A visit to a M·A·C training facility

I have ridiculously talented friends. I will discuss that topic at length later when I introduce my "friendors" (friends/vendors) for our wedding, but the two ladies above are a very specific breed of talent. Ashley and Jessica both work in the beauty industry, and they both happen to be my bridesmaids :) The photo above was taken after Ashley tried some pretty blue shadows on Jessica, and it was BEFORE Ashley became a M·A·C Cosmetics artist, so you can imagine how many skills she's acquired since then. For example, check out the amazingness she created for the Coast Guard Ball last year:



I am a far cry from model material, but Ashley definitely has a knack for highlighting the best in everyone. When she asked me a few weeks ago to be her "model" for a new M·A·C position try out, I wanted to ask her "Are you sure?" but instead blurted out "Of course!" I selfishly wanted to get an anthropological glimpse at the inner workings of the M·A·C brand. I hoped it would be like going backstage at Disneyland and seeing Donald Duck with his head off, which I did actually see 10 years ago when my high school marching band performed at Disneyland.

We arrived at a huge ring of corporate office buildings situated along the waterfront in Emeryville, home to the regional M·A·C training facility. Every few months, all employees at every counter in the Bay Area must make a pilgrimage to the facility to learn about the season's latest products and techniques. This is no small undertaking, as the company tends to completely overhaul and reinvent itself with each season. Artists are expected to know every product's name, ingredients and applications, which they learn during eight-hour marathon classroom sessions at the training facility.

Of course, I'm completely talking from a naive outsider's perspective on this topic. I literally had no idea what was going on when we walked into the unassumingly inconspicuous office space and were greeted by two facilitators, who introduced themselves as "Missy and Victor." I later came to find out (amid "oh my God" exclamations from Ash) that Victor was Victor Cembellin, a celebrity stylist and artist who is regularly on television and jet setting around the world. He was so humble and genuine in person that I would have never guessed what an industry star he is. I love meeting successful people who don't have a chip on their shoulders.

Ashley disappeared into a conference room for an interview with several senior M·A·C artists. Judging from the laughter and chatter coming out of the room, I guessed that she was doing a great job. Her warmth and authenticity is absolutely endearing, and I figured that she was probably charming their pants off. I sat in the waiting room with the incoming interviewees, trying to not eavesdrop on their buzz word-laden chatter.

I was going to attempt to mimic their discussion here, but even now my brain cannot process exactly what was said. I know that the gorgeous skinny blonde with fringe bangs was discussing one of the new lines (called "All Ages, All Races, All Sexes") but then she started talking about "keys" and managers, and I felt like a civilian hearing military acronyms for the first time. The entire beauty industry is a mystery to me, and I still find myself in awe of anyone who works in it.

As the interview went on, legions of all-black clad artists floated in and out of the office. Their clothes were tailored within a centimeter of their lithe, almost identical bodies, and there was a sense of androgyny between their chiseled, angular features. I still can't really tell you how many men were in each group because they were all so intimidatingly and arrogantly pretty. "Fierce" was the first word that came to mind as I tried not to stare while they glided by holding Starbucks cups and iPhones. I felt embarrassingly old and frumpy in their presence.

Ashley emerged from her interview triumphant. She was happy to say that she felt at ease and honest with the panel. They asked her questions about her goals in life and her philosophy on make up, which she had not prepared for. She thought the interview would center more on her knowledge of products and her sales records, but all of that information was already available in her file. They even knew that she had written an informal product review on a new line of essential oils, which Ashley had only distributed to the people at her counter. Apparently, her supervisor had slipped the regional managers a copy and Ashley got major kudos.

A new facilitator invited us into a large classroom-like office, with fancy multimedia equipment positioned in strategic areas of the room. One long wall contained all of the M·A·C products in display-like configuration, and the adjoining wall was a solid glass window with a view of the San Francisco Bay. Along the opposite wall, with perfect access to the natural daylight, were two make up seats for demonstrations. We entered the room with one other artist and her model, then were immediately thrown for a loop when the artists were told to trade models.

Ashley was prepared for this possibility, so she immediately went to her new model and began asking her questions about her skin type. My new artist disappeared to the product counter without speaking much to me, then returned five minutes later armed with everything she needed. Her demo was rushed, messy, and stiff. I left the room with brush streaks where foundation had not been blended, and I wasn't wearing mascara or anything on my lips. I looked like I had started my make up and stopped halfway. For this reason, I decided to not take pictures of the demo finished product. It was a little pointless.

Ashley, on the other hand, did a rockin' job displaying some of the new mineral products and finishing her model's makeup within the 15 minutes she had. We left the facility just happy that it was over, and while we don't know Ashley's status as a contender for the new position, I was just glad I got the chance to learn more about her job. I have a renewed sense of respect for M·A·C make up artists, even though I still know nothing about their products ;) What can I say, we all have our talents and make up just isn't mine. I'm okay with that, because I have some amazingly talented friends to help me in that avenue of life <3

Taking on Tacky

[Yes, those are $7 Ross-bought pimp cups, in my kitchen.]

I abhor the word "tacky."

It's a word that is all too prevalent in the wedding industry, and when I hear it, I outwardly cringe and inwardly shudder. I fail to understand why women tear each other down based on personal preferences and individual style. The word "tacky" smacks of entitlement and pretension, of outdated decorum and stuffy high brow nonsense rules.

From what I have managed to learn and contextualize through reading wedding blogs and books about "propriety" and "social grace," tacky can mean any of the following: inappropriate, embarrassing, cheap, tasteless, unstylish and gaudy. It is meant as an easy go-to synonym for those who have neither the class nor the vocabulary to find more dignified ways of insulting others.

One of the most important lessons about manners that I've ever learned was from a lovely Mormon friend of mine in 7th grade, who explained that the reason she never cursed was because she was taught to find "smarter and more effective" ways to convey emotion. While I still curse like a sailor, her message has stuck with me for over a decade. Speaking articulately and coherently will always be more effective than rattling off a string of expletives. In the same way, there are far betters ways to insult others than to sound ignorant by calling them "tacky."

I have also begun to savor the speedy unraveling of all things etiquette-obsessed and proper. While I completely respect cultural traditions and recognize the importance of honoring the institution of marriage, I resent the idea that my guests should feel obligated to defer to an outdated, shallow and sometimes meaningless code of conduct that I myself don't agree with.

I promise that I won't care if any of my guests wear white. My bridesmaids will likely have different colored dresses. My ceremony will be non denominational, and knowing my amazing and hilarious officiant, it will also be a hoot. There will be obnoxious rap music at my reception, along with flamboyant club mixes, and I won't give a darn if the DJ plays the Chicken Dance. If I somehow end up in a keg stand in my wedding dress at my fabulously exclusive wedding venue in the Napa Valley, my friends will probably not be surprised.

I am certain that some facet of my wedding will be cause for criticism from someone somewhere, thanks to the wide-reaching audience of the Internet. I have purposely avoided wedding forums like The Knot for this very reason, because I refuse to let strangers tear me down. I'm willing to bet that some aspect of my planning has already offended someone for whatever ludicrous reason, and I'm sorry, but I truly do not care.

I have been guilty of making careless comments about weddings before, but I acknowledge now that I was being callous. If you think that spending tens of thousands on busted old furniture for your vintage shabby chic wedding is a worthy cause, more power to you. Run with it, make it yours. If you want to buy your wedding out of a cookie cutter box complete with trendy damask invitations and a photo booth at your reception, have an absolute blast and invite me, because that sounds like fun.

The point is, just because another person's wedding style isn't my own doesn't make it "tacky." It makes it unique. Brides of the world, embrace the tacky, and lay your etiquette burden down. I am not the first to lead the anti-tacky revolution, but I promise to continue being one of its biggest proponents.

A very Jersey Shore holiday card

Every year, it happens.

As Christmas approaches, I swear I'm going to spend time making handmade, handwritten, heartfelt holiday cards for my friends. I have a craft box full of lovely paper, cardstock, stamps and craft punches, which are only used for the handful of times that I actually complete said cards. The process can often take 15-20 minutes per card, and I start losing steam by the fifth little masterpiece.

This year was no different. I started off by selecting a few photos, experimenting with different layouts, and assembling a few mock ups. As each one came together, I was less and less satisfied with the final product. Eventually, I threw my hands in the air and finally ordered Walgreens photo cards at the eleventh hour. This is what I received:



Your eyes are not fooling you, that top photo is not of the perpetually intoxicated and slurring Snooki from the Jersey Shore show on MTV. The top photo is from the day that Brian and I got engaged, and I promise that I had neither a spray tan or a sun burn. The coloration came out all wrong. Notice that the bottom photo is yellow tinted, while the top photo is a garish red/orange. Both photos looked fine in the online version of my photo card, which I will post in a few days after everyone has received their copy. I should have just stuck with my original idea - Bruno on the front, stamp on the back.



Ah well, lesson learned. It is better to have ink stained, paper cut hands than to send out 40 copies of a hideous holiday card ;)

Dirty jobs, urban winery style

Yesterday, Brian called me from work to ask if I would be free Saturday morning. Fall quarter just ended so I told him I would have the day off. He asked me out on a secret/surprise morning date and I couldn't resist another trademark Brian surprise. My only concern was that he asked me to wear clothes I wouldn't mind getting dirty. This slightly worried me.

I usually don't mind dirt at all - I love yard work and sports and outdoor activities. My only concern was that we have entered our rainy season here in NorCal. I wasn't looking forward to being freezing cold and muddy. With my temperature-sensitive anemic body, I'm more prone to getting sick when I've been exposed to cold for too long.

This morning he woke me up at 8 a.m. and his tone had changed - instead, he asked me to wear clothes I wouldn't mind getting "stained." He also told me that he was putting me to work, and I pouted. I guessed that we would probably be painting someone's house as a favor or something of that nature, which would be fine if it were not for the rain.

We drove to his work at Coast Guard Island in Alameda and I got confused all over again. Was he going to ask me to paint a Coat Guard boat with him? Instead of taking a right onto the base, he took a left and we entered an unfamiliar street. It wasn't until I saw a sign for Irish Monkey Cellars that I realized what was going on.

"If you don't mind sweetheart, we're going to bottle wine," he said grinning.



Irish Monkey Cellars is a small urban winery in the East Bay of Northern California, where most of the staff is volunteer and the motto "Will Work For Wine" is taken literally. Brian is friends with the cellar master at IMC, who was a Coast Guard Academy graduate with his father.



I was so excited! I've never done anything involving the production of wine and the process is still a bit of a mystery to me aside from the tours I've taken at large production wineries like Mondavi and Sterling in Napa. I've seen the automation process from vine to fermentation, but never done by hand.



Brian spent the day corking bottles by hand with some sort of lever device that got him sweaty and covered his shoes in wine. I spent the day leisurely injecting empty bottles with a gas that pushed all of the oxygen out of the bottles before they were filled with wine. I had to lift cases of empty bottles every few minutes, but otherwise I didn't break a sweat. I really enjoyed being part of a production line of work, and all of the other workers were incredibly sweet.



After bottling several pallets of tempranillo and sangiovese, then cleaning down all of the bottling machinery with sulfite and water, we kicked back and enjoyed the extra wine while snacking on an extensive breakfast spread of smoked salmon, brie, boursin, fruit and amazing bread. I had an excellent time and can't wait until we go back for the next bottling day!

New kitchen toy

Yesterday I decided to buy a Crockpot. We previously planned to add a slow cooker to our (currently nonexistent) wedding registry, but with the wedding nine months away it seemed silly to wait for something we plan to use now.

Truth be told, it isn't the fanciest gadget on the market. With Christmas around the corner and another of Jubilee's vet bills due next week, I don't have the money to spend for the level of quality we would have registered for. I spent $38 on the Crockpot 5.5 quart Programmable Slow Cooker, and for that cost I'm really impressed with its list of features.



Today I made a beef stew, loosely based on a recipe from the Crockpot manual. I have never been the type of cook to follow recipes exactly because I like customizing and experimenting according to my personal tastes. Brian, on the other hand, has an anxiety attack when I don't level the pancake mix before putting it in a bowl ;) I love that he is so exact and by the book, but I have a lot more fun cooking when I'm allowed to improvise small things.



For example, in today's stew I added jalapenos and used red onion instead of white. Brian likes jalapeno in everything, so while the flavor doesn't exactly match the profile of the other ingredients, I added it just so he could have his spice fix.



In seven more hours I'll be able to report back with the results of the first day. Brian will be coming home from his second straight day of duty so I'm sure he'll be hungry, but I'm hoping I didn't mess this up. Seriously, if I mess up soup then I'm a failure of a cook. haha

Doggie cease fire

First off, thank you to all of you online and real friends who shared advice and empathy with me. It's true that my feelings for Jubilee were bottled up for a long time, aside from infrequent vents to friends. It wasn't something I felt the need to bring up publicly, but I'm glad I did.

Getting all of that bitterness out of my system really helped me reaffirm my commitment to being a good dog owner. While I may consider (ahem, fantasize about) sending Jubilee to a rescue shelter, I know that I wouldn't do it unless I was certain she'd have a better life outside of our home. She is a part of my family and as far as I can tell, she is generally happy here. She is the only part of my life that I feel I am compromising or "settling" for, and I'm okay with that because I accepted that possibility when I brought her home almost 3 years ago.

After I wrote that last blog entry I immediately picked Jubilee up and held her for awhile while she wagged her tail and tried to lick my face. I felt like I was calling a truce with her and she seemed to accept that agreement. As the next few days passed, I made an effort to pay attention to her and began to realize traits that I'd either tuned out or ignored before.

I was surprised to realize that she followed me from room to room in the house, hovering for a few minutes before getting bored and retreating to the living room. She wanted attention, and I finally started to notice. She has always been a lap dog, but it never occurred to me that sometimes she just wanted me to pet her and do nothing else. She especially seems to hate when Brian and I do homework on our computers, because she shoves her snout into our hands to prevent us from typing. Her way of communicating is demanding, but affectionate.

I have selected the trainer I'd like to work with next, hopefully during the new year when our finances have recovered from Jubilee's vet bills and the holiday season. In the meantime, if anyone wants to nominate us for a dog behavior show I'd be more than okay with that :P I am willing to accept any help we can get with Jubilee, so if you're local to the San Francisco Bay Area and have experience with a good trainer, feel free to let me know.

Again, thank you everyone for your support and advice.

All burden, no blessing.

The dogs and I were standing at an intersection today when a man on a bicycle rode by. Predictably, Jubilee lunged at him with teeth bared and body in attack mode, barking the whole time. The man swerved out of the way in fear and into the street. There were no cars going by at that moment, but she could have easily caused him to get hit by a car.

The leash was already taut when I pulled back as Jubilee lunged for a second attack. As she turned mid-air, her whole body switched focus and she attacked me, sinking her teeth into my forearm as I tried to pull her away from the street. I tried to shake her off, but she clamped on and bit harder. While most people would have yelled at her or hit her, I just yanked her back into heel position and continued walking. Having tried every method of punishment available, I know that absolutely nothing works on her.

Before I go on, I must preface this entire entry by asking that you NOT refer to Cesar Millan in the comment section of this blog. The last time a person tried to use his methods on Jubilee, she bit the trainer, somehow pulled our of her collar, and ran into a busy street in the middle of Golden Gate Park. I am sick and tired of people thinking that his methods will work on every dog, because they don't. I have tried. I have tried so many behavioral programs that I can't bear to hear more non-professional advice. All I ask is for a nonjudgmental place to air my grievances...and that's what this blog is for.

I have always been the type of animal lover that normal people loathe. I judge people who give up on dogs because they're "difficult," and I strongly believe that pets are family members. I brought home every stray animal I found as a kid, and would never date a man who didn't want a dog. The best animal I've ever owned was my Rottweiler named Precious, who was a gift to me from my dad before he passed away. I am a huge advocate of pet adoption and especially adopting bully breeds.

We adopted Jubilee from the Oakland SPCA in July of 2007. We spent an hour at the shelter getting to know her and asking questions of the staff. She had been left in an overnight box for unwanted pets at the Hayward SPCA, and had no identifying tags or collar. She had no health issues, was house broken, and showed no behavioral issues - according to the staff. While Brian and I ran around the play area with her, she raced in circles and chased after balls. Her name seemed appropriate - Jubilee the jubilant. We adopted her that day.

As we walked her to the truck, she bounced around happily and wagged her tail. I opened the door and she tried to jump in but was too little. I went to pick her up, and she bit me immediately. Tragic foreshadowing at its finest. Brian wanted to go in and ask the staff if she had bitten before, but I assured him that she was probably just nervous and wasn't used to being handled. Whether the staff was lying about her behavioral issues or not, we inherited a dog with a multitude of problems.

She attacks children, bicycles, roller skates, men, women, pretty much anything that shows up in her line of sight. My hands and arms are covered in angry deep scars from all the times she has attacked me or snapped at me. Every time we leave the house, she whips herself into a frenzy so severe that she often cuts her nose open from biting at her crate bars. If we leave her out of the crate, she immediately jumps on the couches and pees all over them out of spite. She has ruined every single piece of upholstered furniture we own.

Jubilee has been through both behavioral and obedience training. She is frighteningly intelligent and is capable of all the usual tricks and commands, plus some. Since she's a Sheltie, we expected that she would be smart and she absolutely is. She gets plenty exercise (I walk her on a two-mile loop every day, rain or shine) and eats only pure organic food. We have given her the perfect environment to flourish in, and she has given us nothing but pain and anger.

For the past 2.5 years, I have had the ability to do everything the "right" way for her. I telecommuted from home so she never spent more than a handful of hours in her crate when I had to go into the newsroom for work. We had a predictable routine while I worked, so she was always on a schedule and never had any distressing breaks in routine. When I was laid off in February 2009, I became a full time pet parent and she was given even more attention and time. When Brian and I go out on date nights, we always make sure to never be gone more than 8 hours because we feel incredibly guilty about leaving her in her crate any longer.

What this translates to is a LOT of resentment on my part. No matter how much effort I give her, the only thing I get in return is negativity. She refuses to play with us, sits by herself in the living room all day, and rarely gives any type of affection. Even though she's housebroken, she will purposely pee inside the house when she's upset. I have spent the past two years of my life hating this dog with every fiber of my being.

The ONLY reason she is still in our home is because of the backlash we know we'd receive from giving her back to the shelter. There is a huge social stigma attached to "giving up" on a dog, and we are very aware of our ethical responsibilities to this pet. We have suffered through her attacks and spent over $4,000 on vet bills for her health issues, all because we are afraid of people judging us for giving up on her. The sad part is that I would feel absolutely no internal remorse if we sent her back to the shelter.

I hate that she has killed my joy for pet ownership. I recently told my best friend that literally 80% of my daily stress level comes from Jubilee, and that was true even when I was balancing a full-time job with a full graduate level course load. This dog is pure evil and I want nothing to do with her anymore, but I am obligated to keep her until she passes away. We haven't even gone into the planning we'll have to do when we have kids in a couple years. Jubilee will likely have to live in a separate part of the house from them because she'll attack them at first sight.

We have tried everything within our financial means to fix her behavior problems. We have consulted specialists, taken her through several obedience and training classes, and even went as far as getting a bark collar - which did nothing. No jolt of pain is strong enough to derail her rage when she's in attack mode. We have done research on programs where owners send their dogs off to special behavioral programs for a few weeks, but all of them are completely out of the question for our already slim budget. Until I find well-paying job to help contribute to our finances, we'll have to keep suffering through her psychotic episodes.

At least I've got Bruno, my little piece of sunshine.