Day 5: Who Is That Masked Woman?

With my birthday only five days away, I'm starting to exhibit the kind of anal retentive behavior that’s usually reserved for my pre-vacation routine: the to-do list must be tackled. Fortunately, in the case of this big birthday it's not the entire list. Believe me, I'm deeply relieved that I don't feel compelled to research the benefits of the Optimum Triple Play Upgrade or to organize my recipe file. No, it's the beauty to-do list. At 9:10 Wednesday morning, when I officially become eligible for membership in the AARP, I want to be looking as good as possible. I don't want to look like a quinquagenarian. Barbie doesn't look like one, so why should I?

I have a facial scheduled for Monday. Tomorrow I'm getting a manicure and a pedicure. I’m checking everyday for stray eyebrows and whiskers. I’m using body scrub. And today I got my hair cut: not trimmed, cut. I've been needing to make this change for a while. My hair has been getting longer and stringier as I've been debating what to do with it. Today I took the plunge and went to a salon I've never been to before. I put myself in the hands of Jafaar, a seemingly nice man who turned out to have his own agenda. I mentioned that I might like the Meg Ryan "do" from about ten years ago. I modeled that messy and chopped bedroom hair for quite some time and I thought it suited me. Speaking of which, have you ever watched "Chopped" on The Food Network? It's always exciting to see what the mystery ingredients are, but I won't be really impressed until the contestants have to incorporate a Yodel into the appetizer course.

I don’t think that Meg Ryan was who Jafaar had in mind as he attacked my limp tresses. Although he couldn’t have known it, I now look like no one so much as my fifth grade self. I wanted a little lift, I wanted to look a bit younger, but I was thinking 40, not 10. I have a slightly updated pageboy. My head looks like a bowling ball. I’m seriously hoping it looks better once I wash it and go. I've never learned how to blow dry my hair so I don't. I don't spray volumizer on my roots. I don’t use modeling wax on my ends. The only mousse I like is chocolate.

In the same spirit of adventure, I stopped in the neighboring department store and had my makeup done. The makeup artist didn't believe me when I told her I already had makeup on. She has a decidedly heavier hand than I do and proceeded to list all my flaws that can be corrected with various kinds of spackle and shellac. I was under the impression that it’s good if your skin is slightly pink -- I mean, aren’t we all aiming for a natural looking blush? But oh no, I must cover up the natural pink tones in my skin and then put on blush (only with a synthetic bristle brush) for a nice rosy glow. Conceal the circles! Use lip liner! Put on a base of buttercream eyeshadow (I wanted to eat it) and then cover it with pewter. If I’m going to cover it, why do I need to put it on in the first place? And for God’s sake, would you please use volumizing mascara? My retort that I was already wearing mascara elicited a guffaw.

I have to admit that my eyes look kind of nice, but my painted lady look and my immature head of hair are an odd juxtaposition. Regardless, I ended up buying most of the crap she used on me in the belief, well... I don't know in what belief. I just did it. The only makeup my mom ever wore was red lipstick, but one day she allowed her makeup to be done in a department store while Ayon and I watched. I thought she looked great afterwards. She bought some of what the saleswoman used on her and put it in a drawer in the bathroom, where it quickly got pushed to the back and remained, unopened, until I started playing with it.

One of the questions on the questionnaire I wrote about yesterday is “What is your motto?” My answer was “Do your best. Do it tomorrow. Love your neighbor.” What I didn’t add, but which I say a lot, is “Less is more.” I’m pretty sure all the makeup I bought is going to sit in the back of my drawer, too. Less is more. And as far as my hair goes, I just need to remember my mom's motto: “This, too, shall pass.”