The New Yorker
kim | 28 April, 2005 19:05
On the various shows for which I have done make up, I have had the good fortune - or the misfortune - of doing the make up of at least one editor, two staff writers, three freelancers and two cartoonists?from the New Yorker . This is my favorite publication and the one?for which it is my deepest, darkest desire in my most desperate,?breathless?fantasy to be published. I have never submitted one word.
Many years ago, while working on an obscure program for an obscure channel, I soothed and charmed one writer who was disgusted she was on?the same?panel with a more low-brow journalist. As my reward, she offered to take me under her wing and groom me for a little section that they had going which has since stopped running; but?I don't think I had enough self-esteem at the time to even consider it. Unfortunately - or?fortunately -??she was mercurial and decided against it the night I called her and she was feeding her child.?Her chilly tone was a?great disappointment to me but it was also a great thrill to call her at home. She was a pretty cranky person. I wonder if I still have her number.
I've gotten to the point now where I don't have to prove myself in front of them: I don't have to tell them I'm a writer. I don't have to give them all the excuses why I'm not writing. I don't have to jab them with small insults or thrill them with sarcastic acrobatics. I can simply have a conversation with one if they happen to be in my chair. They don't care, I realized. They are about to go on TV and are nervous and are thinking about their segment. Not what?a loser I am and how I should be writing more.
There is one writer, however, that I hate. I love the section, but I detest the writer. I did some of that kind of writing in college and I decided not to go into that field precisely because I didn't want to write a bunch of complaining, derivative expositions on other people's work. To me, he has just one good sentence in a two page article, always. Like?using the whole ice rink to set up for a jump with no foot?work.?I am ashamed to admit, I always complain about that writer to any New Yorker writer who is sitting in my chair. It's not nice, it's clearly sour grapes and it makes me look like a moron when I'm trying to be superior.
So, you probably know who you are, I'm sorry for being such a bitch. If I want to work for the New Yorker so badly, I have to submit many, many manuscripts, I'm sure. Perhaps I'll start with just one.
kim | 28 April, 2005 07:29
I tried, in vain, for two hours to write. I have not menitoned that I've been going to work an hour early every morning (at 4 am) to write and then the child has been up between 12:30 and 2:00 crying and scratching. Itiching, scratching, scooping, tearing at his skin that even Cort-Aid has not helped. Poor guy. I finally started drinking coffee after a couple of years.
So I laid down on the couch just in time for the insults. The great thing about Janice Dickinson is that she embraces the whole thing and she makes fun of it at the same time. When one of the judges said one of the models was too fat, she said speak for yourself. I think he was the fattest judge. Just because you're wearing a suit does not mean you're not the fattest one, bitch. Then she humped Tyra. All those judges need to be sloppily humped by Janice to knowck the fake decorum and arrogance out of them. Janice totally gets that.
Then they made the unstable one with the roots cry. I could smell how dirty she smelled through the tv, some of these girls just don't know how to take care?of themselves. She has no job and no self esteem. She has some pretty great pictures and I don't think she'll ever be able to push herself in the way they did, nor will she be given entre into the same doors. Jen, or whatever your name is - if you want to work with me and Noah, we will give you some awesome pictures. Okay, hon? You are just such a delicate flower, I'm so worried you're going to end up in internet porn. Please don't. You have your whole life ahead of you.
America's Next Top Model - So Ugly
kim | 27 April, 2005 19:20
As much as I love watching gay men and bitter, overly made-up women shame 18-21 year old girls for not being sexy enough or not having what it takes to be succssful, I think instead what I will do tonight is work on my writing.
Because I've been working so early and have been getting pretty much zero sleep, I let the Omer slip. Can I read my little booklet and catch up or did I blow it? Or can you catch up to counting and do all the little exercises in the book all together so that you can receive Torah? Anyone?
Not At Liberty to Say
kim | 26 April, 2005 19:06
You really should not blog about work. For those of you who actually did see the post I wrote last night, I yanked it quickly because I realized it would offend the wrong people because I was telling the truth but making it funny.
I'm working this week for a major corporate concern, let's call it that, and so far I've been inspired by co-workers, found out that I am actually inspiring to people who I thought always inspired me, complimented by someone who previously sort of dismissed me because I was fat before and now I'm in the range of normal and was wearing a minimizer bra and so was not as intimidating, complimented by someone whose career I am suffocating with jealousy to have, almost had to do the makeup of someone I mocked on my Laws of Nature blog and was in a room while a famous hanger-on told a secret about a famous friend that is suspected of a certain practice but it is a secret so shocking that none would dare even think it. SCANDALOUS!
I'm having the time of my life. You want me to ruin all that? No way. I will give you drips and drabs in a delayed fashion. But we all must be patient. The lid can't be blown off the roof all at once. Everybody would be so cold.
Existential Movie Review
kim | 24 April, 2005 13:29
If you have a great script and a great director and a decent budget is it better if you have big name actors who maybe are not the best sprinkled among beautiful actors who can act or would it be better if you got really great actors who could act, regardless of their stature or who their mother is?
I wish Mark Wahlberg would learn how to act. He's simply divine to look at, how amazing would it be if he really took us on a ride rather than pounding away at that same note DING! DING! DING!. Dude, it's called William Esper Studios. You have a career, now get a job. And Jason Schwartzman is also nice to look at and has such a beautiful voice why, oh, why can't he commit to the moment? She asked from behind her computer...
I Heart Huckabees is a wonderful movie. With some pretty?decent acting. I'm in this existential place right now, re-evaluating everything, that's why the two life-questioning movies in two days. The first night of Passover was last night and tonight we begin the Omer, meditating each day on one of the 49 aspects of G-d. I usually get to day 14 and forget but I will try again this year to go through my little flip book, er, religiously every day. I guess I haven't gotten to the sticking-to-it aspect yet. Hopefully this year! In the Holy Land!
kim | 22 April, 2005 22:18
I just wrote this uintelligable post about the movie "What the Bleep Do We Know" and then got knocked off my computer. The take away point from the movie, which is great in theory, but is slightly annoying (I have a problem with Ramtha or whomever he channels through, it's hard for me to believe but at least she's nice to look at) is that we can create our reality and we can create our physical state and the more we love ourselves, the more we can learn about our world. Materialism is live and well, folks, but it's only going to bring us misery. I feel so much better after seeing that movie. Had a rough day.
It reminded me of a friend who called me crying the other day after a famous dermatologist berated her for having lines. She called me before the appointment. I said, they are going to try to sell you all manner of crap. Don't buy it. Now, she's friend but also a client and I always consult with her on whatever she's going to buy. Believe me, she calls me on her cell from Sephora every time. But this time, I really, really warned her. I said: they are wily. They will make you feel bad into buying things. Don't worry about me, she assured. She's a tough cookie. But who can resist insults? Or threats to one's beauty? It's disgusting and ugly but it's the common practice of my chosen profession. That's why I have this website and this blog.
There are more things in heaven and earth, my friends, than botox, restylane and glycolics. Just spend a few minutes meditating and send yourself some good messages and then you will at least have a fighting chance.
If nobody told you today, you are perfect just the way you are. Now go think some good thoughts.
The Cookie Fairy Giveth...
kim | 20 April, 2005 12:04
week old cookies. That's why?she can afford to give out so much for free.?Bitch.
The Cookie Fairy
kim | 20 April, 2005 11:26
Perhaps we've not discussed my love of cookies, but rest assured - I love them. Sometimes I have even thought of checking myself in to the Betty Ford Cookie Disorder clinic but then I think: no way, man. I've got this thing under control.
And for the most part I have. I'm squeezing back into my pre-pregnancy clothes and while I still have 10 lbs. to go to comfort, I'm moving in that direction. It's hard to exercize?until I finish the novel, which is going along swimmingly, I'm happy to report. And the Pilates contributed greatly to the TMJ because my form was poor and I wasn't stretching out, so I'm nervous to go back but it was only 22 minutes and therefore manageable.
So I'm eating salads and this morning I tried to order from a raw foods place and they were closed, so I just ordered a Greek Salad from a diner. No onions, no anchovies. And what do they do? Include a complimentary black and white cookie. I'M ONLY HUMAN, PEOPLE! How can I defend against the power of the black and white where worlds flip so that white is even better than the chocolate part? So, it will sit here on my desk and I will consider it for a while and after I'm done with my salad, I will eat off the glaze and leave the cookie and feel bad about myself.
Because who, in their right mind, can deny the Cookie Fairy?
Change of Pace?
kim | 19 April, 2005 21:11
Tell me what you think of this: I think what I am going to start doing is writing a little bit more about the beauty industry instead of my back fat and my kid. What do you think about that?
So, let's make it a poll:
For the back fat and against the beauty business, or against the kid and for some lipstick.
Please chime in. I'm just trying to serve you in the best way possible here.
kim | 18 April, 2005 21:04
I am nothing without a blow out. Truly. Back a while, I won't say how long ago or how old I was, my hair just up and fell out and grew back curly. Prior to that I had shiny, glossy straight hair that needed nothing except some sun to reflect the natural highlights. Now, if not properly tamed, it's scraggly an gray. I'm okay, but I'm no natural beauty.
The other day I was?going to a?private client and I blew out my hair and had a minimal amount of makeup on and some heels and I?happened to walk?toward my nanny and she said she didn't recognize me, that I looked sexy, and she wasn't used to seeing me that way. So pathetic. It was my hair.?
kim | 18 April, 2005 10:58
We just got the photos back from our shoot and they look fabulous, so there should be some new images posted shortly.
Today I will take a walk and, as much as I love him the way he is, get the kid's head-to-toe rash checked out
Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Person To Whom You Give Your Power
kim | 16 April, 2005 20:52
Today I met one of the most gorgeous creatures of my life. But she hated herself. Not just like we do, but in a way that made her twitch and cluck and jiggle her leg. She just couldn't stand being in there, man. I felt so bad for her. I hugged her, I told her she was awesome, but how much can I help when I'm only there for four hours and she has to live with herself all the time.
Golly, I thought I had problems. Can we, all, people: look where your feet are, then where your body is (four walls? Outside?- lamp post, etc.) then what it smells like. You get the point. Come back to the present and know that everything is okay.
I think that there are so many women out there suffering from anxiety disorders and the remedy is not neccessarily medication or more lipstick, it's meditation and being present. Welcome to the present. So nice to see you here.
If My Writing Gets Worse and Worse
kim | 15 April, 2005 20:27
It might be because the kid keeps cracking me in the head with his head when he gets bummed out. Which, since he's 15 months and wants to do so much and can't (like suck on coins, put spoons in the radiator, eat vacuum cleaner plugs, write on walls and eat bananas all, all, all the time, put greasy hands on white couch - don't ask - go into the kitchen as well as into all the off limits areas and most of all, not take a nap) and wants to say so much but all he can do is say a million half words (although he did identify the letter "S" on tv the other day - he's quite a prodigy), he is given to constant frustration and keeps cracking me in the head when I pick him up after he commands me to do so.? It's like he woke up the other day and realized "off limits" is just a phrase that you can walk through just like vapor. Because it is, you know.
You may recall earlier in the week when I could not close my mouth. The pain was great and constant and now I can close it most of the way, there's just one stubborn corner. But then he got me right in the cerebrum today and I thought of that lobotomy that Jessica Lange endured right after the scene she had endured before and it was the last indignity for her. I hope that lobotomy cleared out all those bad memories, it's the least it could have done. Can you imagine if she had been castrated like that but had to retain all that?
So here I am with TMJ, a child that I can not take my eyes off of, a splitting headace and every day he head butts me worse and worse. I don't know how to get him to stop except when he's upset now and holds his arms up for me to pick him up, cuddle him and then quickly hold him aloft as he does it. I fear for the near future when my brilliant son will test all limits or I will have to break out the play pen again which is folded neatly in a corner of my house waiting to be filled up by the next person me and Mike make.
That's going to be a little later than sooner, it turns out.
kim | 15 April, 2005 10:20
It's the small things: you know what's pretty? Bob, the dishwasher repairman. He's just now splayed on his side on my kitchen floor with a flashlight up the broken butt of my dishwasher. He's obviously from the Bronx, you should hear his accent: deep with authority but resigned. As if he would say to every catastrophe, "yeah, well, what did you think was going to happen? Come here, stop crying, I'll give you a hug." He just strikes me that way. He's an older gentleman, black with lots of gray creeping into his afro, large glasses and a blue uniform on. Someone's grandpa.
But you know what? He's fixing the dishwasher. It's going to save me time, rough hands and ten more minutes after each meal that I can make sure the kid doesn't pull a bookshelf down on himself. Which is the next item on his to do list, I see him going to tick it off now.
Thanks, Bob. You'll never know how happy you made this family.
The Way You Look at Yourself in the Mirror
kim | 14 April, 2005 08:28
You know the way. You?blank-out any trace of expression on?your face, tilt your head to the side, give an artificial smile, turn your body slightly to the left. It's completely artificial and you never, ever look that way except when you are doing that weird pose. What you really need to do is look at yourself in the mirror at your (my) back fat, your chin fat, the way the light hits your blemishes or wrinkles, i.e. fix your worst problems under the worst case scenario, not stand like a doll in your best case scenario.
Yesterday I was taking the kid for a short walk to get some paper for a gift certificate someone is buying from me (someone said, "he's giving the gift of you," and that made me feel so good!) and some toys for the kid (he's obsessed with keys so I got him this garage from Parent's Magazine with keys that lock and unlock and push open - it's great) and some dinner and there was this woman. She was in her mid-sixties, maybe early seventies, with longish salt and pepper hair nicely waving in the breeze in?a black, fairly casual ensemble. She was walking in a fairly confident, determined manner when she took a pocket mirror out of her purse, held it up to her visage and cocked her head to the side and made that insipid smile. Like she turned into an obedient 16 year old girl. As if that sort of demure posturing was her beauty ideal for herself.
And we all do it. So do me a favor. You don't look that way. You don't need to soothe yourself that way. You look fine with all your little bumpies and shadows. Give a big, hearty smile to that!
kim | 13 April, 2005 22:24
Gotta love 'em. But sometimes they're flaky. I think they would agree.
This is Your Jaw on TMJ
kim | 12 April, 2005 22:22
For the last two weeks, I have been fighting this TMJ. I look back at my blog: migranes, exhaustion. I thought it was just regular new mom stuff mixed with doing too much, but it was TMJ. Thanks to the kid for head butting me into jaw trauma, but really thanks to him that he didn't break my nose yesterday. It was the first time I felt guilty because I was mad at my son. He injured me.
On a more anxiety-producing note, I made three pitches two weeks ago and told the editors I would follow up that week, but this has had me in knots. I am going to follow up tomorrow but I am nervous that I look too flaky now, when I am anything but. I hope they understand that I am the hardest worker that will ever work for them should they choose to hire me.
One time when I worked at Saks and I was peaking with my book and the position, I wrote down an extrodinarily important interview with an extrodinarily important beauty editor in the wrong week of my date book. I was out, um, doing something (I'll never tell, but it may have had somthing to do with putting the finishing touches on my book party dress) and I got a frantic call from my assistant. I ran back to Saks from 37th Street in high heels because I couldn't find a cab and when I got there, winded and sweating, I found the beauty editor among the Miu Miu and Isaac Shoes on the third floor. I genuflected. I begged, I tap danced, ("So and so, how I love ya, how I love ya), I practically pulled her into my office (I had to stay my hand) but no dice. No dice.
And now she's important, and she will never, ever hire me. Because of one mistake. I hope others are a little more flexible. I'm a very reliable,excellent, hard working -?but human -?person.
TMJ is Not Pretty
kim | 11 April, 2005 22:00
Especially when it is sudden onset due to angry and over tired child headbutting you so that you see stars. I wasn't sure about it until he headbutted me again today, over and over again. Then he smashed the back of his head into the bridge of my nose. I was surprised that it wasn't broken. I can't close my mouth. I can't chew. I ate alot of ice cream today. Alot. Have you been to Emack and Bolio's. Oy.
Anna Nicole Smith, Pulitzer Prize Winner
kim | 10 April, 2005 21:32
No, no. Just a columnist for the National Enquirer. But still.
I am given to fits of procrastination brought on largely by the classic low self-esteem of the writer who needs to tell but cannot because of precisely what has happened. If you know what I mean.
Anna Nicole is not a?columnist. She is not a TV star.?Liz Smith?is a columnist,?Cindy Adams, Jake:?A Man's Opinion. These are columnists. Anna Nicole is a stripper and the business development executive in charge of fried chicken. Puffy is not an actor and he's not an auto parts salesman. He's a dancer. And perhaps the Donald Trump of Music Producers.
If I told you how many maroons?that have been through my makeup chair making money hand over fist when the one secret they seem to know is really?how to stay skinny so that they look good on TV or in the movies, you would cry. (I have never touched the faces of either ANS nor the P nor the I nor the D nor the Diddy)
So in a way, Paris Hilton publishing her memoirs, Pamela Anderson doing the same,?this one writing a column, baby, makes me want to take to my bed for a week and then it makes?me want to finish my novel. So I will stay up late. It's hard being a mom, having two websites, trying to pitch magazines, trying to keep the house straight and get my figure back and write the novel. I figure now, though, what I'm going to do is do the body and the novel first and the other stuff I will get to later in the day. This week, anyway.
In tooth-related news, I cannot close my?mouth now. I remember now that last night the kid clocked me in the jaw with his head?- he does that now when he's tired and doesn't want to go to sleep - so hard that?I thought he broke my front two teeth.?And it hurt my?jaw really badly. So maybe the kid broke my jaw? I'll hopefully go to the dentist tomorrow. Hooray! Another?thing to take me away from?my?novel!??
What's So Wise About Wisdom Teeth?
kim | 09 April, 2005 19:57
If wisdom teeth were really that wise, they would come out while you're teething, not in your 20's and 30's so that you experience excruciating pain, can't eat, hear echos like you're talking into balloons (ballooooon! That's right honey, balloon) and can't close your mouth and then face the possibility of general anesthesia (a fate worse than death to you) because it's on the bottom. The fucker. Yeah, I cursed on my blog. You would, too, if your wisdom fucking tooth was coming in and you were over 25.
On a lighter note, I worked out today, so that's something. But it won't pull out my tooth.
kim | 07 April, 2005 22:16
Today we went to take the kid for a haircut. His last one was scheduled before his birthday in January and postponed several times due to several illnesses. His head basically looked like a crazy mushroom cap.
Now Mike is the King of Haircuts. This is one of the bragging points about my husband: he has style. He pretty much always gets a different haircut and can always articulate to whatever different person is cutting his hair how he wants it so that he generally gets what he wants. When he started complaining about the kid's hair, I figured he's a man who knows what he wants. But I sort of like all those soft, silky curlieques circling around his head like some Greek god haircut. So sweet. When's he gonna have those ever again. But Mike was insistent and it was an absolute bear to keep controlled. The baby looked like he had a Jew Fro and we're not really from Jew Fro stock, so it looked a little silly. I still don't know how I ended up with a blondish son with blue eyes.
So we walked over with his new fake key toy that does not distract him at all from wanting my keys, which is why I got it for him in the first place, and we got to the place - sort of an uptown place with a downtown hairdresser. So nice, funky, clean. Now, I haven't mentioned all the words that he's saying the beginnings of, but he has, like 20 intelligible words: balloon being one of the bigs ones. So I secure a balloon and he's lauging his head off because he has the best sense of humor and then we sit down in the chair and he's like, um, wait, a, minute. No, hold, on, I said, hey! She covered the mirror so he couldn't see what was happening, The Wiggles were on, there were bubbles,? a flashing microphone looking thing, a toy car, a duck, but he was just sitting in my lap hysterically crying, BABBLING SOMETHING, which he's never done before. No Mommy No I heard him say. But it was like a chanting prayer through torture that made it scarier for me. I held his face in one hand so I could secure his head and so I could let him know that I wouldn't let anything happen to him and I covered his ear with the other hand. I wispered in low tones how I would never let anyone hurt him (even though we're due for a bunch of shots soon, uch!) and he was okay and I loved him and that just made him scream and chant louder. I guess the sound of scissors is terrifying. And then it was over. This kid got the best haircut of his life. It looks so great.
Then we did a bunch of stuff but ended up at a small dog run so he could see all the doggies and scream with delight. And he will pierce your eardrums with delight. I was holding him up against the gate so he could watch the tiny dogs over it and I turned my head to see his profile and for a moment I could see what he was going to look like when he was a young man in his twenties. He is so beautiful that I almost started crying right there in front of the long haired Dacshund and the Corgi and all those filthy Malteses and Bichon Frisees. I wish I could protect him from everything, but I can't. I love him so much that I hope I can be the kind of mother that he will enjoy being around when he is that age. The one thing he will be able to say with certainty is that I dressed him well and got him great haircuts.
Brutal, Part II
kim | 07 April, 2005 09:48
Sorry, I had a migrane last night.
America's Top Model:
The judging is so sad to me because it's clear that the producers are like, "meaner, get meaner!" Supermodels know how hard it is, but men don't. I wish they were more constructive. It makes me squirm like the Howard Stern show. Project Runway was at least dignified. They are so mean.
Meanwhile, Jay is an amazing makeup artist - why is he making Tyra look like a drag queen? And why doesn't anyone say anything about his Doodlebops hair do? That blonde paint thing is so weird. I just started watching so I don't know if he's had it from week to week. Yuck. But he's such a sweet, sweet guy. I was on a team once for the opening of the new Iman line at Sephora. So that was my only contact with him ever but he was a doll.
Matthu Andersen is one of our finest makeup artists. In the top 5. Kevyn was this incredible makeup artist, but nobody has the range of Matthu. So why does he have a faint Phillipino accent? He's not Phillipino. But I?would lay down prostrate (isn't that what the Nuns do?) to assist him for a week. He's a GEEEEENEOUS! But silly with that accent and that truck-stop facial hair. So cute Matthu, why the uglifying of yourself?
Tyra, you are gorgeous. Why are your teeth neon white. I was wearing sunglasses last night. I know I need mine whitened, but, girl, have a cup of coffee and don't brush for 10 minutes, okay?
Oddly , the only one that did make sense was the kooky Janice Dickenson (whom I loved as a girl reading magazines) who, when?Matthu said something about one of the girls needing to lose 5-10 lbs. (and oddly nothing about her terrible dye job with the black roots poking through or her yellowish teeth) said, I'm fat, we're ALL fat in this room! Lightening the mood, making fun of them all.
See? How does it feel? Not so good, huh? I did it because I was swayed by the mood of the evening and also to prove a point. Now I hope they don't come after me and kick my ass to prove a point. hee hee.
America's Next Top Model
kim | 06 April, 2005 21:31
kim | 06 April, 2005 08:31
I want to help you with your beauty questions. Please list them here. Big or small, brilliant or ridiculous, I want to know what you are concerned about and I will try to help. How's that sound?
It's A Beautiful Day!!!
kim | 05 April, 2005 08:41
When I was little, around 8ish, my mother was given to fits of passion on the street and would shout, at the top of her lungs, with her head tilted back upwards to heaven:?IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY!!!!!
I guess I used to think it was cool and funny and passionate until one day I realized it wasn't and when I requested, she stopped.
Today I will do a million things while the nanny is here and then I will go to a sample sale where, assuredly, nothing will fit across the large span that is my bosom and I will cry and hopefully find a nice handbag for cheap. I need to exercise, but I have two websites to keep up and other more pressing things. Did I mention the kid was up for literally 3 hours last night? I don't even care about that, I just want a few extra hours in my day, but that's not what I'm writing here.
Don't embarrass anyone today: your children, your friends or yourself. Okay? Just enjoy the day.
Focused and Raring to Go!
kim | 04 April, 2005 23:00
Tonight I met with someone who gave me some advice on my writing career and I'm so ready to go! It's not even funny! Rah rah rah! Here's what I suggest you do if you want to do something you have not before: get help. A mentor, a friend, a class. Then take all the information that you got and talk to an industry professional or two, weigh the balance and then make your decisions. Nobody has the path you do. You are unique, you will find your own way. And that's the truth, Ruth. Who used to say that? Nipsy Russel? You gotta help me out here, too tired to google. Falling down.
Oh, Yeah? Take That!
kim | 04 April, 2005 08:24
I just wrote a whole post about how monkey-wrenchish my life is these days: can't find the important receipt, can't find my three most treasured and oft-used makeup products, dishwasher breaks and the super's not around until 12, kid's up all night crying - but despite all that I am going to remain calm and elegant and serene. And then I post, and my computer freaks out and doesn't post. Here's the deal: I don't care what life throws my way anymore, I'm not getting ruffled. I'm sick of being ruffled, grounded sounds much better to me. I can't do it all on my own, meditation is going to help, but seriously, I'm going to pretend I'm okay and life is easy until it actually is. Because the other way is so not working for me
It's Called a Learning Curve
kim | 03 April, 2005 22:20
And I'm on the upward slope. Please send quickening vibes over here as I try to master a new skill. It's a little painful.
Sending Love and Blessings
kim | 02 April, 2005 21:52
To any of you who are Catholic tonight. The Pope was an extraordinary man, a force of peace and love in the world that perhaps sometimes is not brimming with that sort of thing. Whether you are Catholic or not, the world lost a very important man tonight and I grieve his loss and my hearts go out to you who saw him as your spiritual touchstone.
Doing It and Looking Good
kim | 01 April, 2005 20:46
Today I went to a one year-old birthday party for a friend of the kid's who shares the same name as my kid. It's a popular name. I love his mom, I think she's great. All my mommy friends were there and then some. There were 13 moms, two nannies and 15 kids ranging in ages from 6 months to almost two years. Somehow, perhaps I should act more disintrested and bitchier, I seem to attract the suck hole of any party: the person who wants to talk my ear off and not want me to talk to anyone else and not want me to say much about myself. Or not, maybe I'm misinterpreting. But I feel locked in a beam of their self-discovery that they want to share with me. Plus, the kid did not let me put him down until 20 minutes before we left and that's only because he was high on two mini-cupcakes with sprinkles, one so stale (I think they were purchased from a big chain of stores from the suburbs) that it outlasted his interest. He had it in his hand for at least a half an hour.
My poor friend's rug, is all I have to say.
When we left, only two strollers in the elevator at a time and I was the last one so me and the kid went alone while our friends waited downstairs for us. We got down, the doors opened only about two inches and stayed there. Then they shut. We went nowhere. Being stuck in an elevator with a kid with a sugar high and a mom with claustrophobia: bad. Luckily, we went up and then down again. But I later found out that the mom who lived there got stuck in that elevator for an hour, riding up and down, trying not to panic her kid.
When I emerged, my mommy friends were simply waiting for me, none the wiser. I told them and then we walked along. We were all so tired. One mommy turned to me and said, did you apply makeup in the elevator? I had taken out my lipglass and applied it because my lips were dry and there's usually never a time that I don't have on lipgloss. But it felt like an accusation. She didn't mean it that way. But I realized, I was hobbling along, nerves jangling from the holding and the sugar and the decible level and the randomness of all those kids running around, fighting for toys, falling off toys, whacking their heads on the uncarpeted section of the floors; and I still looked good.