Manly Cosmetics
I vacated my bathroom for houseguests recently, and as I was moving my toiletries back in, with wry amusement I noticed how many face creams I have. Creams for eyes, creams for lips, creams for night, creams for going out into the sun, creams for after having gone out into the sun, creams for day, creams for “noticable reductions in wrinkles in 7 days or less.”
(The problem is, seven days later when I am looking for a noticable reduction, I can’t really tell if it is working or not. I look, but I am wondering what I might have looked like if I HADN’T used the cream? I don’t know!)
And I was thinking about men, who have skin, too. Particularly I was thinking about Adventure Man, and what would it take for him to feel comfortable using a skin cream?
First – it would have to have a very manly name. None of this Homme stuff, it would have to imply that this is a product a RUGGED man would use. Like Manly Lather. “Lather” is a word that goes with men, like barbers lather up your face before they shave you. Women use foam, men use LATHER.
Another name I thought might work would be Extreme Unction because manly men like flying near that edge of the envelope, it’s a testosterone thing, and unction means anointing, like with an oil. If you are Catholic, you receive extreme unction just before dying, or before people think you are about to die, so even unction has an extreme connotation.
Maybe Braveheart? Maybe Rock?
Help me out here.
If you are a guy, (please, keep it clean) what kind of names would allow you to use a face cream with dignity?
If you are a gal (and rolling on the floor laughing) what names can you think of that would encourage a guy to actually USE a face cream?
Have fun with this!
“Where’s The Bag, Daddy?”
My friends, please be kind. Adventure Man loves plays on words. So last night I could hear him and the Qatteri Cat playing in the bedroom, the Qatteri Cat’s favorite game, Dad hides him under a laundry sack and the Qatteri Cat thinks no one can see him. Then Adventure Man dangles his belt and the Qatteri Cat slashes at it from under the bag. It doesn’t take much to amuse these two; they love this game and can play it over and over.
I can hear Adventure Man saying “Where’s the Bag, Daddy? Where’s the Bag, Daddy?” and dancing around, and he is totally cracking himself up.
“Wouldn’t that be a great blog entry?” he asked.
I dutifully grabbed my camera and tried to get some shots, which is not easy under low light conditions when the Qatteri Cat is swatting at a swinging belt.
So it’s kind of an action shot – that’s what we call it when some of the sharp edges go a little blurry 😉
This cat adores his Bag, daddy.
Rock Star Parking
Ya’ll know that a lot of this blog is about cross-cultural experiences, but this one is cross-cultural in our own family.
You know, every family, every tribe of us, has its own rituals and ways of doing things, and even when you marry someone you think you know very very well, you are in for some surprises.
One of the surprises in our marriage was that my husband thought I was supposed to fill the gas tank. Hello? Fill the gas tank? That’s MENS stuff, don’t you know? We had some tense moments in our first couple months of marriage working that one out, especially when I would leave him with nearly empty gas tank. My husband was rightfully flummoxed by my ability to be both a feminist and a princess, thinking that filling the tank and fixing car problems was HIS work. I learned *huge sigh* to watch the level of gas, to fill the tank, and to take the car in for services. *another big sigh*
But one thing that drove my husband right up the wall was my thing about parking close to the door. Well, I will give him this, he did not grow up in Alaska or in Seattle, he doesn’t know about freezing cold winds and mounds of snow and driving rain and winds that turn umbrellas inside out. My husband didn’t know that husbands, like daddies, are supposed to find the perfect spot as close to the entry as possible, every single time, or to drop us off and meet us inside. No, given I was a feminist, he expected to just take any old spot and I would just walk with him to wherever we would go. We never got that one worked out.
Not until a couple years ago. I learned that my mistake was all in trying to explain the irrationality of family culture. I learned that it was all about marketing, about positioning, something that normally I am very sensitive to and very good at doing. I was hopelessly blind in my approach and hopelessly single tracked.
It all changed when we were taking a new employee on a sight seeing tour of Kuwait. When we got to the grocery store, suddenly a spot opened up right in front of the store.
“Wooooo Hoooooo!” hooted the new guy, “ROCK STAR PARKING!”
I could see my husband straighten up and preen a little as he thought of himself as a person who got “rock star parking.” The light went on. Once he started thinking of himself as a “rock star parking” kind of guy, I never had to walk a long distance to the entry again.
(Woooo HOOOOOOOOO!)
A Thousand Splendid Suns
Once I picked up Khaled Hosseini’s A Thousand Splendid Suns, I barely put it down again until I was finished. I found myself thoroughly involved in the lives of Mariam and Leila, unwilling even to stop to fix dinner! The author of Kiterunner has hit another home run.
There was a time when we would listen to older state department types talk – with enormous longing – about their tours of duty in Afghanistan, pre-Soviet invasion, pre-Taliban, pre-American occupation. Have you ever read James Michener’s Caravan? There are two countries I long to vist, but the countries they are now are not the countries I heard people talk about – Afghanistan and Ethiopia. Our friends loved their times in these two countries.
A Thousand Splendid Suns opens in a small village outside Herat, and then takes us to Kabul. Mariam is born harami, a bastard, of a village cleaning woman in the house of a very wealthy man. Her father builds a small hut for her mother and herself in a remote part of the small village, and visits Mariam every week. Life is simple, and difficult, but also full of kind people who visit and who are concerned with Mariam’s welfare.
After marrying, Mariam goes to Kabul and learns a new way of life with her husband, Rasheed. What fascinates me with Hosseini is that while Rashid is one of the villians of this novel, he is just a man, doing the best he can given his own upbringing and limitations. In a sense, he is “everyman”, the strutting, domineering, sometimes brutal and abusive husband we find in every culture. But Hosseini also gives him transient bouts of kindness which blow through a little less often than the transient bouts of cruelty.
He also gives us good men, in this book, in the person of Jalil, the father of Mariam, who steps up to the plate in acknowledging Mariam and supporting her and her mother, but fails to nurture in the very real way women need nurturing from their fathers in order to reach their full potential in life. Hosseini also gives us a very strong man in the book, Tariq, who, although he has only one leg, is more wholly a man than any other man in the book. I imagine that this is not unintentional. (How Kissingerian is that for a double negative?!)
Written almost entirely in the Afghan world of women, we see through the eyes of Mariam, and later Leila, the transitions in Afghanistan and their impacts on daily life. We experience happiness with them, and peaceful scenes in quiet moments, raising the children, stepping outside into the garden at night to share a cup of tea and a shared bowl of halwa.
Between the moments of peacefulness, we also experience incoming morter rounds, explosions, marauding bands of warlords, and starvation. We go into a women’s hospital under Taliban control, where there are no medications, no running water, no instruments, and an Afghani female doctor does a C-section with no anaesthesia and is required to keep her burqa on. We watch a mother abandon her role and take to her bed when her two sons are killed fighting the Soviets, we experience betrayal and we experience helplessness, and we experience a Kabul women’s prison. A Thousand Splendid Suns is a rich feast of experiences, juxtaposing the everyday chores of women around the world – cooking, raising children, laundry – with events on the world stage.
(Available from Amazon for $14.27 plus shipping.)
Big Red
Adventure Man and I have an agreement. We leave each other’s lives alone. Like I don’t try to tell him how he should work (I do try to tell him how to drive, or how not to drive, he hates it and I can’t help it; I don’t want to die!) and he doesn’t tell me how to run the house (but he does make “helpful suggestions”, he can’t help it.) We cut each other a lot of slack – it’s the only way you can stay married for a long time.
He monitors my blog closely. I don’t mind, he is like my personal security agency, making sure I don’t tell you too much about myself. I know he is protecting us and I honor that. It also helps me to think about what I am writing as I write – he has never asked me to change anything, but the awareness that he is watching helps me remember to be careful.
But I draw the line at him telling me what to blog. Here is what I say:
GET YOUR OWN BLOG, ADVENTURE MAN!
Yesterday he brought me some Big Red, with a complaint and with a compliment. Many of us in our family are addicted to Big Red, a cinnamon chewing gum. I like it because I drink coffee, and coffee can make your breath bad. Adventure Man just likes it because he likes it.
“This Big Red is not the same!” he complained. “It tastes wrong!”
I tasted it and I thought it tasted normal, but I have been buying Big Red here for a while and maybe my “normal” has gotten skewed.
“And look!” he said, triumphantly “Big Red is supposed to be RED!”
And he was right – this Big Red is WHITE?? How can that be??
But here is the compliment – look what is printed on each individual gum wrapper. (You have to read it from left to right!)
Pretty cool, huh? And this blog entry is for you, Adventure Man.
“I Miss Hamad. . . “
Talk was desultory as the book club broke up, several women had already left when Hannah hit us with this bombshell. It was a most puzzling statement. We had all passed Hamad in the hallway on our way to bookclub. He would greet us gruffly, but not really look at us as we buzzed into the women’s diwaniyya.
“What are you talking about?” popped up Lena, never at a loss for words. “How can you miss Hamad? He’s right here!”
Hannah exchanged glances with Diana, also married to a Kuwaiti. They grinned, ruefully.
“You’ve only been back a week,” Diana said.
“Yes, but I MISS that sweet, loving husband. When we are away, he turns back into the delightful, charming man I married! He holds my hand, he takes me out for dinner, it’s like when we first met! He’s a different man! Oh, how I miss him! And we’ve only been back a week.” She echoed Diana.
Diana sighed.
“And is he playing the ‘ayb’ card?” she asked? “‘Ayb’ how you walk around the house, ‘ayb’ how you smile too much, ‘ayb’ here, ‘ayb’ there, ‘ayb ayb’ everywhere?”
They started giggling. Others joined in, their giggles were so infectious. Soon, the seven women remaining from the book club meeting were gasping for air, they were laughing so hard.
“I’ve stopped changing!” Hannah hooted! “Every time I changed what he asked, he found something new!”
And the laughter started again – it’s an international group, and the critical husband thing is something that is easily understood by women of all nations.
“I want him back!” Hannah moaned, weak from laughter. “I want my Hamad back!”
Tang Chow and Gulf Road
I’ve written about Tang Chow before. I know, I know, you are looking for something new. But (there’s always that “but”) when Adventure Man called and said “what do you want to do about dinner” and I said “I just have a hankering for Tang Chow”, he said “Me too! I’ve been thinking about it all day!”
It’s great when you are married to someone who likes the same food at the same time. No, it isn’t always instant agreement.
Sometimes, we’ll be going out and he will say “where are we going?” and I will give him three options, and he won’t like any of them. So then I say, “Ok, OK where is it YOU really want to go?” and he will tell me and we will go there. Sometimes it works out OK, and sometimes there just isn’t much on the menu I really like, but we try to take turns getting to choose when we can’t agree. But if one of us really objects, then we go somewhere else.
We never disagree when it comes to Tang Chow. The only negative factor is the traffic on Gulf Road. What a hassle!
Last week we were caught in that horrid traffic (and it’s only August! Not even as bad as when school starts!) and there was a car to our left with the lights on inside, four women primping, literally with compacts, checking their own lips, checking their eyes, clearly ON DISPLAY but pretending to be oblivious to all the attention they were getting from the guys trying to get their attention.
And the guys in front of us, in a great big SUV, trying to get the girls’ attention, HIT the car in front of them, full of a family bringing a brand new baby home from the hospital.
Guys, take it off the road! Court in the parking lots, court at Chili’s, court at the coffee houses or at the Malls – take it off the road.
You have my sympathy, truly. I know it is really really tough here, almost impossible, to get to know the girls. And you have all those raging hormones. Still – take it OFF THE ROAD.
We could see the young men were really really sorry they had hit the family. I am betting they learned from the experience, and, God willing, will keep their eyes on the road when they are driving, but I am afraid to hope for too much.
Missing You, Adventure Man
I’m eating here, all alone, in a booth for one, surrounded by a million other customers. Son and his wife are at work, and Sonny’s isn’t their favorite place. It’s low brow, it’s folksy, and oh, how I miss southern barbecue when I am back in Kuwait.
The waitress, Tammy, is country and sweet and cares about all her customers, I have the fried catfish with Sonny’s baked beans and a side of cole claw . . .I have my non-sweet iced tea, I have my Sudoku . . . missing you too much, Adventure Man:
Qatteri Cat Loves His Dad
We start our day together as a family – Adventure Man, me, Qatteri Cat – and all of Qatteri Cat’s babies, who end up on the bed by morning . . .He brought two babies in last night while I was still reading, and the other two appeared sometime as we were sleeping.
As we gathered in the living room to watch the sun over the Gulf, to see if we could spot any dolphins, Adventure Man sat with Qatteri Cat and began to play with him. Adventure Man almost lost a finger!
We got the Qatteri Cat when he was still a very young cat. He was found, sick and with an eye infection, on the Corniche in Doha, too young to be away from his mother, but with no mother in sight. A family adopted him, but the females in the family didn’t like him, and he spent much of his time alone, on a too hot or too cold balcony.
When we adopted him, he LOVED Adventure Man at first sight, but he was very wary of me. His back would arch if my hand raised. He watched my feet like a hawk. If my voice raised, his ears went back. And he was terrified of plastic bags, totally freaked out.
After a month or so, he would sit next to me, but not for long. He usually ended up biting me or scratching me in a panic to get away. It took months to calm him down, to calm his terrors, to gain his trust.
He is a very odd cat. He doesn’t eat meat, won’t touch it. He loves shrimp and sardines, and we special order salmon flavored cat food for him. He never begs for food. If I forget to feed him, he will nip at my feet – that’s his only signal, and he has to be very hungry to even do that. He never begs for food. He drinks very little water, so little that we have to encourage him to drink often.
Most of all, he wants to go out. He wants to roam free, he wants to be the CAT that God created him to be. But now, we have trained him too well – he is too trusting, and has no understanding about cars at all. He wouldn’t last long on the mean streets of Kuwait.
We also have to be careful, because underneath this contented cat, not too far from the surface, is that street-born cat. Most mornings I have a tough time typing, because he is snuggled up between my left arm and the computer. Occasionally, all of a sudden, in his imagination, my left hand becomes something else as it types along, and he attacks. His attacks, with teeth and claws, come as a surprise. It is a great trick NOT to try to remove my hand immediately, which only makes him bite and claw harder, but to stay totally still and say his name in reproving tones. It reminds him who he is and who I am, and he will let go. It happens less and less often, but we never forget there is still a wild cat not far below the thin veneer of civilization.
Most of all, he loves Adventure Man. He cries when he leaves, and he starts getting restless when it is time for him to come home. He waits by the door. When Adventure Man travels, he gets depressed, and Adventure Man talks to him on the phone when he calls. Sometimes I will ask “can you say hello to Qatteri Cat?” and he’ll say “not now, there are people around!” and he will leave the office and call back to talk with Qatteri Cat where no-one can hear him. Adventure Man gets most of his exercise these days chasing Qatteri Cat from room to room, throwing his ball, playing hide and seek.
OK, Skunk, this one was for you. 🙂
Friday Fun: Wishin’ and Hopin’
To hear this dusty old Dusty Springfield classic, you can go down to the U-Tube video below, or you can put on My Best Friend’s Wedding, just for the intro, where the song is acted out, all in pink if I remember correctly, a very 50’s rendition.
Here are the words, found at stlyrics.com. And a big thanks to Little Diamond who by finding all the lyrics to “Put the Lime in the Coconut” for me, taught me that anything, ANYTHING is available on the internet, if you have the time to search!
Artist: Dusty Springfield Lyrics
Song: Wishin’ and Hopin’ Lyrics
Wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Plannin’ and dreaming each night of his charms
That won’t get you into his arms
So if you’re lookin’ to find love you can share
All you gotta do is
Hold him and kiss him and love him
And show him that you care
Show him that you care just for him
And do the things he likes to do
Wear your hair just for him, ’cause
You won’t get him
Thinkin’ and a-prayin’
Wishin’ and a-hopin’
Just wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Plannin’ and dreamin’ his kiss is the start
That won’t get you into his heart
So if you’re thinkin’ heartbreak
True love is
All you gotta do is
Hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and love him
Yeah, just do it and after you do, you will be his
(You gotta)
Show him that you care just for him
Do the things he likes to do
Wear your hair just for him, ’cause
You won’t get him
Thinkin’ and a-prayin’
Wishin’ and a-hopin’
Just wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’
Plannin’ and dreamin’ his kiss is the start
That won’t get you into his heart
So if you’re thinkin’ heartbreak
True love is
All you gotta do is
Hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and love him
Yeah, just do it and after you do, you will be his
You will be his
You will be his
So on this lazy Friday morning, ponder this – Is My Best Friend’s Wedding really a comedy? Is there both truth and fiction in the above song lyrics (the song itself is a hoot – irresistable! Go take a listen!) And while we are laughing, to what extent do you sacrifice who you really are to attain a mate?
Update: Holy smokes, Skunk, it’s THAT easy???? Thanks again!
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