muttonchop monday

It's been too long since the last Muttonchop Monday. Today let's focus on a man whose musical chops and muttonchops have made me feel weak in the knees and short of breath for decades.
He's comfortable blue jeans, broken in.
Weathered.
Sexy.
Did I mention the guitar?
Or the gravel-edged voice?
The way his butt looks in those Levis?


How he makes me sing at the top of my lungs every December when I hear him on the radio--Santa Claus is Comin' To Town.
How he makes me want to straddle a motorcycle and ride through a desolate landscape with wind raking my hair and his voice urging in my ear, Baby, we were born to run.

He makes my heart ache with melancholy.
He makes me proud to be Born in the USA.
He's leather.
He's sweat.

He's soul.
He's working class.
He's heroic.
He's gentle.
He's tough.
He's rock and roll.
He's rebel.
He. Is. The. Boss.

Sixty-two and still rocking my world with his talent and that face.
True story: when he sings Secret Garden to me it makes me feel beautiful. If you haven't heard him sing it to you, reader, you really should.


Raising my coffee cup to The Boss, this morning. One bad-ass rock star with muttonchops and heart.

my sweet babboo: Holding My Breath

Saying a prayer for you and your sweet daughter.

midweek

and I made Team Testosterone take baths last night! Their bare feet were dirty and gritty from playing outside. What an amazing spring! Our neighbors came back for a little visit, balls got bounced and tossed, the ATV buzzed around the trails, I even dragged a rake across a chunk of our yard. It's mid-March!

In honor of 3-14 (Pi day) I made a S'more Pie to great acclaim. The rest of my campaign signs found homes. I cleaned the oven, scrubbed out the wastebaskets, hung out more bedding. Strolling around the yard I see blooming crocus, tips of daffodils and the cupped leaves of tulips. Robins are racing to build nests and the red-winged blackbirds are busy glaring at us.

And there's even more of this grand weather in the forecast. I kept a window cracked to hear the birds this morning. No more snowpants. No more snow shovels. Baseball season begins next week and I've got almost half of my spring cleaning list crossed off. I'm wearing short sleeves and no socks--bare feet since Sunday!

March Madness indeed.

Spill it, reader. Has spring sprung in your neck of the woods?

makeover REVEAL!

Such a barrage of comments on my plans to visit the make up counter! Had I known my grooming habits were such a fascinating topic, I'd have mentioned them sooner.

After dropping Jax off at his groomer, I drove in the direction of the mall. I don't shop at the mall, so I had to find a map to locate the Sephora store. Dodging the mallwalkers (and there were many, which surprised me, it was a beautiful day outside!), I passed through 2/3 of the building and found the Sephora store, nearly empty on a Tuesday morning. I approached the two clerks stocking a display and said, "Hi," in a loud voice.

Me, before I left the house. (With sober face, Blackbird.)

"Can we help you find something?" one asked.

"Well, I hear you can help people like me," I began by way of explanation. She kindly guided me by my elbow to a stool by a mirror and make up counter and began peppering me with questions while scrutinizing my pores. Suddenly I felt red and hairy and greasy and blotchy and all the other adjectives that describe an ugly face.

Next thing I knew, "Kate" was called over to advise me on skin care and clean me up. Reader, Kate was the most delightful girl, serious with bangs and full of encouraging comments. She's the roommate you dream of having in college--the type that will make you hit the books all week long but go to parties on the weekend. I desperately wanted to ask Kate if she needed a new BFF, but she distracted me with skin care products--serums and creams and I was under her spell as she brushed clarifying agents across my face, smoothing me into an object of beauty.

Too soon she finished up and called "Kari" back over. Reader, Kari was a younger Carrie Bradshaw with green nail polish, from the way she talked right down to her petite frame and long ringlets. At one point she actually jumped up and down in her excitement about something. I'd placed my face in the most skillful hands around.

These gals wore tool belts filled with make up brushes. I kid you not. They were equipped to deal with any make up/skin disaster. I had come to the right place. Returning with a basket full of products, Kari picked up where Kate left off, buffing and polishing my skin into a creamy texture. The whole time she worked, Kari explained what, why, how and when--I got a thorough education on application techniques and the importance of good brushes.

Armed with a single case of eyeshadow colors, Kari demonstrated how to vamp up my "daytime look" to a "nighttime look." (She kindly called it "date night," and I did not correct her assumption that my date nights involved a bowling alley twice a month.) She smudged and highlighted and blotted me a bit more.

I felt like I was on What Not to Wear as she swiveled my stool back to her and back to the mirror. The final look was definitely more polished and pulled together than I've ever looked in my life.

Kate returned to admire Kari's work and reiterated the importance of good brushes and proper skin care. We chatted a bit while Kari gathered up the various potions I'd agreed to purchase. After spending a mind-blowing amount of money on products and tools, I made up for 2 decades of not coloring my hair. The entire experience took an hour, though I suspect I got red-carpet treatment because it was Tuesday morning and the store was empty. I drove to my hair appointment checking out my face every few miles. My cheeks shimmered. My complexion looked flawless. My eyes smoked and my lips shone.

The first thing Kristy said when she saw me was, "You're wearing make up! It looks so pretty!"
After I explained my recent mission (now accomplished!), Kristy told me that good make up costs a LOT, but it's worth it. She shared her experiences with drugstore cosmetics and how there was really no comparison. I had NO idea. She also stressed the importance of good brushes. How did I miss all of this information? One truly wonders.

Then Kristy performed her magic with scissors and sent me on my way. Jax and I returned home looking sleek and sexy.

Team Testosterone arrived a couple hours later and immediately noticed my face. The verdict was "You look different. In a good way. Like, younger." (Mr. T, who now gets a raise in his allowance.) "You're wearing make up! You look sort of ... goth. But pretty." (Mr. B, who got grilled on what "goth" means.)

Last night at Cubbies my leaders looked at me differently, too. Embarrassed to admit to wearing make up, I fessed up only to the new hair cut. They gave me a stamp of approval.

But now I'm boring you with details, aren't I? You really just want to see a picture.

Behold:

That, friends, is "date night" me. And I shall leave you with these thoughts:
1. There is much to recommend quality make up. My morning makeover didn't come off my face until 10:00 that night when I washed it off with soap.
2. I feel quite prepared after a practice run today for tomorrow and Friday's book events.
3. I did not buy several things, including an eyebrow pencil. I didn't really see a marked difference in my face when Kari used it. I also skipped lipstick, though I bought a coral-colored gloss that smells nice, and concealer, since the other stuff I bought covers me pretty flawlessly.
4. I totally expected my credit card company to call after I went to Sephora. Seriously.

grooming

Today Jax has an appointment with the wonderfully cheerful woman who grooms him. He'll get shampooed, brushed out, trimmed, clipped and cuddled. She'll give him snacks and make him look beautiful and he won't want to leave when I return to pick him up. I've brought him to 2 different places, this particular woman works out of our vet's office. The other groomer I brought Jax to was a doggie day care and it was filthy and the woman working it was positively rude. I didn't know where to bring a dog for grooming, but this place was on my route so I'd driven past and figured why not? Now I know better after bringing him to the vet's office. It's remarkable that the other place is still open for business. Even though they charge 1/4 as much as the gal at the vet's office, there's no way I'd bring any animal through those doors. You just get a vibe from a place, you know?

Incidentally, I'm getting groomed today, too. Because Jax and me, we're tight like that, booking our hair appointments on the same day and all. And in that extra chunk of time (because Jax will get the full-body treatment, a blow out and style, I'm only getting a cut) I'm going out on a limb today. I'm headed to the Magical Counter of Cosmetics (more popularly known as "Sephora"). I hear they can do amazing things over there and I figure I'm at a stage in life when perhaps it's time to get some professional advice and assistance. It's time to start spackling in the cracks and crevices, disguising the wear and tear.

I've noticed that women wear make up like their mothers--so, if your mom wore a lot of product, you tended to as well. Obviously I come from more hippie stock, no make up. I also went to church camp as a young girl. The counselors taught us, "If the barn needs paint, paint it." Because those Baptists like their make up. I grew up longing for a dressing table with a skirt laden with pots and bottles of sweet-smelling things, vials of potions to smear on my skin.

Truth is, I've bought eye shadow twice in my life and never use it. My nails are bare, I never wear perfume, I have no dressing table, I have a small bag with a few tubes of lip gloss, mascara and eye liner. I look like the same person when I wake up as after I "get ready to go out."

Still, word on the street is that those folks at Sephora can help a low maintenance gal look polished and purty. I'll keep you posted.

Spill it, reader. Have you been to the Magical Counter of Cosmetics? Do you consider yourself high or low maintenance?

and speaking of

The clock change made my kids really, really crabby this morning. I'm pretty certain whoever's in charge of daylight savings time does NOT have children. If they did, they'd never, ever screw with the clock in 60 minute increments. Mr. T was positively grumpy like an old man, Mr. G cried and Mr. B refused to speak or eat. Tomorrow has got to be better than today.

The pro-haircut votes were overwhelming, so I've got an appointment with Kristy tomorrow. Just in time for these events:

This Thursday, 10:00 a.m. Atlas Coffee Shop--cafe conversation as part of the Fox Cities Book Festival

This Friday, 2:30 p.m. UWSP Alumni Book Club
What's needed to participate: 1. An email address from Google (gmail). If you don't have one, you can register for gmail on the Google website. It's free! 2. Access to a webcam. Many laptops have built-in cameras. 3. Questions for Melissa about her book.

So, if you're local or not, you can participate--cool, eh?

And speaking of books, Sex With Kings by Eleanor Herman was a fascinating study of mistresses through history. I definitely wouldn't want to be queen or mistress the the king. Sure, the clothes and architecture were gorgeous, but all the disease, backstabbing and bleeding to death after childbirth makes Medieval times seem pretty awful. And the politics. Good grief.

And speaking of politics, I'm trying to find spots for my few remaining campaign signs. My kitchen is clean, I hung laundry outside and I got to babysit the sweetest baby boy on Saturday. No kidding--this little bean sat on my lap and watched Mr. G play basketball without making a single PEEP, then he slept for 2 hours, then he woke up and ate a whole bottle, then he laid there smiling and making cute noises. I never had such an easy baby in my life. I followed up babysitting by nursing a few excellent margaritas at a friend's house--a group of karate gals got together and hashed out all the drama and intrigue at the dojo.

The hot dojo gossip was nothing compared to the heat wave that blew in Saturday night. By midday Team Testosterone had their shirts off. We played basketball, baseball and football. We swung on the swingset, rode bikes, tooled around the field, chased Jax and generally relished the fact that spring has arrived.

if you used a pensieve on me today...

here's what you'd find in my mind:

Having an ice and water dispenser in the door of one's refrigerator is a marvelous thing.

I do wish the Colts well--I am nurturing a fantasy where Peyton becomes either a TV sportscaster or a coach. It will seem so odd seeing him play for any other team. And if he plays for the Seahawks, well, that would open a new can of worms for this particular NFL fan. If he must keep playing, I'd prefer he play for a team I already pay attention to.

A robin outside my window! Sweet springtime is here!

After delivering campaign signs hither, thither and yon today, I should really bake a treat for Team Testosterone and their pals who are spending the night. Especially since dinner will be a boring meal of grilled cheese sandwiches because it is Lent and 3/7 of the people at the table are Catholic.

Level Up is one of the shows Team Testosterone watches together--I sat on my bed last night and for the first time watched it with them. It was more intelligent than I expected and I kind of liked it. Sometimes when they talk to each other, it's tough to understand, so I have to keep up with this sort of stuff.

Sarah sent me a link for leprechaun traps. The boys have decided to make all of the traps. I need to figure out how to make wee green hats for the "leprechauns" to leave behind...

Hangover II was perfectly dreadful. If you must watch it, rent it.

Yesterday somebody told me that I'd get a lot of votes for school board since I'm a woman. I replied that should be my slogan, "Vote for Estrogen and Experience!" Actually, if I lived in a more liberal community, I think it would play well. (Although the women in this town are more progressive than they seem at first glance--especially the older ones.)

Next week I have 2 book events and I'm torn between getting a haircut and waiting until after the events to get a haircut. I'm getting long and shaggy--it's not out of hand, nothing a little effort can't make look presentable--but a fresh cut might make me look better. The conundrums a not-so-very-famous-writer faces.