over to where I was sitting, sat down next to me and said, “And what, miss these free shows that you put on for my benefit? Never! These young girls’s have nothing on you, mamacita.”

Well, well, look who’s getting lucky tonight. Heh!

Waxing vs. Going Natural

There is nothing more unattractive then watching a woman ‘go natural’. The implications are far too hideous to even contemplate. There are just some things that we should NEVER do. For instance:

1. Grow chin hairs. It’s not appealing for a woman to sport a Goatee
2. Have caterpillars for eyebrows. I understand that thick is in but Groucho Marxs? Nuh uh.
3. Wear a tank top when you know that your underarms are so hairy that a flock of seagulls think they have just spotted their new nest from the sky.
4. Sport a ‘stash’ across your upper lip as though you were a part of the Big Apple circus.
5. Grow hair on your legs so long that people will start confusing you for Big Foot.

The list goes on but I think you get the point. Ladies, please, let’s not be part of that club. You know, the “I need to go back to basics” club. That’s just a little too much reality. So with that thought in mind, I set my first appointment for a new salon that just opened up down the road from my home. I had just invested in a darling pair of Christian Louboutin’s and after a purchase like that, momma was a bit short on funds and I figured that if I can still get my basic needs met and do it on the cheap? Bonus!

WARNING: NEVER GET WAXED ON THE CHEAP! NEVER!! Let those hairs grow wild until you can get enough moola to go to a “Real” Spa salon. Not a Nail Salon. So, you can only imagine what happened next. After arriving for my 1:15 appointment, I was met at the door by Quan Lee. I should have known to go running for the hills when she said, “You here for a wax? You want to pick a color?” Color?? What is she talking about? I don’t want to get my nails done. I want to get a wax. Heaven help me, if she didn’t understand what I needed, I was afraid of what she’d try to wax and THAT sent a cold shiver down my spine.

An hour later, what should have been a simple wax felt like I had just undergone Dermabrasion on my legs and underarm. It was all I could do to maintain my dignity and keep a stiff upper lip when I left that place. Everything felt raw. I walked to my car like a mummy. My legs stung and my arms were pulled up as though I had wings and was about to pull a Kung Fu move on someone. I looked like I was about to take flight. And driving home was no party either. When I got home, ‘hubster’ took one look at me and he immediately knew what had happened. As I gingerly sat down, with my arms still in that flapping wings position, the ’hubster’ tried to keep a straight face. He quietly got up and walked to the kitchen. He said, “Cocktail?” and I said, sheepishly, “Shaken, not stirred, please”. After this experience, I guarantee you that I will have more sympathy for the gal who wants to go au natural. I personally wouldn’t do it, but I definitely understand.