The Temper Tantrum Fairy

Here at Casa Joy, the holidays are a bit...fraught. With, uh, tension and stuff. My husband is Muslim and therefore Christmas seems like Satan's playground, and I'm Christian and was raised a firm believer in...a lot of things that he finds appalling.
After two years of abject misery, I put my foot down. THIS YEAR, I commanded, there would be presents, and a special meal, and much merriment, AND YOU WILL ENJOY IT.
Eleventy hundred jillion tearful scenes later, we had our plan: we'd open presents Christmas Eve. We would refer to said holiday as "Festivus" (or in my case, the Holiday That Shall Not Be Named) On Christmas Day Proper, I would make my famous veggie lasagna and we would chill all day, eating Pepperidge Farms cheese and generally living the high life.
If you have known me for any length of time and I have ever bought you a present, you totally know what happened next.
We opened our presents (such as we had bought so far) tonight. Because we are pitiful. And also, I have no self control.
I got Miss Dior Cherie, which I had been begging for for MONTHS. It came from Neiman's in a pretty gold box and I was sooooo excited I almost peed my pants. I also got pajamas and earphones for my iPod and some as-yet-unnamed present. My husband wasn't content with just the parfum, so he bought the lotion too...which I never would have asked for because I know that I will not use the lotion because the lotions that come with perfumes are always watery. However when I am wearing my pajamas and flittering about the house very excited about my awesome new scent, the lotion seemed just the thing to wear!
I think I will refer to my husband as John. It amuses me, because his real name is pretty unusual. I don't mind having mine and Leila's names on here, as lots of people are named these names...but not so many people are named his name and I'd rather prospective employers not have their first impressions of him be that his wife is a spendaholic. And crazy.
John got some good gifts...a NIN t-shirt from the "With Teeth" tour, a box of fancy dark chocolate, a UM Terps hat, and a book of Batman comics, something like Batman does Japan.
Leila received some dress up shoes, a play camera, play cell phone, a Hello Kitty purse, and a little plus carrying case with a tiny little plush cat and mouse and their accessories. Her favorite gift, though, was a My Little Pony ornament, which she ran around with, screaming, "Bah! Bahll! BahBall!" She loves to play with my purse, shoes, camera and cell phone, so I thought these were good ideas...however, the Temper Tantrum Fairy visited during the gift giving...and John and I realized it was eight o clock and she hadn't eaten...
Duh.

Recent Splurges

It is once again the most wonderful time of the year, but my family is small and my husband won't buy me makeup, sooo...I bought some things for myself.
I had a consultation with Raina, (Rahn-yah) France's friend, who works for Lancome as some sort of district coordinator something-or-other, meaning she goes to different stores around the area, and she happened to be at Bloomie's in our mall. France called me and told me to go see her, so I did.
Besides being funny and pretty and understanding about the In-Laws, the woman changed my life.
Never before would I have thought that spending eighty dollars on face scrub and cream would be on my mind, but suddenly I am wondering how many weeks will go by before I can afford such a splurge. As I buy the products I'll review them and list their names and prices, but right now that seems like way too much effort when I could be talking about lipstick and eyeshadow.
From Raina I bought Lancome's Renergie Lift Makeup in Porcelain 40 (foundation) to go with my Dual Finish of a few entries ago. It came with some stuff but most importantly, another eye quad in very wearable brown-coppers. (I hate orange coppers and almost all makeup counter ladies want to put them on me.)
Last night I succumbed to my Black Honey urges at the Clinique counter. They were out of the lipstick, so I bought the glosswear for lips, and I really do love the color. I've been trying to break out of my mauve-rose lipcolor rut, and this is perfect. Of course, it was only $13.50, which wasn't enough to get the free gift, so I had to get something else...after walking around the counter a billion times, I decided on Colour Surge Lip Laquer in Sultry Splash, which is a sort of glimmery toffee color. It's gorgeous and thick and in the sleekest little pot.
Lancome is my first love for face products. Clinique has great things for lips. Smashbox has the most beautiful, colorful eyeshadows.
My poor little bank account is screaming for mercy.

Mmm...

Received yet another order from Beccalights (link below) today and seriously, ya'all...these are some of the most delicious candles I have ever smelled. I ordered a pack of samples and now I can't wait until Spring so I can get my little fingers on goodies like "Freshly Mown" and "Clean Linens"...the latter of which smells exactly like a Bounce dryer sheet.
Also ordered the lip balm in Butterscotch flavor and it smells delicious and is smooth on the lips. A little waxy but I forgive it because it smells. So. Good.
So, Cinnabun candles and Butterscotch lip balm and freshly baked cookies for my management team at work, and I hope they love it as much as I do!

Wishes and Such.

It's not easy being a mommy. I don't think anyone would tell you so, and if anyone does, they're lying.
You let yourself fall apart after awhile. You're not sure at exactly what point you decided that you'd rather go four days without showering just to get an extra fifteen minutes of sleep, but it happens more than you'd like to admit, and you start to feel slightly inhuman.
So you go to the Clinique counter, you buy some lipstick, you clean off your dresser, and you swear that tomorrow, you're gonna brush your hair, maybe even dress up. Tomorrow you'll start the routines you keep promising yourself.
Black Honey, is all I'm saying. Worked wonders for my spirit.

Mmm...

I received my candles from Beccalights and they are so delicious. Seriously. If you've been spending your wad on Yankee Candle Company or somesuch mess, you need to get on over to this website and buy some Cinnabun or possibly Baked Bread.
Within fifteen minutes of opening the box and inhaling the yummy goodness, Leila had yanked a candle down, dug her little fingernails into it and was trying to figure out why it didn't taste good. (Kind of like when she eats the wrappers from Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.) Sooo I chalked that one up to ruined and lit it and OH. MY. GOD. I must make cinnamon rolls forthwith! The smell, she is overwhelming.
Ahem. So then I had to order another candle since these are presents, and then I also ordered some lip balm to add to the package and this time, having learned my lessson, I ordered an extra one for myself, PLUS six samples. I now have to get a tartwarmer thing.
France did not kill me for posting about her little...episode...and in fact I think she boosted my visits quite a bit. So we still love each other and can go shopping at Ulta for five times the points! Yay!
I think I am intoxicated by the scent of my candle because this was supposed to be a cranky post. I am sick and Leila is sick and my husband is grumpy and trying to decide whether or not to change jobs and the sky is threatening snow but not actually snowing...but who can complain when they have grilled cheese and Cinnabun candles? Not me!

Whoops.

Sorry, guys.

And now Blogger hates me.

I have tried to post this already--twice! Let's try again because Lord knows there's not enough complaining in this world!
Hi! Today sucks. Did I mention it already? I'm sorry, I can't hear myself talk over THE RAGING BEASTCHILD FROM HADES.
And let me tell you, there's no capper to your day like hearing your husband say, "Oh, they won't fire me till after this project is over."
....?
Also did I mention the screaming? Always with the screaming and the beating of tiny fists on the floor. And I am tired, oh so very tired...but does Master care? No. All Master wants is to sit in Mama's chair and spill this nice cup of tea ALL OVER THE CHRISTMAS CARDS featuring her ANGELIC FACE.

Today sucks!

Hi! Today sucks. Did I mention it already? I'm sorry, I can't hear myself talk over THE RAGING BEASTCHILD FROM HADES.
And let me tell you, there's no capper to your day like hearing your husband say, "Oh, they won't fire me till after this project is over."
....?
Also did I mention the screaming? Always with the screaming and the beating of tiny fists on the floor. And I am tired, oh so very tired...but does Master care? No. All Master wants is to sit in Mama's chair and spill this nice cup of tea ALL OVER THE CHRISTMAS CARDS featuring her ANGELIC FACE.

Today sucks!

Hi! Today sucks. Did I mention it already? I'm sorry, I can't hear myself talk over THE RAGING BEASTCHILD FROM HADES.
And let me tell you, there's no capper to your day like hearing your husband say, "Oh, they won't fire me till after this project is over."
....?
Also did I mention the screaming? Always with the screaming and the beating of tiny fists on the floor. And I am tired, oh so very tired...but does Master care? No. All Master wants is to sit in Mama's chair and spill this nice cup of tea ALL OVER THE CHRISTMAS CARDS featuring her ANGELIC FACE.

Mornings with the Beastess.

A short list of things my daughter has done since we got out of bed forty minutes ago:
~climbed onto the kitchen table
~threw herself on the floor sobbing
~dug batteries out of a drawer and ran down the hall shoving them all in her mouth
~threw herself on the floor sobbing
~refused to stay still during diaper change OR toenail clipping, reached for the clippers, nearly snipped her own finger off, and then
~threw herself on the floor sobbing
Terrible twos, here we come.
God help us all.

~snork~

I have come across the funniest. blog. ever. So funny she's published a book that I will be buying even though I hate paying money for "funny" books but seriously? I almost peed my pants laughing today. I am nothing if not generous so I would like to direct you towards Jennsylvania and don't say I never gave you anything.

Presents for all!

Via the very funny Miss Doxie I found these candles and ordered 4 of the Cinnabun tins for gifties. Through there I discovered these soaps and now I feel compelled to order 4 soaps to go with my 4 candles for a grand total of around $40 for three gift sets and a little something for myself. Which I know isn't bad. But still, with all the shopping I've done today I feel like I should wait until next weekend, except I can't, because the soap site closes the 9th! Such decisions!
Anyway, over at Miss Doxie's there are about a million gift ideas for under $10 and it's about the smartest idea I've seen in awhile, so head over and browse. There are coupons, too!

When you smiiiiiiiile...

The whole world smiles with you! And how can you not smile at this face??

Or this face:

Or these tights!

Retail Hell.

Now, I like my job. I know it's hard to believe. I know most people would lead you to believe that retail will suck your soul out through your fingertips. And it probably will. But I lurve clothes and I lurve working with a bunch of women and I lurve making someone's entire day when I find that sale shoe in size 7.5 in some store in Hawaii.
I even lurve the holidays.
To a certain extent, that is.
See, when holiday time begins, people are cheerful. They are happy. They are shopping! for! that special someone! Hoorah, and do you have this in an extra small? Associates are excited because pretty cashmere is rolling in every day, and the tangy scent of markdowns is in the air.
However. It is now almost the second week of December. And people are starting to get a wee bit edgy.
If you've shopped anytime in the past, oh, ten years or so, you know that retailers have different bags at Christmas. Ours this years are candy-apple red and gorgeous. They're stacked everywhere in the backroom. The backroom is the domain of the lovely and talented France, my great friend, (the blog about our trip to Ulta is forthcoming, I swear!) and probably my favorite coworker. Girlfriend can haul through stock like nobody's business, and juggles three jobs while still having gorgeous hair. It's just not fair.
France is fairly easygoing, but she's a neatfreak, and you know, none of the rest of us are.
So. Picture it. We've received 40 cases of shipment, 20 boxes of bags and boxes, and four massive boxes containing visual stuff. We had a huge sale over the weekend, and we've been placing sweaters on the floor directly from the boxes, totally screwing up poor France's system. I flip out. "France will be here at two, and this place is a disaster! Also, a fire hazard! But France, she will have our heads!" So Erica and I start stacking up all the boxes, take the trash out, pick up all the random pieces of plastic and stack up the purses. I am generally please with the effect.
Whoops.
France came dancing in at one thirty, all tra-la-la, and having been there since seven, I'm like, "what's your deal?"
"I'm just in a GREAT mood!" she trills at me.
"Glad someone is," I mutter.
So I am cleaning. And I am backstocking. And I am merchandising. And I am assisting clients. Because lo, I am keyholder extraordinaire. And as I bring sweaters into the back, France gestures wildly, "What the hell is this?"
Me: "Uh, what?"
"This mess!"
I kind of laughed, not sure what she was talking about, and made some comment about how she should have seen the place earlier.
"Who did this with the bags?" she grits, and I wildly say that I stacked them there because the door was blocked and then finally I realize that she is talking about the piles of holiday bags gaily tossed over the left side of her work desk.
"Oh, I didn't do that!" I say, anxious to escape her wrath.
Grumbling under her breath. Then, louder, "You'd better tell them I'm mad! Mad, I say!"
And then I think she started foaming at the mouth but I was too busy hightailing it out of there to notice.
A while later I came back and she was listening to a mix tape.
"Aw, are you listening to 'Jackie's Mix 1'?" I asked, sing-songy.
"Yes," she snapped, You wanna make something of it? hiding in that one word.
"Sorr-ee. What's wrong with you?"
"I am seriously PISSED," she spluttered, right before she started speaking in tongues. In ancient Aramaic, I believe she was saying something about disrespect, but since I didn't watch Passion of the Christ I'm not really fit for interpreting.
See what I'm saying? Edgy.
Eventually one of the managers cleaned up the travesty of the holiday bags and France had some tea and I think all was right with the world, but I'm totally not talking to her until the last client walks out with the last holiday bag. Or January 12. Or when I think it's safe.
And France? I maintain my innocence. Please love me again! Otherwise, my future trips to Ulta will be super boring.

*some incidents may be slightly exaggerated for comedic effect.

I would go out toniiiiiiiiight...

All I'm saying is, Morrissey? Makes me feel like I'm listening to Kermit the Frog emote.

Over the Rainbow.

I grew up in a fairly strict Christian household, but I don't remember ever thinking things like, "homosexuality is so disgusting," and it's possible I never felt that way. It was hammered into my head from day one that it was wrong and immoral and terrible.

I do remember asking my mother one day what she thought. There was a front page article on how the inner ear of a gay man was different from the inner ear of a straight man and fact or fiction, my mind was whirring. "But if God made them this way...?" My mom answered something to the effect of, "Homosexuality is a tendency you have to overcome, like alcoholism."

This is not a concept anyone had ever mentioned to me before, and while I know my mom didn't intend for it to have this effect, I couldn't stop making little equations in my head, to this effect:

gay=sin=everyone sins=no worse than lying, right?

It never really mattered until I was nineteen and living in Northern California with my grandmother. My angst-ridden heart was in the throes of a long delayed rebellion and I had started thinking a lot of things my parents wouldn't approve of. I was shy and lonely and spending a lot of time on the internet, belonging to a diverse message board--and these people were shaping my thoughts in an incredible way.

Soon the equation looked like this:

gay = not so bad after all

But what would I know about this? I'd never come across an openly gay person in any close capacity. Gay didn't have a face or a name to me, it was pretty white boys awkwardly kissing on MTV or middle aged Jewish men preening on the style network, and I'm not trying to be rude here, that's just all it ever was or could be.

Until I was nineteen. And I saw my cousin Chris (not his real name) and spent about five minutes with him and thought, "Wow, he sure is sensitive." He was a psuedo-goth kid in mostly black, super skinny, the auburn hair that I share with him and his older brother, his lips full and almost comical in their expressiveness.

He was fourteen years old.

On the floor of my sterile bedroom (what can a room at your grandma's house ever be but sterile?) he made me pinky swear to keep a secret. And he came out to me. And I don't think I even blinked. I mean, my heart ached for this kid, for what I was fairly sure had been done to him and his sister and for what I knew he would further endure, but I never thought, "But you'll go to hell, you vile thing! You are at the core of the disintegration of family values in America!"

I said, "That's okay, Chris. I kinda knew." (And I kinda had.)
He said, "Yeah, I thought you might."
Me: "I don't think any less of you."
Him: "I didn't think you would."

And in about two minutes, I had managed to commit the one act of rebellion that ever meant anything to me.

Later drips and drabs came at me--the poor kid had been put through hell and everyone in our family knew it, but no one ever tried to stop it. I still feel a deep hurt in my heart when I think about how selfish and wrapped up in myself I was--that I should have done more--that we've lost touch. Last I heard he had a girlfriend and I sort of couldn't decide if maybe he'd been a sensitive kid who was very confused OR if his father had finally pressured him into being someone he was not...maybe it was both, and he just thought that playing straight was easier. I understand his logic. But nothing's easy, straight or gay...occasionally though, you get those shining moments when you really know who you are.

Mmm...makeup!

It's probably kind of pathetic, but nothing is quite as luxurious to me as the scent and packing of expensive cosmetics. The shiny black Lancome compact and the highly fragranced powder within make me feel just a tiny bit more grown up and important than I really deserve.
That being said, I've dropped a load on makeup in the past few weeks. Just two weeks ago I bought Lancome powder, then last Sunday I got the mother of all makeup cases from Ulta. It contained around 40 eyeshadows and 30 lipcolors. Now, several of these are either colors that don't look great on me or colors I would not wear every day, but a lot of them are suprisingly flattering! They do contain a LOT of mica. I guess I will have to start putting on my eye makeup before I do anything else--which I think is how you're supposed to do it, but I've been wearing makeup since fifth grade and I'm a little set in my ways. They compare in color intensity to Smashbox but they aren't nearly as longlasting.
THEN yesterday I was at Nordstrom in Montgomery Mall (the closest big mall to me) and they were having a lot of different events because they just finished (thank God) their remodeling. All the makeup counters were doing makeovers and I happened upon a cancellation, so I got my eyes done at the Estee Lauder counter. (Yes, I am eighty years old!) All I bought was the undereye concealer, because, to tell you the truth, I wasn't that impressed with my makeup artist. She didn't seem to understand the concept of blending. Then I stopped by the Clinique counter to look at their new line of Black Honey products (going to buy one soon, I swear it!) and then, finally, purchased a Vanilla and Bergamont gift set by Bliss from Bloomie's. It was a great birthday present and an impulse buy, otherwise I NEVER would have spent so much on someone I don't know so well. But she really seemed to like it and I was flying high on the shiny silver EL compact, so all in all...a good day!

Know what's fun?

Being on MySpace, looking at the people from your high school group. Keep in mind, my high school was tiny--I knew everyone I graduated with and most of the kids in the other classes too. Not to say they were all my friends, I just knew them.
Now, five years later, as I look at profiles and such, I have the following reactions:
1) Who the hell is THAT?
2) Whoa.
3) YOU want to be my friend? I have not ONE PLEASANT MEMORY that involves you.
4) You live...where?
5) Wow, you look the same.
6) Wow, you look different.
7) You're...gay?

For the last, you have to wonder. I mean, everyone knows that girls love to put "bi" on their net profiles to seem "sexy," which, whatever. But you know, being from a small town in Arkansas, bi isn't so much sexy as cause for ostracizing that person...and so, mouth hanging open, I'm all...what?

Woops.

Extravagant, even. Or was I right the first time? Do I really care? I do. I can't help myself.

A post! With words!

I don't care what Hayden Christiansen eats for breakfast, what color Kelly Ripa's bathroom is, or what Claire Danes thinks of George Bush. (In Style)
I don't want to see endless photos of leggy models in styles that could only be worn in New York, to a holiday party, if I weighed 90 pounds and had a million dollars. (Lucky)
I have no desire to give my husband the best blowjob ever NOR am I interested in what horrendous disease I could contract from my doctor's waiting room. (Cosmo)

I just want to see pretty pictures of nice clothes, some can be extravagent, but I'm mostly interested in things that I can afford to purchase. At the mall or on the internet. I mean, that handbag is gorgeous, but most people reading this magazine will not be calling up the Hermes store and inquiring about how they can special order that five-digit briefcase.

And you know, I'm a wife and a mother and I have a job, but I'm twenty three years old. I pick up Good Housekeeping and its ilk, but most of the time, I just want to look at shiny shoes and lipstick. I don't think that's too much to ask.