Tag Archive | cosmetic

Twinkles In The Wrinkles

 

Ya know what really grinds my beans? Anti-aging this. Anti-aging that. A tsunami of products that promise eternal youth, sex, and a new Mercedes. The 300 billion dollar pseudoscience beauty business. Firm & lift.Tighten & tone. Rejuvenate & reactivate. Don’t talk to me about free radicals that steal my collagen. Free radicals are protesters just out of jail! You even have complexion analysis machines to give me a skin score on my dubious derma. Or to tell me how poor my pore quality is. I have Grand Canyon pores. Take a hike and take your hope in a jar with you. Gobbledygook. I’m not buying it. You’re either aging or you’re dead. So don’t make me feel bad for staying alive.

Bird poop face cream. Bee venom facial. Leech therapy: snails on your face that deposit mucus containing proteins and antioxidants. Celebrity culture capture.

You promise me less wrinkles. The wrinkles are in your mind. In your attitude. Not on my face. I have lifelines. Just like the one on your hand, curving about the base of the thumb, that reveals facts about a person’s life. Do you really think a frozen face looks better than the evolution of that history? That life. All those smiles, squints, frowns and other common facial expressions. With these lifelines, I’m someone who is called upon in time of need. A source of salvation in a crisis. Why oh why would you want to give that up by injecting poison into your face?

When I came out of the closet by going gray (actually a snowy crown), it was liberating. Nothing to hide. I no longer have to plan my life around root touchups. Or worry about the color fading if I wash my hair ten times a day. Sure, people no longer say, “you don’t look that old.” Now they call me ma’am, hun or sweetie. Forget that. Call me geezer.

And even if I can no longer reproduce, I can produce. This girl is not standing still and stagnating. She’s embracing life and her age. Piano lessons, writing classes, exercise, a blog are only a few things that gobble up my day like the Pac-Man video game from the eighties. No such thing as too late or too old to pursue dreams. And they are not to be replaced by regrets. Don’t tell me you can turn back the clock. Just help me wind it up. Don’t try to prevent old age with all your silly products, help me enjoy it! Good things that are old include wine, friends, authors, cars and not having to worry that you will die young. Forget the facelift. Do a spirit lift. Make products or treatments that make us think, motivate and feel. Give us that lit-from-within glow.

Everybody has some degree of vanity and you prey upon it. Mine is more like the bathroom variety. I’m proud of its tile top appearance, abilities to store stuff and achievements of storing more stuff. The floral drawer pulls are also exceptional. You’re so vain. You probably think this blog is about you. Don’t you?

My middle age now shows around my middle. I guess that Spanx stuff is supposed to push it up to your chest, down to your feet or into your head. Good God almighty. How am I supposed to get all this in there? Having a marshmallow middle isn’t so bad. At least you can breathe.

The turkey neck is a bit distracting. Those muscles are such slackers! Turkeys might find it attractive. I wonder if they are attracted more to double chins or triple chins. I choose to keep my chin up and remain cheerful despite my difficult neck situation. I won’t give up or give in.

Jowls. The meat of the cheeks. Does that only apply to hogs? I’ve had them for a long time. They run in the family. Makes it easy to recognize relatives…that you’ve never met or didn’t know you had. Is liposuction the treatment? Or fat grafting? Is that where they reduce your bum to stuff your slacker cheeks? Voluptuous volume. Look out chipmunks. Competition!

Wrinkles, wobbles, and white hair. That’s me. Don’t try to lure me into your spider web of products with promises to transform me into a hot babe. I’m hot enough. I live in Phoenix.

Look Your Age But Don’t Act It


Short-hair grey cat isolated on white background

Who Let The Skunk Out?

“What has she done with her hair?”, the neighbor snickered to her early morning walking buddy. I heard it over the sound of my weed wacker in the front yard.

gray hair 3I would have told them, but I don’t like them. They snicker more than the candy bar. About everybody and everything.

But I will tell you. Yes, I look like a freak right now with this pasty, matt, light dirty yellow hair with some red/orange streaks attacking it from all sides. The color was formerly known as mahogany red.

To get rid of it, I thought an ever-increasing but never-ending skunk line while growing it out was the only way. “Oh, my leetie darling…eet eez love at first sight eez eet not?” Don’t you just love Pepe Le Pew? But the times they are a-changing.

This current mess, although preferable, is part of a 3-part process to return my hair to its natural color: gray. Two more treatments two weeks apart will do it. I will be au naturel. And proud of it.

Ask me my age but not my weight. Is this throwing in the towel (I’m too beat up to continue? The fight is over.)? Or I’m just tired of scheduling my life around my roots showing. Is it contentment earned with the years? Or I just don’t care anymore. Maybe it’s just laziness. Kind of, sort of, maybe.

Paralysis Analysis

 woman getting dermall fillers injection

Woman getting dermal fillers injection

Botox. Forget it. There’s something wrong with injecting botulinum toxin into your forehead. That’s right; toxin. Produced by bacteria in badly made sausages during the 18th century. And yet, young women are flocking to the docs to pay huge amounts of money to paralyze their face so that they look better decades later.

Or maybe they are having other “injectable” treatments, like derma filler, over their lunch hour. Later, at the happy hour bar, they talk openly about these procedures. With strangers around. Like talking about the weather that day. Quite shocking!

Freak Face

Facelift? Fugetaboutit.

I’ll just use flesh-colored duck tape when I need to look good. I live in the land of pamper palaces and plastic surgery seeing the results of the latter every single day.  Too many of them are “freak faces”:

  • bigstock--124448078a permanent grimace that goes too far from one ear to the other
  • stretched out eyes so tight, they must be open 24/7 if they don’t pop out
  • cheek implants that look like something is living in them
  • puffy fish lips that are going to blow up any minute
  • a smile that can’t reach its potential

Many of these people have become caricatures of themselves. Or The Joker in Batman.

Change your personality, not your face. Do an about-face.

“Am I done yet?” you might ask. No. Who said I was a nice person?

The Finishing Touch

In ritzy south Florida 15 years ago, I used to see these cosmetically altered women of age but the hands were a dead giveaway to what their actual age might be. Because of this, many wore gloves.

Well, guess what folks, today there is a remedy. Hand rejuvenation surgery. They pump synthetic fillers into those life-revealing hands and then run a laser over them to remove those huge liver spots. It’s called the finishing touch. Ta da!

So now that you look 20 years younger, can you act younger? And get away with it?

Grace

What happened to growing old gracefully with wrinkles, jowls and the ears and nose that never quit growing? I call that the Dumbo the Elephant look.

So what if you look tired or even angry. Maybe you are.

And you can act any age you want to. Tell me I’m childish. I will say thank you. Wrinkles and all.