Lush None of Your Beeswax - On my first (and only) trip to Aspen, I paid my first (and only) visit [...]]]> Earlier this week, the writers at No More Dirty Looks reviewed five “clean” balms… all of which contained beeswax. Vegans of the world, I submit these five lip balms for your consideration:

Lush None of Your Beeswax - On my first (and only) trip to Aspen, I paid my first (and only) visit to Lush. This creamy, lemony lip balm was the one thing in Lush (or in Aspen, for that matter) I could afford. Throwing down $6.95 for a 10 gram tin sounds expensive, but it’s more than twice the product you’d get in a standard tube— and vegan lip balm is seldom cheap. Cost aside, the one I bought was so gritty that I demoted it to “cuticle balm.” 10 grams of disappointment.

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Merry Hempsters Vegan Lip Balms- A light, smooth, widely available lip balm in a variety of pleasant flavors. But boy howdy, do I hate that logo. Be aware Merry Hempsters also sells beeswax balms, so double-check the label before you buy. Sold in 4g tubes, $2.99.

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Everyday Minerals High Tea Traders – If there’s anything I like less than the Merry Hempsters logo, it might be this label’s headband-sporting pseudo-hippie riding an elephant. Does this make me a snob? At any rate, it’s a good balm— slightly creamy but still light, with a sweet, non-cloying fragrance. Since Everyday Minerals isn’t offering this now, there’s little point in discussing it. Moving on!

Hurraw! Balm – $3.79 for 4.3 grams. Outstanding flavor selection (Almond! Licorice! Root beer!), cute packaging and pocket-friendly oval tubes. These are lightweight balms, not the thick, buttery kind. Great for warm weather or  lips that aren’t chapped, but I needed something thicker mid-winter. The Black Cherry balm is tinted; I sometimes wear it as blush.

Before I ever considered veganism, my favorite lip balm was that ubiquitous Burt’s Bees, its thick, minty goodness housed in a familiar yellow tube. Once my flirtation with veganism began, I worried I’d never find a vegan lip balm that satisfying, that I’d never slather my mouth with a rich, balmy balm again.

Readers, I feared in vain. Lo!

Soothing Touch – Vegan balms with that thick, comforting texture I’d missed. They feel so good. The vegan options are Lemon Cardamom, Vanilla Chai, and Vegan Unscented. I can personally vouch for Lemon Cardamom and Vanilla Chai, both of which are excellent. I bought mine in Oregon, about $3.80 for a chubby 7 gram tube of 70% organic wonder. I can only find these by the case online, so check your hippie mart or co-op for tubes sold individually.

Currently, the Soothing Touch Lemon Cardamom is my favorite lip balm… but I’m saving all my empty tubes for future DIY endeavors.

Do you have a favorite vegan lip balm? Tried any total flops? Do tell!

Mama Said:

Once many many years ago our Bishop stopped me in the multi-purpose room to say “Sister W-, you always look so radiant and lovely.”

This shocked me right out of my manners and I am shamed to say I blurted out, “Lovely?? You should see me at home in [...]]]> (Image source)

Mama Said:

Once many many years ago our Bishop stopped me in the multi-purpose room to say “Sister W-, you always look so radiant and lovely.”

This shocked me right out of my manners and I am shamed to say I blurted out, “Lovely?? You should see me at home in my holey bathrobe and ratty slippers! He looked startled, then a smile appeared and he nodded. “My wife” he said, “has that same outfit.”

I believe that in between the startled look and the smile he had a moment of realizing he had only ever seen me dressed up for church, and that ‘radiant and lovely’ was certainly not the whole package. His wife struck me as the epitome of the classic blonde tall, leggy, elegant type. Of course I never saw her in a bathrobe.

Beauty. Much as we love it, it’s a continual source of confusion.

Look at that face! That dapper child was BORN to question authority. (Image source)

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While practicing kicks in my self-defense class, I heard the familiar riiiiiip of fabric giving out.

I say “familiar” because hey, my thighs have been rubbing since the instant I reached puberty. Inspect any of my jeans/trousers/sweats, and see for yourself. The inner-thigh-covering material of my legwear always [...]]]>

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While practicing kicks in my self-defense class, I heard the familiar riiiiiip of fabric giving out.

I say “familiar” because hey, my thighs have been rubbing since the instant I reached puberty. Inspect any of my jeans/trousers/sweats, and see for yourself. The inner-thigh-covering material of my legwear always pills or wears thin, waiting for the perfect (public!) opportunity to split.

If you looked at my shoes, you’d learn that I kick sneakers off without untying them (shameful!), and that I’m an underpronator.

As to why my work khakis have a red-stained crotch, it’s not what you think. I covered my rain-soaked bike seat with a Walgreens bag, and its red logo transferred to my pants.

Also telling is which garments show no signs of wear: my suspenders, sock garters, scarves, all those snappy little extras.

How do your clothes wear out? What might this reveal about you?

This weekend, I saw The Last of the Mohicans for the first time.  My thoughts are as follows:

1. Don’t let the poster fool you: Daniel Day-Lewis was not the Last of the Mohicans. In fact, no one was. The Mahicans/Mohicans and Mohegans are alive and well.

More accurate titles might [...]]]>

This weekend, I saw The Last of the Mohicans for the first time.  My thoughts are as follows:

1. Don’t let the poster fool you: Daniel Day-Lewis was not the Last of the Mohicans. In fact, no one was. The Mahicans/Mohicans and Mohegans are alive and well.

More accurate titles might include “Slaughter and Pride,”  “Hawkeye’s Tacked-On Afterthought Romance,” or “Natty Bumppo and the WRST WK EVR.”

2. In the James Fenimore Cooper novel, the Daniel Day-Lewis’ character was named Natty Bumppo, AKA Hawkeye. For the film, this name was gentrified into Nathaniel Poe. Pshaw, people. Pshaw.

Natty Bumppo is a fantastic name for anything: a band, dance step, sexual congress. Read these sentences aloud:

I’m getting a Natty Bumppo tattoo; their first album changed my life.

He stood before the mirror, practicing his natty bumppo for the homecoming dance.

If you hadn’t been all natty bumppo with Elise, you coulda caught your bus.

3. Don’t you hate seeing Apparent Makeup in period films? What are the odds that Cora and Alice wore coordinating eyeshadow and lipstick in 1757?

4. This movie departs from the Cooper novel in multitudinous, big ol’ honking ways. The film’s as much a ‘reinvention’ as an ‘adaptation.’ I’m guessing Danielle Steele stepped in to write Hawkeye’s “I’ll find you” speech. All I’m saying is, if you’ve been assigned you to read Last of the Mohicans, don’t watch the movie instead. You’ll never get away with it.

5.  Mr. DD-L  must have run seven marathons in the making of this film. It feels as though he spent half the film running, his long hair streaming, wind billowing through the sail-like sleeves of his shirt, its oversize neckline hanging askew to reveal rippling whatever. What, they couldn’t get Fabio? I like to imagine the director yelling “CUT! You’re doing great, Daniel, just great. Love the hair. But this time, I’d like to see something more fearsome, you know? And keep those sleeves moving.”

BOTTOM LINE: This movie was completely wasted on me. What did you think of it?

(“You gosh darn heathens! I’ve got half a mind to let you all drown THAT’S RIGHT I SAID IT.”)

I don’t have a car. For me, getting to Wal-Mart requires at least three hours and [...]]]> ( A flashback to October 27, 2008. Nothing like a good parable for a Sunday morning, eh?)

(“You gosh darn heathens! I’ve got half a mind to let you all drown THAT’S RIGHT I SAID IT.”)

I don’t have a car. For me, getting to Wal-Mart requires at least three hours and four bus rides. If I miss the last bus, I’ll have to lug heavy bags for miles. Is Wal-Mart the devil’s supercenter? Yes, but it’s also an oasis filled with sights, sounds, and extremely heavy things to lug home.

One Saturday last summer, I trekked to Wal-Mart for the first time in three weeks. I arrived with time to kill and money to burn.

As I stood in the ladies’ underwear department, pondering the merits of Fruit of the Loom vs. Hanes Her Way, a small Wal-Mart employee interrupted my thoughts. She was short, heavyset, and dark-haired. If pressed, I’d guess she were a first-generation Asian American.

She told me that a “Code Blue” was underway; I should leave the store immediately. Raised to be obedient, I thanked her and marched toward the nearest exit.

As I neared the front doors, I noticed that no one else was leaving the store. The place was swarming. How could these shoppers stay calm during a Code Blue?? Didn’t they KNOW about the Code Blue?

I felt responsible for these people. Shouldn’t I warn them? What if our LIVES were at stake? What if I were the only survivor of a department store tragedy and had to live with that guilt FOREVER?

I started doubting the Asian employee; perhaps I’d misunderstood her. Maybe she was confused. Either way, I’d waited three weeks for this trip and wasn’t about to leave empty-handed. I hesitated near the exit, then hurried to the jewelry section for a second opinion.

“Hello,” I said to Lacy, the woman working at the jewelry counter, “A lingerie employee said there was a ‘Code Blue’ and told me to leave the building… but… nobody else is leaving. What should I do?”

Right then, a middle-aged couple from my old church appeared, nudging me with their cart. “Hey there,” said Sister Young, “Didn’t expect to bump into you here! Hahhahahah!”

Seething, I forced a smile. Here I was trying to save the world, and they wanted to make small talk. They won; we talked small.

The Youngs finally left, so I turned back to Lacy. She confirmed my suspicions; the lady in the panty aisle was clearly misguided. Visibly relieved, I asked Lacy “by the way, what IS a Code Blue?”

Lacy didn’t know. She flipped out a tiny Employee Guidebook to look up Wal-Mart’s warning messages. Squinting at the small print, Lacy answered “A Code Blue is… … …. that’s a bomb.”

I looked at her. She looked at me. I looked at her. She looked at me.

“Oh,” I said, cleverly.

At that moment, a manly intercom voice announced “CODE BLUE. ALL SHOPPERS MUST EVACUATE THE BUILDING IMMEDIATELY.”

Hardly anyone listened. Practically everyone kept pushing their carts along, buying pork rinds and power tools.

Now, I’d never felt like an Old Testament prophet before, but I suddenly saw what kind of stubbornness they’d been up against; Moses leading his people through the wilderness for forty years, Noah trying to persuade his friends that they either needed an ark or some top-notch scuba gear… mankind hates heeding warnings.

I was torn between a longing to save my fellow man and an overwhelming urge to smack all these &%#^ idiots. Moses surely knew the feeling.

When I finished being self-righteous, I saw how badly this episode reflected on my character. Would Ghandi get testy with the Youngs for their corny jokes? Would Theodore Roosevelt value underwear over protecting his neighbors from a bomb threat?

Here I was in a real live emergency, surly that some stupid Code Blue was ruining my shopping trip. Typical Lack o’ Perspective.

Eventually, all the stubborn shoppers were herded out of the store like fussy, disgruntled sheep. No one was harmed. The bomb threat was a hoax, but I left grateful for the lesson I learned that day:

In the eternal scheme of things, humans trump panties every time.

I had the same problem with Robert De Niro and Al Pacino, neither of whom I’d ever actually seen in a movie. They both had dark [...]]]> As a young’un, I couldn’t tell Burt Reynolds from Tom Selleck. To me, they both fell into that broad category called “older dudes with mustaches” and were therefore interchangeable.

I had the same problem with Robert De Niro and Al Pacino, neither of whom I’d ever actually seen in a movie. They both had dark hair and played gangsters, so they must be the same person.

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Inexplicably, I also confused the themes from Last of the Mohicans and Wuthering Heights . (I mean the film scores, not literary themes in the novels.) THEY ARE NOT THE SAME. NOT BY A MILE. Still, every time I thought about Wuthering Heights (which is fabulous), I’d start humming the Mohicans theme. When you’re confused, you’re confused.

When an old roommate mentioned she couldn’t tell butter and margarine apart, I thought she was a complete fool. But then, I once made a friend a sandwich with Miracle Whip and described it as mayo—what, there’s a difference?— and she was so disgusted she nearly choked. Who’s the fool now, Jaunty?

What people/places/things do you mix up? 

Some people ‘save’ sex for marriage.

Some people save money for a rainy day.

Me, I’m saving Jane Austen novels. I’ve read a couple and found them delicious from beginning to end. Therefore, I’m saving the rest. After all, I can never read them For The First Time again, and it’s [...]]]>

Some people ‘save’ sex for marriage.

Some people save money for a rainy day.

Me, I’m saving Jane Austen novels. I’ve read a couple and found them delicious from beginning to end. Therefore, I’m saving the rest. After all, I can never read them For The First Time again, and it’s not like she’ll be writing any more. I’m waiting until I have plenty of time, an extremely comfortable chair, and enough top-notch snacks to see me through. Basically, I’m waiting for the stars to align.

What are you saving?

-George Bernard Shaw Man and Superman, 1903

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In conversation, I refer to Ian my “boyfriend,” despite the fact that he’s well past boyhood and our relationship is more than friendly. Manfriend? “Lover” might be more accurate (if soppy), but I’d be afraid to say it in most social settings. Should we resurrect POSSLQ? “Partner” [...]]]>

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In conversation, I refer to Ian my “boyfriend,” despite the fact that he’s well past boyhood and our relationship is more than friendly. Manfriend? “Lover” might be more accurate (if soppy), but I’d be afraid to say it in most social settings. Should we resurrect POSSLQ? “Partner” is succinct, though vague— business partner, sex partner, life partner, some combination of the three? Male or female? Is that anyone’s beeswax but ours?

Sometimes even married folk seek new titles: one of my sisters refers to her spouse as “husbadude.”

What do you call your…. your whatever-you-call-them?