5:00 Fridays

Today's drink was inspired by a brush from my childhood and a long lost peek into the girl I was and the character I dreamed of becoming. I had an old clock radio as my only source of electronic entertainment (That is, until I got Merlin for Christmas one year). My clock radio was the kind where the numbers were cut in half and flipped over with an audible click instead of the new fangled digital gizmos out there today.

I cranked up the radio when Glen Campbell came on. I turned that little dial as far as it would go, giving nary a thought to the lousy reception, distortion, or static. I had to crank it up as loud as I could to drown out the sound of my older (and much hipper) brother yelling at me to turn that crap off. I closed my eyes, pictured myself on the back of a horse in a rodeo ring, suede chaps, red cowboy boots, thick ponytail flapping out from under my hat, and the crowd losing their shit over me. I swayed and sang along, fancying myself a cow girl.

Never mind that I had never seen a horse up close and didn't own cowboy boots until I was 32 years old. These hard facts are irrelevant to my childhood fantasy. Play along.

So on the way home from Deal's karate class yesterday, Rhinestone Cowboy came on the radio. It was a during a particularly vulnerable moment when I was feeling like the outside world viewed me as a suburban pot pie making, minivan driving, denim capri and Keds wearing, soccer mom. Never mind that I do not drive a minivan, do not own capris or Keds of any kind, and neither of my sons plays soccer. You get my drift. When I heard Glen on the radio yesterday I was transformed to my school girl, daydreaming self.

I cranked my factory installed no name radio and was a cowgirl, baby.

And here's my Cowgirl's Prayer, straight from The Cocktail Bible that Morningside Mom generously gave me for my birthday at our very first meeting at the Type A Mom Conference. For the record, I bet you the entire balance of my 401k that she'd be singing along too. I know she'd belt out Rhinestone Cowboy in her best a capella performance voice. We better add this ditty to our road trip mix tape.


Cowgirl's Prayer

Fill a tall glass with ice. Pour in 2 shots of golden tequila (good quality here, folks...we outgrew the cheap stuff in 1989). I ounce of fresh lime juice. Finish off with lemonade. Stir ever so gently and garnish with a slice of lemon, lime, or be crazy and use both.

Now, about that cowboy hat and red boots I've always coveted...

Wordless Wednesday: Rounding Out Deal

What My Bathroom Cabinet Doesn't Say About Me

I'm not much of a prissy girl. With this new haircut of mine I really don't need much more than a dime size drop of drugstore gel and my fingers to get gussied up. Did I just say "gussied up?" Indeed I did. And I meant it. My entire regimen in the morning is 30 minutes, tops. Even on my wedding day. I guess you might think I didn't care or look all that great. But the reality is that I wanted to look like me in my photos, not some Glamour Shot glimpse of a girl I knew for a mere 24 hours. And for the record, I think I looked pretty good on that hot March day back in 2000 in Key West. Whether I still fit into that sheath of a dress is another story.

Despite what you might think or what my friend Will proclaims to all who will listen, I am a relatively low maintenance woman. Black tie gala with Mac Daddy, jaunt around the lake with the boys, or brunch with girlfriends, it will take me 30 minutes to get ready. In a crunch I can do it in 20.

Try me.

So all this leaves me wondering why I have so much crap in various size bins under the cabinet on my side of the bathroom sink. You know by now that I am a neat freak and I love compartments so everything has a home. No random bottles or potions stacked upon each other every which way on my watch. I did a quick inventory today, and this is what I found:

• nail polish (15 bottles, 5 of them red)
• nail polish remover (acetone free, 2 bottles)
  
• 2 sets of foam toe separators
• 2 bags of cotton balls
• box of Qtips
• bag of make up sponges
• 1 bottle eye makeup remover
• 1 pouch of makeup wipes
  
• tray of makeup, including 4 mascaras (2 of which are Lash Exact), 6 liquid eyeliners (4 of them black), various brushes (I don't use anything that requires a brush so I'm not sure why I have all these. Also 4 eyeshadow palettes; I don't even know how to apply eye shadow.)
• 3 bottles of face cream in varying SPF ratings
• spray water bottle
• 1 large tub Aquaphor
• 2 bottles of lotion
• 1 bottle of rubbing alcohol
• 1 bottle of witch hazel (What the hell is this stuff even for?!)
• 1 eyelash curler (never used for fear of blinding myself)
  
• 2 pots of hair wax or some such thing
• 1 bottle of spray hair gel
• 1 tube of hair gel
• 1 unopened tube of black hair color (the temporary kind you brush on with a mascara wand looking thing...I'm pretty sure I specially ordered this from the salon.)
• 2 shower scrubby/spongey thingees
• 1 huge can of hairspray (unopened)
• 1 bottle of mousse (Not the chocolate kind, unfortunately.)
• 2 bottles of face wash
  
• 1 pot of cucumber eye gel
• 3 tubes of eye cream
• 1 tube of eye gel
• 1 pot of night cream
• 2 sticks of deodorant (Degree and Secret for a "pit off." So far Secret is winning.)
• 1 bottle of neck and decolletage cream (I couldn't make this up.)
• 1 flattening iron (I have hair shorter than most boys so this will do me no good.)
• 3 hairbrushes in various textures, sizes, and shapes
• 5 combs, unsure of origin
  

So what's a girl like me doing with a veritable pharmacy of beauty products? My cabinet looks as if I looted a Walgreens delivery truck. Granted, most of the products are unused. I don't even know what to do with half the stuff. I shower, lotion up, put on some sunscreen and eyecream, concealer under my eyes, a swipe of black eyeliner, a coat of mascara, lip balm, finger comb some gel in my hair, roll on deodorant and am out the door. Well, I do get dressed, natch.

Is it hard wired in all women to flock to the health & beauty aisle and just stock up on crap we don't need? Is this why Mary Kay and Avon are so popular? I admit to having a slight orgasmic reaction in Sephora or Ulta stores, even though I don't know what any of the stuff is for. What makes us buy all these lotions and potions and gels and creams? I am not generally a sucker, but my bathroom cabinet would prove otherwise. I look at that cache and am left wondering who the hell I am? Tell me I'm not alone.

Conversely, under Mac Daddy's sink:

• 1 bottle of lotion (Unused. I bought it and put it there so he'd moisturize in winter. He hasn't. Ever.)
• 1 bottle of SPF 30 face cream (Ditto above.)
• 1 can shaving cream (top off)
• 1 razor
• deodorant

I wonder what an anthropologist would say about us? I'm a consumer researcher by day, and I sure know how I'd sum us up.

But I'd be totally wrong.

Simply having the trappings doesn't make a girl prissy. I know this much is true.