Miguelina

You Should Be in Pictures

NOTE:  I'm posting some old stuff until I'm back in September - Enjoy!  Or ignore!  Whatever!

My first job out of college was in marketing for a very large, very french, very hip cosmetic company.  Many people are fascinated by my past life and want to know how to get a job there.  But there are always the people who want to know if I feel guilty because I was promoting unattainable standards of beauty.  They want to know if I felt personally responsible for the lack of self-esteem in today's young women.

No I didn't and I still don't.

In fact, I LOVE the beautiful advertisements in women's magazines. It was uplifting to come to work every morning and be surrounded by posters of gorgeous faces.  Really!  We would ooh and aah every time a beautiful ad was unveiled.  It was cool.  And I never compared myself to those images.  I did compare myself to the models pre-airbrushing. I mean they're still gorgeous, but they get pimples and cellulite, just like us.  Really.

To me, these ads are works of art, not a to do list.  It has been said before, but it bears repeating:  PEOPLE DON'T LOOK LIKE THAT.  I love the Cindy Crawford quote "“Even I don't wake up looking like Cindy Crawford.”  No model or starlet does.  I saw it for myself.  Photoshop and airbrush artists are amazing.  Also, most of the models are 14. I'll never forget the first time I saw and ad pre-completion.  It was for an eye cream.  The model was 14 and gorgeous.  She had a huge smile in the ad, and I thought it was beautiful.  Then a few weeks later I saw the real finished product.  The huge smile was still there, but you know those lines you get under your eyes when you smile?  (Yes you do.  We all get them.  The Boy gets them, and he's not even one.) They were gone.  The shadows under her eyes were gone as well.  It was freaky.  I mean, the girl was 14, and she was selling eye cream to 40 year-olds!  It felt weird, but I was an idealistic 19 year old at the time.

I quickly grew to appreciate the images for what they are.  They're aspirational images meant to be beautiful and illustrate a fantasy.  I still like them, although I can see how people who haven't been exposed to the inner workings of the advertising industry could be misled. Don't be.

Photoshop isn't going away anytime soon (and thank God for that!  I just airbrushed a booger out of The Boy's nose in a photo for the grandparents.)  Enjoy the photos in ads and magazine covers, they can be breathtaking.  Just do it with a healthy dose of scepticism.

Here's a link to a website that illustrates just what can be done to a photo of a real person (and a pretty one at that.)  You'd think they're exaggerating, but the photo looks like any picture on the cover of Maxim or Cosmo.   (For the record, I think those are tacky as all hell.    I prefer the airbrush artistry of Vogue or Vanity Fair.  But that's just me.)

I See Famous People: Play Ball!

NOTE:  I'm posting some old stuff until I'm back in September - Enjoy!  Or ignore!  Whatever!

Hey look!  It's time for another completely pointless I See Famous People post.  Woo-hoo! 

The Husband, The Boy and I were visiting my family in Miami on Thanksgiving weekend.  It was exactly 72 degrees out so we thought it an absolutely perfect day for the beach.  This only proved to the rest of my family that the metamorphosis from In-The-Know Miamian to Crazy-Ass Bostonian was complete (as if the pale skin and decided lack of lacy tank tops wasn't proof enough).

"Are you crazy?"

"What about the baby?  It's freezing!"

"Only tourists *chuckle* go to the beach in November...you're not serious are you?"

ME:  "B-but it's 28 degrees back home..."

They looked at me like "hey, it's not our fault you guys moved to the freakin' tundra" and it was settled.  We were going shopping instead.  On a warm day in November.  Bah!

Beautiful weather is wasted on Miamians, I tell you.

But I digress.  After an afternoon of much people-watching and very little actual shopping we decided to stop at Starbucks, all 7 of us.

Almost as soon as we were settled into our tables, a couple with a baby sits right to us, their Bugaboo side by side with our Sit and Stroll.  I turn to the guy, because his shoulder was touching mine, and hello?  I need more room!

"Hello" I blurt out, and I freeze as my glare is met by a pair of electric green eyes.  The owner of those eyes nods and stares off into the distance without a smile.

My mind starts racing...could it be?  Those eyes! Was I really sitting next to... the $30M man?  Holy crap!  I was sitting shoulder to shoulder with the one and only Alex Rodriguez.

Or as I hear he is called,  A-Rod.

With my personal Celebrity Encounter Rules racing through my head (pretend you don't know who they are...do not, under any circumstances, touch the famous person...be cool...be cool) I proceeded to actively ignore Mr. A-Rod.  Which of course made it completely obvious that I had recognized him and made him more uncomfortable by the minute.  So I sat there like an idiot, pretending that he had vanished into thin air while he focused intensely on a palm tree off to my right.

Smooth operators, aren't we?

The Husband, God bless his heart, had no idea who these people were.  So he was deep in conversation with A-Rod's wife, chatting about strollers and travelling with kids, and "is she teething?", while trying to get The Boy to flirt with baby A-Rod.

"Isn't she a pretty girl?" The Husband coos.

"Pfftllrr!" is The Boy's rude but totally age-appropiate response. 

I started to daydream about how my life would change if The Boy were to sweep A-Rod Baby off her $30M feet...

"Gffft...Pfft!"

And on it went.  I racked my brain for something, anything, I could talk to A-Rod about (The Red Sox?  Ha!  I'm not that stupid.  His deodorant deal?  Why the hell he was wasting a sunny day in November at Starbucks?) and came up with nothing.  Why must I be so lame?

He continued to actively ignore me.  The poor man couldn't even have his Venti-whatever in peace.  My Husband soon lost interest in The A-Rod Baby so I was forced to drop my dream to have The Boy become insanely wealthy by marrying into the A-Rod family.  He's a little young, I know, but you have to plan ahead when you're thinking BIG.

We drank our coffee in uncomfortable silence.

"It's him!" my mother stage-whispered to my brother.  I cringed. The Husband wanted to know who they were talking about.  I kicked him under the table.  Oh yeah.  We're smooth.

And that's it.  A-Rod drank his coffee, all the while pretending that there weren't crazy people sitting but a few inches from his daughter.

I told you it was pointless.

I See Famous People: British Invasion

NOTE:  I'm posting some old stuff until I'm back in September - Enjoy!  Or ignore!  Whatever!

I have the completely useless talent of running into famous people. They're everywhere!  Gay people have gaydar, I have this.  Sometimes it can be a curse, because these encounters have never led to anything other than a story I can't share since most people don't care.  So I'll tell you!

I'm telling you this because if VH1 can make silly shows more interesting simply because famous people are involved, then surely this silly blog can only benefit from being infused with some celebrity.  So every once in a while (like when I don't have anything else to say) I will share a random celebrity sighting experienced by me. 

Most of these happened when I lived in Miami.  In Miami, celebrities are almost as plentiful as the Palmetto bugs.   They both must love the humidity and the palm trees.

So here it is, my big encounter with a cute Brit.  Brace yourselves.

The Husband and I were leaving our hotel (The Delano) when I spotted a short, alarmingly pasty guy who was obviously wasted beyond belief. He could not stand up without swaying, his eyes were out of focus, he looked like he was going to throw up.  This is not such a strange sight in South Beach, but this guy was just standing there and had an eager, sad look in his eyes.  I think he was waiting to be recognized.  Well, I recognized him, but I was not going to give him the satisfaction. Hell no.

"Honey look!"  I whispered, "I think that's Hugh Grant!"

"There's NO way that's HUGH GRANT.  That guy is WAY too short."

Obviously we'd already begun our, um, festivities and The Husband could not whisper to save his life.  Thankfully, he didn't hear us. But a group of trashy girls wearing cheap clingy dresses and way too much makeup did.

"OH MY GAWD!  IT'S HUUGH GRAANT! AAAAAHHH!"

And they ran over to him, making both a scene and fools of themselves. 

Amateurs. 

These women were obviously not locals, since they violated Cardinal Rule #1 of the Random Celebrity Encounter (always ignore celebrity) and Rule #2 (do not touch celebrity under any circumstances).  Come to think of it, celebrity sightings are not unlike wildlife sightings. And as with wildlife sightings, there are good reasons for these rules.  Follow them, people!

Mr. Grant was not scared of the running mass of polyester and Ciara headed his way.  Instead, he suddenly came to life and grabbed one of the women, thrust his tongue down her throat, pawing and slobbering all over her.  It was a sad, sad sight.  Back then he was with Liz Hurley. Where was she?

All I could think of was that this was the man who spent $45 to catch Divine Brown's cooties.  **shudder**  Now he was getting his kicks for free, and passing all the things he'd picked up to this girl.   Maybe he was generous enough to share with all of them?

We did not stay to find out. 

"That could have been you," said The Boyfriend (he hadn't been promoted to The Husband yet) "if you weren't with me."

No, not really.  I'm too stuck-up for that.  And now whenever I see Hugh Grant I need to shower.  He spoiled adorably bumbling British heartthrobs for me. 

That is, until Colin Firth came along.

Lesson Learned: Celebrities are shorter in person than you would expect.  And, unlike most regular people, you don't even have to buy them a drink to catch their cooties.

Words To Live By: 2006 Edition

NOTE:  I'm posting some old stuff until I'm back in September - Enjoy!  Or ignore!  Whatever!

I went to yoga class this morning hoping to get some exercise in before the end of 2005 and as a bonus I was given my mantra for 2006.

I usually have to stop myself from laughing when the instructor says insipid things like “every breath is a chance to start anew.” Blah. I want tight abs, not mystical thoughts, on the rare times that I do manage to get my ass to the gym. However, today she said something that struck me. Maybe the extra oxygen from the deep breathing is turning me crunchy, I don't know. But it doesn't matter. I like the words and I’m sticking by them.

She was asking us to do one of the poses when she said something meant to get us to stop looking around at the others in the room, but that sounded like a revelation to me:

“Go for pleasure, not for perfection.” 

Wow. I don’t know why this struck a cord, but I decided right then and there that I have all my resolutions for 2006 wrapped up in those six words. In 2006, I’m going to enjoy myself by letting myself do the things that make me happy and enjoying it. It is so liberating to let yourself just enjoy life rather than try to be perfect.

2006 will be enjoyable.  So:

Since a clean house makes me happy AND I am a terrible housekeeper, I will go for pleasure, not for perfection, and I will clean for about 30 minutes each day and not beat myself up because I’m not anal retentive.

Friends make me happy.  So I will be a better friend.

I like yoga and pilates. So I will do more of both and stop trying to become a jogger. See? Go for pleasure, not for perfection!

I will play with The Boy more instead of worrying about every little aspect of his development.

I will get more sleep, because sleep is pleasurable.  And I will have better days for it too.

Anyways, I could go on forever, but I will stop now. What gives YOU pleasure? Consider doing more of it in 2006. Happy New Year!

I'm an Orange Lost in a Sea of Ah-pples

NOTE:  I'm posting some old stuff until I'm back in September - Enjoy!  Or ignore!  Whatever!

I am a transplanted Bostonian. Moving here from another, warmer, city has been an adjustment, to say the least. And yes, I have adjusted. I don't break out into a cold sweat anymore because of a snowy forecast. At this time of year I can say, "33 degrees? Nice!" and only be half kidding. Bad drivers on 128 don't scare me (much) anymore. But my transformation can only go so far. There is one thing, a small thing really, but a thing that is at the essence of being a Bostonian, and that thing is one thing that I still do not get.

I do not understand the obsession with Dunkin' Donuts coffee. 

I am a Starbucks person. I can't help it if I like my coffee strong and tasty. I prefer to buy my coffee in clean cafes with good music and a relaxed vibe. I get nervous at the lines at the Dunkin' Donuts, which remind me of the lines at Taco Bell. The service is invariably bad. Yet the natives love it. I have made it a point to appreciate the hometown brew, and my attempts have failed miserably. I cannot stand the watered down chemical brew that Dunkin' coffee is.

Unfortunately, we've moved to a neighborhood where there are no Starbucks cafes within walking distance. I so miss walking to Starbucks! Instead, we have a Dunkin' Donuts shop. It is small and crowded and the decor is alarmingly pink and yellow. Still I persist and I go in and order coffee every once in a while because I need to find a product that I will like so that I don't have to get in the car to get my caffeine fix, even if the pink store has no seating. Besides, there are some smart people in this town and they can't all be wrong. So I've ordered regular coffee with milk. It is absolutely tasteless, since it usually has been sitting in the machine for God know how long. I once ordered a "specialty" coffee, something called a toasted almond, which tasted like burnt engine oil smells. Had to dump that in the garbage can right outside the store. But last week was the worst experience of all. The shop committed a cardinal sin; a sin so egregious I feel like the shop staff has something against me - personally.

Initially I was full of hope because the sign outside read "REAL LATTES". My mouth literally salivated. The coffee in the picture did in fact look like a latte, all tall, dark and handsome with a light layer of foam. I went inside, happy in the belief that at last I had found my beverage. I order my "real" latte, and do you know what they did? Can you handle it? They made my "real" latte with drip coffee.  There wasn't an espresso maker in the store!

Now that is just cruel.

1-2-3...VACATION!

The day has arrived!  Today we leave for our trip, where we find out what it is like to travel with a toddler while packing no liquids.

(Think about that:  We will be flying clear across the Atlantic without deodorant, toothpaste, scented lotion, perfume or face wash to make us presentable after hours of sharing stale cabin air with hundreds of similarly toiletry-less people.  Actually, don't think about that.  It's disgusting.)   

We'll be gone until September.  I'll try to write when I find a free computer, but I'm not holding my breath.  Anyways, I'll probably be eating lots of Sachertorte and doing terribly boring and touristy stuff and I'm guessing that you don't need a minute-by-minute account of that.  The tedium would be enough to cause you migraines and I can't be responsible for that.

Instead, I've scheduled some of my old postings to automagically appear while I'm away from the computer.  Just in case you're bored and need some of my ramblings to keep you "busy."

Hope you have lots of adventures while I'm away.  We'll catch up next month.

Oh Wise and All-Knowing Mothers of the Internet

Next time my son gets sick, I'm going to skip calling the pediatrician and I'm just going to ask the wise, all-knowing mothers of the internet what I should do.

My son's ear infection improved on the Amoxil, which he's been on since Monday.  While he's not screaming in agony anymore, something just wasn't right, so we took him to the pediatrician today.

Guess what he said?

"It looks like the ear has improved but, it's still infected.  We'll put him on Zithromax (!!!!!!) and it should be all cleared up in time for your trip."

Did you hear that - ZITHROMAX!  Just like the lovely strangers who commented on my last post suggested!

Who needs pediatricians with fancy offices and fancy Harvard MDs when you've got the internet?

(thanks)

Moving on...

We are still sick.  All three of us.  And we are still flying to Europe - foiled terrorist plots be damned.

But I have to admit a moment of hesitation when I turned on the news at 6 am on Thursday (as I carried my sick child) and heard on CNN that terrorists wanted to blow up AA and British Airways planes (hey!  That's what we're flying...), and that Heathrow was closed (We're spending the night at a hotel near there and flying out the next day...) and that we would not be able to bring any liquids on board (b-b-but we're traveling with a sick toddler...what will he eat?).  Honestly, I just turned off the TV and was in complete denial all day.

Today we called AA and they said that we would not be allowed to bring ANYTHING on board other than our passports and wallets because we were flying to London.  My husband and I looked at each other, and for a split second thought this was a sign that we should cancel.  But after the week we've had in preparation for this trip, we were not going to give up so easily.

We switched airlines.  We're not flying through London anymore, and our new airline provides baby food.

Things are looking up.

(PS- I must give AA props.  They were very courteous when we switched carriers.  And by courteous, I mean that they did it for free.)

A baby! On a plane!

Once our son turned one, he started sharing more of himself with us.  I don't know why this is, but since his big B-Day have managed to catch every single virus his little hands get into his mouth.

We are now on the third virus in six months to totally knock me out.

I don't know why this is.  When he was an infant I never caught his germs.  Now, all bets are off.  I guess I'm powerless against his germy kisses.

This is a long way of saying that I've been terribly sick while busy blowing noses, humidifying rooms (yes, I was just complaining about the humidity - I KNOW), and calling the pediatrician in the middle of the night.  Because he's developed an ear infection along with his cold.

Poor little thing.  I've never seen him in so much pain.  It seems like the antibiotics are taking a while to work.

On top of the heartbreak of seeing him scream in agony night after night, I am in a state of perpetual anxiety because we are supposed leave for our vacation on Sunday.  The tickets were purchased months ago - and we probably won't be able to change them if we need to. 

The tickets for an 8 hour plane journey to Austria.

(A baby!  On a plane!  With an ear infection!)

It's the most cruel and terrifying thing I can think of.  And it's not going to happen.  If he's still sick on Sunday, we'll have to cancel.  Ouch.

We're not giving up without a fight.  We're fighting his cold/ear infection/fever with all the Pediacare, Infant's Advil and Amoxil we can scrounge in the greater Boston area.  The baby is sick and tired of swallowing sickly sweet medicine.  But he has to.  He can't be in pain forever - he needs to get better.  Soon.

Because we so need this three-week vacation.* 

When will we learn?  What's the point of planning in advance when you have a little one?

*We're visiting family!**  We're going to Vienna!  We're staying in wine country!  I'm dragging my husband to Salzburg and Schonbrun!

**Free babysitting!  Now you see why WE HAVE TO GO.

Snow

It's supposed to hit 105 F today, with a heat index of 115 F.  I don't need to tell you how much that sucks, but I do want to point out that we don't have air conditioning.

My brain will possibly melt today.  It was nice knowing you.

I was looking for pictures of snow and I realized that I rarely take pictures of it.  This is because I have a mini anxiety attack everytime there is a forecast of snow.  Throw in icy conditions and I become a whimpering mess.  But today, today I think I will actually miss the cold fluffy stuff.

I can't believe I just admitted that.

(Like a Polar Bear in California - Must. Think. Cool. Thoughts.)

And lest you think I've forgotten why I don't like the winter:

Almost makes me appreciate 105 F with no AC.  Almost.

We're off to find some air conditioning...