"Face It"

There's an article in The New York Times today about a new book called "Face It" - a guide for women struggling with aging in a society obsessed with staying young.

After I read it, I realized perhaps I am a bit premature in my worrying about growing and looking older...most of the women mentioned in this article, including the authors, are in their 50s. My one gray hair, handful of wrinkles, and slightly sagging boobs seemed minor in comparison.

But it did raise a larger concern for me about the importance of appearance in society and how, despite how far women have come, looks are still a huge part of our "currency and power." That really is depressing and frustrating.

And I began to wonder why, despite knowing it shouldn't matter to me, I feel such tremendous pressure to stay young and look as close to perfect as I can?

I know I have about a million other things I should be worrying about...yet, for now, this is what I'm focusing on.

It will change, I'm sure. But, 40 is coming in a little over 5 months...and, I guess, I'm just going to have to face it.

First Gray Hair

Let it be noted that on this day, March 17, 2010, a gray hair was found on the right side of my head. It was curly and coarse and rather ugly. I tried pulling it out, but that stubborn eye-sore refused to budge. I can almost hear it laughing at me: "ha! you think you can run away from this turning 40 thing, but you can't."

Well, fine. You win this time, gray hair. But I'm not giving up yet.

Restaurant Review: My lunch at The Breslin Bar and Dining Room

Everyone knows I am a self-professed “foodie” who loves checking out the newest restaurants, out of the way coffee bars, and best gourmet markets. During my 20’s and early 30’s, I was practically a walking Zagat guide): always up to date on which chef was cooking where and the go to source for my friends and family for the perfect suggestion of where to dine.

And then it happened. I had two kids and all that changed. Well, sort of.

Part of my job is taking editors out to eat at some of the most fabulous places in town. But, these days I’m also on the lookout for great, kid-friendly spots to introduce (hopefully convert) my kids to the joys of fine dining. When the two converge, it’s a huge personal victory. But, usually they don’t. Which brings me to my recent editor lunch at The Breslin Bar and Dining Room.

The Breslin Bar and Dining Room, which opened in mid-October, is located in the Ace Hotel at 20 West 29^th Street. They don’t take reservations, which already was a red flag for me. With or without kids, I hate to wait for a table. To avoid the lunchtime crowds, we arrived at 12:15pm. Although the place was at least half empty, they wouldn’t let us sit down. They said it would be a few minutes and did we want to wait in the bar area? Well, it would have been fine to wait there, except there was not just one but two photo shoots going on, so we ended up standing in the corner until our table was ready. Now, if I had been there with my kids, we’d already be out the door and looking for the nearest Cosi or pizza place.

We finally sat down about seven minutes later, and overall, it was worth the wait. The room is very welcoming, with an old-fashioned, speak-easy vibe that I really liked. The menu is short, but well edited, though I wasn’t sure why three items out of twenty-three had Anchovy dressing. (Second red flag – no kid under the age of 8 likes anything with anchovies). I was also bummed because the one dish I was really looking forward to trying, Pork Scratchings, wasn’t available that day. My oven baked three-cheese sandwich with house-smoked ham and pickles was delicious, though not “life-altering” as my dining companion had promised. She had the Char grilled beef tongue sandwich with lentil soup. She raved about the beef, but I declined a bite, and opted to try her soup, which was fantastic. We also shared (though I ate most of it) the roasted pumpkin with pomegranates. The portions are extremely generous, so neither of us had room for dessert.

Overall, it was a fun (in a grown up kind of way) place to go for a hearty winter lunch. But, would I go back with my kids? Probably not.

Countdown to 40: First, the Face

My Countdown to 40 Project officially started a few weeks ago when I treated myself to a facial with my favorite L.E. (licensed esthetician), Jordana. She works in the office of a fancy Park Avenue plastic surgeon, Dr. Adam R. Kolker, but she's really down-to-earth, sweet and amazing at her job!

I knew she would tell me the truth, so before our session got started I asked what she thought about the condition of my skin.

"Your face looks good...not too much sun damage and it looks like you're taking good care of it." For a very brief moment, I felt relieved. Maybe all of this aging stuff was in my head.

"But, you could try a little Botox - just between your eyes and in your crow's feet. It will just make you look more...rested." Um, yeah, that might work. So, would sleeping more than five hours a night! But, anyhoo...

"And, maybe we could put a little Juvederm or Restylane in your laugh lines to just smooth them out a bit." So it turns out my skin is punishing me for laughing too much these past 39 years? Jeez.

Needless to say, I was bummed. But, also determined to do whatever I need to do to avoid these procedures for as long as I could.

Retinols seemed like a good first step, and Jordana provided me with a very thorough list of well-regarded OTC ones to try:

• Neutrogena healthy skin night cream
• Alpha hydrox retinol night resQ
• Roc multicorrection night treatment
• Philosophyeye believe

I decided to give Roc multicorrection night treatment a whirl. I will let you know how that goes!

Countdown to 40

In less than 10 days, I will be six months away from turning 40 years old. For those who say 40 is the new 30, I say go fuck yourself.

I never imagined I would actually, someday, be 40. Not in a morbid sense -- I just never pictured myself old enough to be that old. I think I'm still in a state of denial, which is why I decided to start blogging about my last six months of thirty-hood.

In terms of where my life is today at age 39 and almost a half, I have to admit, I feel like I'm more or less where I should be: I am married with two children and a vice president at a PR agency in NYC. So, this isn't about feeling like I haven't accomplished enough...though, of course there is a ton I want still want to do with my life...

No, it's really much simpler than that. And a lot more superficial. I've begun to realize that I'm now starting to look almost 40.

I'm not sure when it happened. Up until recently I would get "oh, I thought you were around 32" and my all-time low happened this summer when my dad's business associate thought I was "29". 29!!

But then, about 8 months ago, I had my second baby, and well, sleep has been almost non-existent, and life seems to have gotten infinitely more stressful on every level, and it's all starting to show....on my face.

Wrinkles:

Laugh lines, crows feet, fine lines: I've got them all. But the funny thing is I didn't even notice them until I recently had dinner with a very dear friend who is also turning 40 this year. She is slightly (very) obsessed with looking old and her skin care regime and was lamenting over the wrinkles she had...I honestly hadn't noticed hers. But, when I got home, I looked in the mirror and saw mine. All of mine. Needless to say, I wasn't very happy. And thus, and my obsession began.

RIP Natasha Richardson

I can't stop thinking about Natasha Richardson. Actually, I can't stop thinking about how she died. Young(ish) people die all the time. Why is this affecting me so much? I've been trying to wrap my head around it....and the only logical thing I can come up with is that:

a) I'm a pregnant hormonal emotional headcase or b) her death is a blatant reminder of the preciousness and fragility of life

Of course, actually, both of these are true. Yet, there's still something so raw and sad and confusing about it. Even the media feels the need to keep updating us on the details and providing us with some type of explanation or "excuse." Because, it just doesn't seem possible - that someone could die from falling on the "Bunny Slopes." The whole thing just makes me want to curl up in my bed with Lucy on one side and Oliver on the other and never let either of them out of my sight. EVER.

I hate to make this horrible tragedy about ME...but, it is my blog, after all.

I know the lesson I really should be taking away is to live life to the fullest every second, 'cause you just never know...

But, right now, I'm just so sad and scared...

FB Faux Pas?

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I LOVE Facebook! I am not ashamed to admit that it has become my favorite leisure activity and that I think I get an actual high when I reconnect with certain people from my past. It's like the ultimate "life" reunion without having to endure that awkward silence...you know, the moment when you've reached that part of the "great to see you" conversation where both parties are ready to move on...

That said, in my blissful first few months of "Facebook"ing, I definitely accepted friend requests from people who were not really my friend at all. Or, more specifically, people I really didn't want to be friends with or maintain a friendship with. Coincidentally, most of these people were also abusers of the FB status update. As in, they updated it ALL THE TIME. With REALLY annoying updates. So, one day, in an attempt to cleanse myself of unnecessary stress and annoyances in my life, oh, and probably also aided by some raging pregnancy hormones, I "deleted" these people from my friend list.

It was so easy. So painless. I didn't look back and I've definitely not regretted it.
Until now. I just received an email from one of the people I eliminated, asking why were weren't "friends" anymore.

What do you say to that? I've thought of a few responses, but none of them are very eloquent or very nice. It's not that I wanted to hurt anyone's feelings; most of the people I got rid of probably have NO idea that they're "off my list." But, she was someone who, in the back of my mind, I kinda sorta thought might have cared or known what I did. Oy. Now I'm screwed.

Well, I guess I'm going to have to deal with what I've done and know that at the end of the day, I can be friends with anyone I want. Or not be friends with anyone I don't. Or...well...maybe I should just refriend her.