Taking a Tranquil-izer

I just finished my third week of yoga and I really love it. It has been a pretty life changing experience for me so far. One of the life lessons I never learned was how to relax, so the prospect of getting to the point of being “at one” with myself and the universe seemed nearly impossible for this crazy girl.

I owe a lot of my positive feelings about yoga to my yogi, my teacher. Before I met her, my only knowledge of a yogi was the one who was a bear and had a sidekick named Boo Boo. She is an older woman who speaks in poetry and never hesitates or falters. Her words are seamless and flow in continuous perfection every minute of class time.

On my first night, I got there what I thought was right on time. It was 10 minutes before the start of class. I was surprised when I found the room and there were already 15-20 pairs of assorted Birkenstocks, sandals and flip flops all lined up. I knew I was in the right place until I removed my shoes and added them to the rows of discarded footwear. When I looked at their shoes and then looked at mine, I thought for a moment that I might not belong.

“When I looked at their shoes and then looked at mine, I thought for a moment that I might not belong.”

I entered the dark-ish room and everyone was sitting in what I now recognize as the lotus position. The teacher welcomed me and beckoned me to find a place for my mat. Easier said than done, I want to tell you. I have had more luck finding a parking place at Macy’s on Christmas Eve day than finding a space in the makeshift yoga studio. It seems that the room is normally used as the playroom for child care. It’s carpeted, but all those places were taken. All that was left for me was a space in the linoleum lined “kitchenette” alcove behind the teacher. At least I was alone and wouldn’t be bumping arms and legs with anyone. Even the cushy new yoga mat I had just purchased at Marshall’s couldn’t protect my old body from the hard floor. As she began her melodious instructions, I had a hard time paying attention at first because the man in front of me was taking up two spaces on the carpeted area and it pissed me off. I quickly got a hold of myself and paid attention, although I was finding great pleasure in plotting the carpet hog's death.

The hard floor made everything hurt but I listened attentively to her direction. “Cultivate stillness in your life”, she purred. “With yoga you have the power to break through that which holds you back”. I liked the sound of that and did everything I could to emulate what everyone else was doing. She had us lie down and asked us to “flower” our toes. It didn’t take me long to realize that there was a yoga-speak that went along with the yoga routines. I had to listen really closely because the sweet yogi lady spoke very softly and the boom box with the accompanying yoga music was right over my head on the kitchen counter. She then asked us to raise our knees towards heaven with feet planted on the floor. “Establish a friendship with the floor”, she prompted. She then took us from the tops of our heads, down the back, hips and to the feet with feeling our relationship with the floor. I kept thinking that the floor and I could have gotten off to a better start if I were on carpet, but I did as she asked for the next hour. I muddled my way through the first class and she had only praise for all of us and thanked us all profusely for allowing her to teach us. Thank goodness she couldn’t see my sprattle-legged attempts to follow along. I may not have made friends with the floor, but the kitchenette cupboards and fridge and I are very well acquainted.

The next week was so much better. I got there 20 minutes early and got the best mat space in the room. I close enough to the teacher to see and hear her. Even though this was described as a class appropriate for beginners, most of the participants were obviously yoga veterans. When it came time to do the pigeon pose, my teacher promised it would be a gift to the hips. My hips probably won’t write her a thank you note, but I did feel things I have never felt before and I liked it. By the middle of the second night, I had thrown my heart and soul into trying to do yoga. I was feeling pretty good about it when all of a sudden the teacher rose to her feet and started to roam around the class room watching us. Who do you think she sought out first? Me. Oh crap, I thought. She is coming to personally escort me to Special Ed Yoga. But no, she just wanted to “align” my movements. As she looked directly, but very nurturingly at me, she told the class to draw attention to the core of our bodies, the epicenter of all movement. She smiled at me like she understood that my core had quite a little tummy that went with it and not to worry.

I will tell you that when you get into to doing yoga you cannot be shy. You spend a great deal of time with your ass in the air and your legs fully apart like a human wishbone. None of my gynecological appointments ever made me feel as exposed or vulnerable. My biggest revelation is that even though I am a damn good dancer, I cannot coordinate yoga moves with breathing in and out. If we are supposed to be lowering our arms and legs on the exhale, you can be sure that I am on the inhale. But I am getting better and I must be really honest. Even though I am awkward and stupid when it comes to yoga, I feel fantastic afterwards.

Right now my favorite pose is Savasana, or the corpse pose. You lie down at the end of the session, close your eyes, hands at the side with palms up. You let your bones sink into the earth, allow your whole body to melt like ice on a sunny day and think to yourself “welcome into the world of bliss”. You get to stay like this and enjoy the peace until she gently rings little brass bells. It’s fantastic.

We all rise up into lotus, put our hands together prayer style pointed towards the sky and say Namaste. When I went home, I looked up the word and it translates as follows: Nama means bow; as means I; and te means you. I bow to you.

Your Miss Fifi is becoming “at one” with the world and it feels so good. Talk to you next week. Namaste, my dear readers, Namaste.

The Pretty Committee

I am so in love with HGTV and the whole DIY thing. I watch endless hours of TV that focus on making over ugly '70s houses and other neglected properties. The experts turn these places into chic, sophisticated homes that match the owner’s persona perfectly. The transformations are amazing.

It occurred to me the other day, while we were in the midst of our marathon photo shoot, that the same treatment should be given to people, especially us ladies. We sometimes get so busy with day to day life that we forget to spruce up or modernize our look. Just like well-built homes, we girls have “good bones” and all we need is an update. Let me get back to what happened with the models. We went on an extensive model search for “fluffier” girls who hopefully had some modeling experience. The plus-sized models world is very narrow and the same girls are used all the time. We wanted our own “dream team” of beauty-FULL models to represent LoveFifi.

The gorgeous six ladies who won out over the competition are extraordinary and have such amazing self-esteem. Even though most of them were first timers in front the camera, their confidence and femininity ignited their shots in a way that is indescribable. Imagine watching the most exquisite butterfly you have ever seen and there are fireworks exploding behind it in the sky. That’s what it felt like watching these lovelies express their inner and outer beauty in front of the camera.

You know I am very random, so please stick with me on this one. I am getting to the point. Before a model goes on set, she spends about 2 hours in hair and makeup. This was very exciting for my new models. For my straight size models, this is part of their professional day-to-day experience and they are privy to every beauty trick in the book. It’s just part of their lives. For my curvy girls, who are all very pretty, sitting in the makeup chair was like Disneyland. My beauty team, who I call The Pretty Committee, are the best in the business. Each and every one of my plus-sized girls was overwhelmed with the results which only added to their swagger when they stepped in front of the camera. Even though these girls were brimming with faith in themselves as women and were very comfortable with their bodies, they had never been polished up to their potential brilliance.

Ok, the point is coming... We all get so stuck in our routines that we don’t make time to upgrade our look. We leaf through magazines with all the new trends in hair and makeup in front of our faces and then put on our sweats, throw our hair in a ponytail, pop on our sunglasses and that’s as good as it gets. I am guilty it, too.

Only movie stars and celebrities have hair and makeup experts on staff. We regular girls have to be a little more resourceful. I am going to initiate a new movement and I hope all my ladies out there will be a part of it. It’s called DIYB... Do It Yourself, Baby.

First, take out older photos of yourself from 2,5,10 years ago. Do you still have the same hairdo? I did. We all buy makeup and hair products, how much of it do we only use once and eventually throw away?

Here’s where the DIYB starts. You can have your own Pretty Committee for very little money, or at least, money you would have spent anyway. Start getting the most out of it. The next time you go for a trim, ask the hairdresser if he/she were given the green light to do anything they wanted with your hair, what would they suggest? Assuming that you go to a contemporary salon and not one of those places that does that does shampoo-and-sets for blue-haired old ladies, you will probably get an answer worth listening to. Stylists have to keep up with the times and their suggestions are usually good. They also see you your beauty potential in a much different light than you do. Let them impart their expertise to you. They are the expert. Consider making a small change. Layers or bangs or some highlights are easy and can make an astonishing difference. If you never go to the hairdresser, spend a little money to go to a decent one every once in a while. And ask questions.

Is there anything more enticing than the makeup aisles Wal-Mart or Target? I am a big fan of drug store beauty products, but there is no one in those places who has a clue as to what would look good on you. Every department store in America has extensive beauty counters with smock-wearing makeup girls who are often employed not by the store, but by the makeup brand. They are trained to make women look better so that you will buy the products. They are at the ready to plunk you down on a stool and make you over. Let them! Ask for a hand mirror so you can look between every step. It doesn’t really matter which brand you choose. Look for the girl who you think looks the best and whose makeup is tastefully applied. Be careful not to get lassoed in by anyone who looks like a geisha, a call girl or a member of Kiss. Listen to every word. Watch every step. You'll have to buy something and my advice is to get a foundation (they are trained to match skin tones and the quality is very good) and/or a makeup primer (trust me, primer is too high tech for drug stores). Everything else can come from Walgreen's once you know what you need. Have her stroke a little blush on a tissue so you can match it later. If you don’t like the total result, come back another day and go to another brand. It’s basically a free service and besides, it’s fun.

And the last members of your own personal Pretty Committee are the people in your life. Please LISTEN to what they say when you have put all your new knowledge to work. It will happen and it feels so good.

My sweet mother never went out of the house without her “face” on. Her hair was always coiffed. She used to say that if you look good, you feel good. It’s true. How about a little DIYB? Are you in?

Just to get you going, I have printed photos of some of my new models when I met them, and after the experts got their hands on them. My butterflies...

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I grew up in a very loving family that believed in hugs and kisses. My mother's arms around me, or my dad's pats on the head or playful tickles always told me I was loved. My family was very demonstrative and I am very grateful that I grew up in that kind of environment.

I recently went to say goodbye to a dear friend and realized halfway through our hug that this was not something she did very often. It was not an uncomfortable experience, but it made me think long and hard about how lucky I am and how much she had probably missed in life. I am a hugger and proud of it.

I believe in the power of touch so devoutly. It transmits wordless messages that say so much. For example, people have been shaking hands to introduce themselves for eons. Have you ever heard someone comment about a handshake they just experienced? I have. The comments can range from "firm and genuine" to "wimpy and limp". A message from human to human was sent in a matter of seconds that conveyed a message that might ultimately affect a relationship. For me personally, when a man shakes my hand and then places his left hand over mine so that my hand is sheltered by both of his hands, it tells me that he probably protects the women in his life. I am always impressed and I have to be careful not to swoon. This, of course, is not the litmus test for judging character in a man as I am sure there is probably an ax murderer or two who shake women's hands in this manner, but I do consider this an indication of a gentleman most of the time.

There are so many times that touch has amazing meaning. When I was a kid, my mom would stroke my forehead to soothe me when I was sick in bed with tonsillitis. To this day, you could not convince me that it was not her tender touch that cured me instead of the penicillin.

I am pretty sure that when some of you realized that this article was about touching, that your first thoughts were not about how validated or reassured you feel when your boss pats you on the shoulder for a "job well done", but to the romantic or maybe erotic side of touch. I don't ever want to disappoint, so let's go there. The best first kiss I ever received was when the man looked into my eyes and drew me towards him by very gently caressing the sides of my face until my lips met his. It was gorgeous and is permanently tattooed in my memories. To my gentleman readers out there... you are welcome to use it, but you need to write me a thank you note.

The most electrifyingly sexy thing I ever saw in a movie was in The Age of Innocence. Ladies, if you haven't seen this exquisite period piece, please do. Guys, you should try to watch it with her because it is beautiful and your woman will be very impressed at your sensitivity and artful soul. Granted, it doesn't have any guns, breasts, monsters or car chases, but your lady will be in a very romantic and loving mood when all is said and done. Okay, back to the sexiest scene on film. Daniel-Day Lewis is engaged to Winona Ryder, but he and her married cousin, played by Michelle Pfieffer, have a secret forbidden "thing" for each other. In my favorite scene, All three are at a gathering and there is a receiving line or something where Daniel is sandwiched between his fiancé and his lover in the line. Now remember, this takes place in the late 19th century, so in order to be received, ladies and gentlemen had to remove their gloves to present themselves. As Daniel and Michelle waited their turns, they were able to touch each other's bare hand for a brief, but provocatively explosive second made even more thrilling because of the danger of the fiancé standing so close. Believe me when I tell you that this was more exciting and sexy to me than any totally nude romp could ever be. I'm telling you, touch is everything.

Do you know who REALLY understands the magic of touch? Dogs and cats. Petting their heads, scratching behind their ears and rubbing them from stem to stern are all pure heaven to them. The moment I wake up, my little Beau rolls over on his back for his morning belly rub. This is even BEFORE coffee, so you know how much I love this little guy.

So the next time a friend surprises you with an instantaneous shoulder rub, be grateful for the gift of human touch. If you are not a hugger, get over it. You are missing one of the best things life has to offer.

I think you know me well enough by now to know that I am a big believer in the theory that the most wonderful things in life cannot be bought. However, so there is no confusion, I still believe that people that say that money can't buy happiness don't know where to shop. I'm just saying...