The day I discovered Tim Minchin

My spring 2007 was quite a busy season.  I bought my condo in January and had to pack boxes for my move in June.  I was going from a 3 bedroom /1200 + sq. ft apartment with incredible storage space into a 2 bedroom 900 sq. ft condo with (almost) no storage space.  I had to do a huge clean up in my stuff and throw away a lot of unnecessary things.  My old high school agendas? Recycled.  Letters exchanged during classes? Gone!  Decluttering is time consuming.  I also had friends from Sao Paulo living here from February until April, which meant I had to entertain.  A lot.  I was traveling to Brazil later that year and had registered for Portuguese lessons in addition to my dance classes.  And, oh, no big deal, I was turning 30 that year and work was quite busy to say the very least (Annabelle Model Search, anyone?).

I took possession of the condo on June 15th.  My family came to help me remove all the carpets because, low and behold, ceramic and hardwood floors and to be completed before my official moving in 7 days later.  We were throwing my parents a surprise party on the 23rd.  My parents were throwing me an advance surprise party on June 30  for my 30th birthday and I was flying to Sao Paulo on July 7th.  My schedule allocated very little down time. 

With the money I received as my birthday gift, I bought myself my very first (digital) camera and first iPod.  I had no time to familiarize myself with my new toy and simply asked a colleague of mine (LM) to throw music in there for me.  "Please put this and that on, a little Jami and a little Matchbox Twenty... as for the rest, surprise me".  There I was, sitting comfortably in my first class seat (Yeah, baby!  Hello Aeroplan points!) on my way to Toronto, excited to get together with my Brazilian friends, when I finally turned on my iPod.  I looked at what he had put in.  I like, I like, don't know.  I decided to listen to an artist which I had never heard of, Tim Minchin.  Genre: humour.  WTF?  Please don't tell me LM put sketches on there!

I was quiet and cozy when "Inflatable You" started to play.  Keep in mind that I have absolutely no clue what to expect.  The first thing I know, I giggle, giggle and finally burst out laughing.  My neighbor, a few feet away from me, glances, with his glasses low on his nose.  I tilt my head sideways to express how profoundly sorry I am to have interrupted his very serious reading of a newspaper.  The song starts with Tim stating "This is a love song".  A few sentences in, he declares "delectable, inflatable you".  The guy is declaring his love to an inflatable doll!  I could not help myself: I had to listen to every Tim song LM had put on my iPod!

The fact that he's funny or not is debattable.  ("Your skin is so smooth, I couldn't afford you with hair.  You have all the wholes real girls have got plus one for the air").  It's a question of taste and perception.  His musical talent, however; is unquestionable.  He rocks the piano!  He also includes a lot of harmonies and my heart is quickly won over harmonies.  Again, his choice of (abrasive and vulgar) language may not be suitable for your ears.  You should surely avoid listening to Tim Minchin if you are particularly religious.  Bodyguard does not think Tim is funny at all (and Bodyguard is not one bit religious).  On the other hand, it's been 3 years already and I still listen to Tim on a regular basis.  An instant fixer upper for me.  He cracks me up.  And although his voice is not spectacular, he carries a tune!

Do I like him even a bit more because he wears (what looks like Annabelle) makeup?  I would say he's a Custom Quad Eyeshadow - Ebony, Smudgeliner - Ohmygoth! and volumelash.com Mascara wearer!  If you're in the mood for a funny musical discovery, I'd invite you to visit his official Website: http://www.timminchin.com/.  Here are a few of my personal Tim favorites (of course, Inflatable You remains my classic of choice):
-Hello
-Rock And Roll Nerd
-You Grew On Me
-Darkside (the piano is amazing!)
-Some People Have It Worse Than Me
-If You Really Loved Me
-Nothing Can Stop Us Now (The end is drastic and cruel, I know!  But the song itself is great).
-Prejudice (What you think it is, it is not!  Love the cleverness of this song.)

 

I appreciate the musicality his songs bring.  I like the fact that he's silly.  There is plenty of time to be serious and politically correct in daily life.  When I want a dose of silly, easy-listening funnies, I turn to Tim.  He's coming to this year's Just For Laughs and I sure hope to be part of the crowd!  He also strongly supports the use of Canvas Bags and, as a canvas bag user myself, I just can't resist this song.  Kudos to you if the chorus doesn't stay in your head all day after listening to it!

 

To LM, my work colleague who loaded my iPod with Minchin tunes: THANK YOU for allowing me to discover Tim!

Certified esthetician

I was asked to write a blog post for the public school where I studied for a year and graduated in esthetics.

Three passions unite: writing, skin care and makeup.

Full article on the school's blog here.

More on driving

When I was 18 years old, the guy I dated drove a white Honda Prelude which, like he, was fragranced with Calvin Klein Eternity.  The car had a manual transmission and had an 8 ball in lieu of the traditional stick shift.  He was patient enough to let me have my first try out at driving standard.  I wasn't really good at it, but I liked the feeling.  It gave me an even better sensation of control and, for a person who loves to drive, it involved me even more.  The clutch survived and our friendship did too, but we stopped dating.

In 2000, my deareast first car, Chouchoune, was slowly falling apart from rust damage.  I had to travel for work and ended up having approximately 10 days to buy a new car.  My options were, for the same amount, a 1996 Nissan Maxima, standard, or a Ford Contour 1998, automatic.  Because I hadn't practiced much and would spend a lot of time on the road, I hesitated to get the Maxima with manual transmission and decided to take the Ford Contour instead.  Now I loved my Contour while she was good but HATED her when I changed the timing belt for the second time in 6 months.  What a mistake! 

My best friend bought her new car, standard of course, and I had the chance to drive it on a few occasions and I was hooked.  I figured the next MissIPP Mobile would just have to be standard.  When the time came, I went to the car dealer and decided on the model, colour and everything.  I went to pick up my new vehicle on a Friday night and I was handed the keys shortly before closing time.  I was hanging around the dealership doors, waiting, when the saleswoman came to see me.  "Is there something we can help you with?", she asked.  "Oh no, thank you.  I'm just waiting for my sister and her boyfriend to come meet me.  He's going to take the car across the street in the parking lot to teach me how to drive" is what I answered.  I would have paid $20 to get a picture of the look on her face.  "You don't know how to drive standard?", she blurted out.  "Well, yes, I know how to drive standard!  I just need to practice".  I'm convinced she was genuinely preoccupied about the car she had just leased me.

My sister and her boyfriend did arrive.  He drove the car across the street for me and we switched seats.  He would make me stop and go; the most important "how to" when learning to drive standard.  The they followed me home to make sure not too many cars would hit the horn behind me if I stalled at a stop sign or red light.  I discovered how quickly the right arm and its middle finger can be raised to signal the driver in the car behind you that you'll only be one second, hence the one and only finger.

I avoided hills at all cost at first and then eventually got the hang of it.  I learned that high heels are much easier to drive in versus platform shoes that won't let you feel the clutch.  I realized that some men (Hello, Bodyguard!) are still prejudiced and assume that women don't drive standard.  Perhaps it's the way I handle the stick that impressed him?  No pun intended ;o)

Addictions - Part 4: driving

When I turned 16, all I could think of (besides boys) was to put money aside so I could go back to Rio de Janeiro as soon as I could.  I had spent a month there 2 years prior and only wanted to go back as soon as I could (finally went back 15 years after - story to be told in a different blog post).  I was working part-time making $6 an hour in a kids' clothing store with no commission and baby-sitting a lot as well for even less money.  Saving up was hard to do.  (What do you know?  History repeats itself because it's still hard to do!)  My dad, on the other hand, had other plans for me.  He wanted me to take my driver's license classes.

Yuk.  I could not care less.  My mom was driving me everywhere I wanted to! :o)  Of course, Papa a raison, I ended up taking my classes.  We had theory classes for nearly 20 hours  which led to an official written exam in governmental offices.  Then, with my apprentice's permit in hand, I was authorized to take the actual driving lessons and/or drive with someone who had their driver's license.  I succeeded at the written exam the first time around.

My dad would take me driving in the industrial park on week-ends so that I would be able to practice without fearing traffic.  I think he was always comfortable with my driving because I took after him.  Except for parallel parking.  People laugh when I talk about how stressed out I am when I have to parallel park and I have a passenger in my car.  These people have obviously never tried to park with my dad in the car.  It's a story so famous that it's even a running gag.  My dad loves his white walls.  He used to shine them every Friday afternoon during the summertime and these fine white lines could not be scratched.  Try to picture adolescent me, learning how to drive, with my dad by my side telling me : "Watch the tires.  Careful!  Watch the tires.  Not so close.  STOP!"  When you see danger and you look at it, where do you think you end up?  Boom.  Sidewalk.  "Sorry, dad".

Then came the time to pass my road test.  My dad's friend, a retired cop, had become a road test instructor for the government (SAAQ).  He took me for a three-hour drive one afternoon and took me through all the tough areas where the instructor whom would eventually take me on the road for my test would most likely take me.  "Watch the yellow line when you take this curve.  The road tends to pull you towards it; make sure you stay within your lane.  At a stop sign, stop ON THE LINE.  Not a foot before and not an inch after.  This street is two-ways on this end, but one-way only starting here.  The instructor is going to watch if you see the signs and try to have you go the wrong way into a one-way street.  Watch for it."  I was given all the pointers!  On the day of my exam, the man had been instructed to pass me, unless I literally failed to respect safety laws. But I didn't and hurray for me, I got my driver's license!

I have been driving ever since.  My mom's car at first and then I bought my first (used) car when before I turned 19.  I discovered a passion for driving.  I love to go over the speed limit.  My cruising speed?  145 km/hr.  But that was before April 2009 when, in Quebec, they doubled speeding ticket fees and demerit points.  I am not afraid of driving at 145 km/hr on the highway however; I fear having to cut back on everything in my budget to be able to afford a speeding ticket.  Since then, I have been respecting speed limits very diligently :o(

I don't mind a 6-7 hour drive.  I love it, in fact.  As long as I know I have my cell phone and my iPod, I am good to hit the road!  My name is MissIPP and I am addicted to driving!

The other side of the fence

On April 10, I posted my very first product review:  J.R. Watkins Apothecary Lemon Cream.  Just a few short hours after, I received an email from Mr. Hagen, an Independent Watkins Executive.  Based on my number of followers, I assumed he had the brand name on Google Alert!

My very first thought was "Whoa! Is this what it feels like to be on the other side of the fence; to be contacted by sales and / or PR reps for product reviews?"  It felt very flattering and made me giggle for a few minutes.  After contacting many beauty bloggers myself (please rest assured that I am not pretending to be a beauty blogger.  I am not a beauty blogger.  I am not a makeup artist.  I'm a certified esthetician who works in the cosmetic industry, is a friend to beauty bloggers and an addict to social media and text messaging.),  it felt nice and strange to be sitting on the other side of the fence for a minute.  For this lovely opportunity I was given, thank you, Mr. Hagen.

I was lucky enough to receive a complimentary tube of the new and improved formula, for my personal use and review.

What I learned: the product I had purchased in Florida at such a great discounted price ($2.49 US) had, in fact, been discontinued over a year ago, hence the discount!  The new formulas are not only paraben free, like the Website claims, but the packaging has also been updated.  My sweet and fresh lemon cream is even fresher-looking nowadays.

Again, from the Website:

"J.R. Watkins Body Creams provide your skin with the ultimate moisturizing experience. Natural shea and cocoa butters are whipped together with more than 10 natural oils and extracts to protect, soothe and condition your delicate skin. This is a healthy treat your skin will never forget! 96-97% natural.  Ideal for rough areas including heels, knees and elbows

 

Brand Commitments:
• 95% Natural and above; Sodium Lauryl Sulfate Free; Sodium Laureth Sulfate Free; Paraben Free; Phthalate Free; Mineral Oil, Petrolatum free; Dye Free."

 
My updated review

Upsides:
-the J.R. Watkins Natural Apothecary Shea Butter Body Lemon Cream now comes in a tube instead of a jar.  I no longer get cream stuck under my nails when I get it on my hands to apply.
-the scent is even more natural and lemony (yummy!)
-like the Website claims and contrary to my first product review, the cream is overall natural (19 natural extracts on a total of 34 ingredients)!
-is it me or does my skin feels softer after moisturizing with the new formula?  I think it does!
-the protective barrier it leaves on my skin (hello, lemon peel extract!) which also helps prevent moisture loss
-I can order from Mr. Hagen when I want a new tube and I can't find it in a store near me!

Downsides:
-the size went from 130 g (jar) to 95 g (tube).
-the scent seems to have lost a bit of its "creamy" lemon sent; it smells more like freshly squeezed lemons than a lemon-meringue pie.  I still adore the smell, but wish it had kept a bit of its sweet, creamy/dreamy scent.
-$7.99 CAD + taxes per 95 g tube.  That's a bit expensive for my cheap-single-girl-with-a-mortgage budget and it would absolutely be a treat (from me to myself with lotsa love) to purchase again.

Neutral about:
-the paraben-free,dye-free and other-free formula, but I do realize that is a huge bonus for many beauty gals out there.
-the way it applies.  Although the new version seems to have a better slip and slide effect, it does not go on as smoothly as I love a body cream to do so.

My final thoughts?  I'm a spoiled brat who loves lemon and body creams =)

Une fille sait qu'elle est devenue femme quand...

À quel moment dans sa vie rose bonbon la fille passe-t-elle au vieux rose de la femme?

Hier soir, je suis sortie prendre un verre avec mon amie, mieux connue sous le surnom de MJ ou Poupée.  Je portais un chandail rose... nanane sucée longtemps.  J'attendais patiemment ma chum de fille dans ma voiture.  Quatre jeunes hommes fumaient et buvaient dans leur bouteille de Coke (je les soupçonne d'y avoir ajouté du rhum ou du Jack Daniels) en discutant paisiblement.  Poupée me lâche un coup de fil; ça y est, elle est arrivée.  (Je dois écrire une grosse parenthèse au sujet de son retard - à lire au bas de cet article.)

Je sors de la voiture et empoigne mon sac à mains et mon veston.  "Oh, Madame!", s'exclame un des jeunes hommes.  Pas certaine que l'exclamation me concerne, je ne fais que relever les yeux dans leur direction.  Quatre paires de yeux sont rivées sur moi alors je suppose que c'était vraiment à moi qu'on s'adressait.  "C'est tellement sexy votre chandail.  Ça vous fait tellement bien!  C'est pas décolleté, très class.  Vraiment beau."  Euh... merci?  Bien sûr, je le remercie pour son compliment.  D'abord parce que je trouve beaucoup plus agréable de me faire dire que mon vêtement est sexy et que je le porte à merveille plutôt que de me faire siffler comme une marmotte.

 

(picture credit: sinstyle.ca)

Mais le coup de grâce est donné.  Je suis à ses yeux de jeune homme de dix-huit, vingt, vingt-deux ans au maximum; une Madame.  Une femme d'expérience.  Quand est-ce que ça m'est arrivé?  Quand est-ce que je suis passée de fille à femme?  Et il m'a dit "VOUS".  Il sait qu'il y a suffisamment de distance entre son âge et le mien pour qu'il sente la nécessité de me vouvoyer.  Il voulait simplement être poli?  SVP, dites-moi qu'il voulait simplement se montrer charmant et poli!

Je vis très bien avec mon âge.  Je ne voudrais pas retourner à mes 22 ans.  Je ne me suis jamais sentie aussi à l'aise avec moi-même que depuis mes 29-30 ans et ça s'améliore avec le temps.  J'ai confiance en mes moyens et je suis très à l'aise avec ceux-ci. Je suis passée de fille à femme sans m'en rendre compte.  Même si mon charme attire toujours les jeunes hommes, je suis clairement passée dans la cour des grandes.  #deuildejeunesseàfaire.  Barman, vite, à boire!  Et apportez m'en un double.

(Parenthèse sur le retard de MJ: depuis des lunes, elle conduit une voiture à transmission manuelle.  Cette semaine, elle a laissé sa voiture au garage pour quelques mises au point et, quelle chance, ils lui ont laissé une voiture de courtoisie!  Je lui envoie un message texte pour lui dire que je suis rendue à notre point de rencontre.  Elle m'appelle.  "Écoute, j'ai un petit problème.  Je ne peux pas me rendre.  La voiture de courtoisie que le garagiste m'a laissée, je pense qu'elle a un système anti-démarrage et le con a oublié de me dire comment l'enlever".  "As-tu essayé les clignotants?  Souvent ils mettent ça dans les clignotants", que j'avance.  Je l'entends signaler à gauche et à droite, mais aucun bruit de moteur qui démarre.  Parce que je conduis moi aussi une voiture manuelle, j'ai tendance à toujours la laisser embrayée quand je stationne.  Je coupe le moteur, un point c'est tout.  Je me souviens que j'ai l'habitude de laisser la voiture automatique de mes parents en "drive" quand j'éteins le moteur et je lui demande: "Est-ce que le bras est sur park ou sur drive?".  Il est sur "d", qu'elle me dit.  "Appuie sur le frein, mets le à "p" et essaie de démarrer".  Vrrrrroum.  "Haha!  J'arrive!" qu'elle me laisse savoir.  C'est pour ça que j'adore ma Poupée; elle me fait rire!  Trop habituée qu'elle est à la conduite manuelle, elle a oublié que les voitures automatiques sont plus capricieuses!  Fin de la paranethèse, mais pas du fou rire.)

Strangelove

Je me suis récemment soumise à ma torture mensuelle (épilation à la cire). Je me fait épiler depuis des années par une amie dont je perdrai bientôt les bons services.  Qui prend mari prend pays, c'est ça?  Elle nous quittera en septembre prochain pour aller retrouver son mari, nouvelle recrue de la GRC qui est dorénavant affecté à Onion Lake, en Saskatchewan.  Je devais donc me trouver une nouvelle tortionnaire.  Je suis habituellement assez dure sur mon corps et je semble avoir un seuil de tolérance assez élevé pour la douleur.  Par contre, étant moi-même esthéticienne et ancien bourreau de la cire, je peux vous confirmer que je suis une véritable plaie comme cliente.  Je suis très souffrante (et râleuse) lorsque je passe sur la table d'épilation!

La perle que j'ai découverte possède sa cabine au salon de coiffure que je fréquente depuis plus de 15 ans.  Une des deux copropriétaires est mon ancienne voisinne car elle habite juste à côté de chez mes parents.  À l'époque où je l'ai connue, je portais les cheveux aux hanches.  (Sur la photo, mes cheveux n'étaient pas à leur pleine longueur et comme je frise... vous imaginez ce que ça donnait quand la tignasse était mouillée?  En passant, j'espère que vous appréciez parce qu'il ne faut vraiment pas avoir de fierté pour publier cette photo de moi! Lol.) 

Bref, ma coiffeuse devait monter sa chaise au plus haut niveau et s'assoyeait sur un marchepied pour me couper les cheveux autrement, elle se cassait le dos à chaque coup.

Cette semaine, j'ai donc croisé ma coiffeuse lorsque je me suis présentée à mon rendez-vous pour l'épilation.  "Il n'y a pas de nouvel article sur ton blogue depuis un bout de temps", qu'elle me dit, mi-moqueuse.  C'est qu'avec ma blessure au doigt, celui qui me sert tant pour enfoncer les touches de mon clavier (même si je tape à 2 mains, merci!), j'ai ralenti la cadence.  Taper au bureau le jour me suffisait!  Cette semaine, toutes mes soirées étaient occupées.  Me voici donc, en ce samedi matin, en train de me remettre au boulot!  Ma coiffeuse est une de mes lectrices les plus assidues, avec la célèbre Caco, une grande amie... à ma soeur! ;o)

En allant à mon rendez-vous arrache-poils, j'ai annoncé à ma coiffeuse que je la verrais jeudi midi prochain.  "Ah oui?"  Je remarque une lueur de crainte dans ses yeux.  Bien qu'elle manie le ciseau fort habilement, elle haguït (du verbe "haguïr", soit "haïr" à la puissance 10) créer ce que j'appelle des pièces montées.  (Une mise en pli , tignasse remontée, pour cheveux longs).  Et jeudi qui vient, je vais assister au party annuel le plus couru du jeune jet-set montréalais, celui de Nightlife.ca!  Je voudrais donc que mes boucles soient remontées pour l'occasion.  Je perçois que ça ne lui tente pas trop.  "Mais mes cheveux sont tellement faciles à coiffer!  2-3 Bobby pins et le tour est joué", que je lui lance avec mon plus beau sourire.  C'est à moitié vrai.  Mes cheveux sont secs et se coiffent très facilement en pièce montée; vrai.  Par contre, j'ai beaucoup de cheveux et ils sont gros (format spaghettini, mettons?).  J'aurais dû écrire 2-3 douzaines de Bobby pins parce que c'est ce que ça va prendre pour faire tenir ma perruque toute la soirée!  Mais j'ai confiance en elle et en ses Bobby pins.

Uh-oh.  Un sourire malin apparaît sur son visage.  "Parfait, mais ça va me prendre un nouvel article, pis en français!".  Ok, point gagné.  Elle demeure une de mes plus ferventes lectrices et elle est en charge de me crêper les boudins.  Je ne vais quand même pas la laisser tomber!  Cet article se veut donc un clin d'oeil à ma coiffeuse.  Merci pour les coiffures.  Merci de ta patience quand tu raidis mes cheveux; c'est un succès éclaboussant à chaque fois :o)

Pourquoi Strangelove comme titre?  Parce que j'étais une fan de Depeche Mode au début de l'adolescence et une partie du refrain va comme suit: "Will you take the pain I will give to you again and again and will you return it".  Et l'épilation à la cire?  I guess it's a strange way of loving myself.  M'infliger de la douleur pour être belle (surtout douce!).