Feb. 15, 2008 at 3:11pm

puttin' a good face on

(or, more ado about odd customer service)?)

I suppose I could blame the Council.

First, there were Ensie and Jenyum with fab new 'dos. Then, there was Ensie being all glowing, dewy and fresh with a maquillage to die for. At that same time, there was a post-caucus photo of me that made me go... hmm. (photos never lie, remember?) And then, there was Cassioposa's gracious funding towards goodies at a local chi-chi department store.

Okay, enough hints from Universe to me.  I get it, I should think about maybe adding a bit of polish to my look. While I have a serious make-up aversion, I know that a person like myself-- ruddy and uneven of complexion-- could do with a bit of improvement. While I have some make-up, most of  it was purchased over a decade ago. And while most of it is timeless, color-wise, stuff you put on your face generally has a shelf life of a lot less than "over a decade." 

After some research, I was leaning toward Laura Mercier, whose "system" seemed to be less systemic than many out there.  To those new to the world of cosmetics, watch the segment of "The Truth About Cats and Dogs" where Jeannine Garofolo goes to the make-up counter. There's a whole regime of skin care before  make-up even comes into play, there's a whole system of steps that are *mandatory* in the application of said make-up, and there's a whole system in after-makeup care.  For your troubles, you get a depleted bank account and funk on your telephone handsets, not to mention cupboards full of crap that you used once, which has expired in pots that leave you no room for the useful things you use everyday, like toothpaste and antiperspirant.

And so it was with great trepidation that I walked to the make-up counter, kid in tow, wondering if I'd leave looking like the whore of Babylon.  Laura Mercier shares a counter with Dior and philosophy, and as I walked up, I saw three girls.  I stood at the counter and waited as two conversed and a third touched up her face, squatting under the counter. I waited, as the conversation broke up and one of the chat-ers left the counter to go wander the Mall. The other chat-er looked clueless for a moment, then realized I probably wouldn't be leaving, as my child had taken up a perch on the stool and was saying, "mom, do I get make-up now? Mom, do I get make-up now? Mom, do I get make-up now?" And I responded (rather loudly, "no, honey, we have to wait for a person to help us.")

Clueless individual was actually really good at being clueless.  She did The Big-Eyed Gaze (somewhere between "doe-eyed" and "deadfrog") and stammered a lot as I asked her about the mineral make-up powders.  Fortunately for her, a "real" customer came to her line (philospohy) and she pawned me off on the woman who'd come up from under the counter, freshly refreshed. I asked this woman (a Dior rep) about mineral powders, and she launched into The Way of The Mineral Foundation: first, you need to prepare the skin with one powder, then you need to use the powder, then you *can* use a bronzer, and then you use a finishing powder. I asked if I could use *just* the mineral powder.  She did that whole, "well, you could, but I wouldn't" thing, but I was resolute.  Look, I said, the reason I don't use stuff now is because I'm lazy.  Too many steps, I will take none of them.  She sort of took the hint that I was walking soon, and begrudgingly put some powder on my face.   

It was marginally better. I was happy.  Naturally, the powder does not come with a brush, and naturally, the brush was nearly twice the price of the powder.  And now that I had an even complexion, I needed to "pop" my eyes (though not to doe/deadfrog, pleaseandthankyouverymuch.)

So I looked at shadows and liners. She came over with one from her line-- and a touch up stick that she encouraged me to use on my tired eyes and red patches, and nose.  I had to admit, it made things marginally better.

She used one shadow to match her eyeliner, and suggested for my eyes it was a bit of the same color, then used a different color on the other eye.  In between each of these battles/steps, my kid was saying, "mom, can I get make-up now? Mom, can I get make-up now?" so I would swipe a q tip into invisible bits of shadow, and swipe her eye, etc, etc, ad nauseum.

I was tired, I was beaten, I needed to get the hell out of there.  I bought the tinted moisturizer, the touch-up stick, the shadows, and the liners.  It came to over $125.  

And yet, it was a victory.  No, I didn't stick to my original need, yes, I was swayed by an irritating cosmetic counter woman, and yes, in point of fact, my eyes bore two different colors of shadow.

But I did not leave looking like the Whore of Babylon.

To make myself feel better after a marginally weird experience, I took the kid to REI and bought a "Life is Good" Nalgene that makes me smile despite the fact that I may die from pthalate overdose due to my consumption of water from said bottles ovewr the last ten years.

And then, to reward kid for only interrupting 7 zillion times, I took her to paint pottery at Art & Soul, which had been a promised activity, anyway, and any mom knows, you'll only get a kid good to her word if you're (reasonably) good to yours.  

We got to a packed joint, because there was an in-service day.  There was one employee, for both the cafe and the painting studio.

Now I know that "studio fee" encompasses things like paints and brushes and seats and tables, but I guess I've always felt like cleaning up after myself was kind of a good karma thing to do.  In this case, it was a necessity.  We waited to check out after the Kid created (with minor help) a piece de resistance mermaid (the single most popular item, with three others being worked on as we were in the space) -but nobody came...  Finally, the woman came back-- to check out another group (of six people) and I got a bit bug-eyed in panic (though not, I'm happy to say, doe/ deadfrog) and said... um, there's one of us, one item. Happily, I got checked out, and paid my 21 bucks for a mermaid and good hour spent with Kid. 

Odd times, odd days...