Why You Won’t See My Naked Face on Facebook

I enjoy facebook.

I enjoy catching up with people whom I would have liked to have stayed in contact with, but before facebook, didn’t have the means to do so.

I like being able to see and share photos, learn what’s going with my social and familial circle and keep abreast of news, sometimes faster than traditional media outlets.

I don’t enjoy the games on facebook.

I’m not talking about Farmville,  Candy Crush and those time wasters (actually not a fan of them either), I’m talking about a friend posting a total random status “Used by boobs to get out of a speeding ticket!” “I’m pregnant!” and when you Like or comment on this outrageous status, you get a message from the “friend” advising that because you placed your trust in them, and the authenticity of their information, YOU now HAVE to post a similarly outrageous comment and get YOUR friends to fall for it.

<PAUSE> Word up homey. I don’t tend to do well with the whole “YOU HAVE TO” type of motivation. In fact, it tends to evolk a “HELL NO” type of response. Anyone who knows me, who wants something out of me, has realized this. <PLAY>

But what has really annoyed me to no end is the plethora of “naked” face photos that flooding my newsfeed. Every day for the past three weeks, at least one of my friends has posted a “naked” face photo.

The point is this: you are supposed to take a photo of your face without any makeup in order to share your “natural” beauty and be proud of the “real you”. Next, you add the prerequesite motivational status text where you “nominate” other female friends, family etc. GO GIRL POWER!!! Orignally, the idea was that if you were doing this, you were also making a donation to the Cancer society (how that links together, I’m not entirely sure, unless you want to start the wildfire debate of comestics and potential links to Cancer?).

By now you must be saying, “Hey Sarah, what’s with all the “quotation marks”?

And I would be saying because in many many of these cases, there isn’t anything “natural” about these pix. I would also suggest that not only has this exercise not met its objective, it has actually recessed it. That’s because one of two things is happening:

1. Many women are NOT naked in that they are using subtle amounts of make up and/or filters. How do I know? Because I’ve seen a number of them in the flesh to know the photo on my computer screen is not legit. Why are they doing this? Because they don’t really feel comfortable showing their raw, war-paint free faces. So we really aren’t feeling that empowered here, are we?

2. People are being met with a landslide of effusive comments, usually from other nominees, who will expect, nay, demand that you also fluff their pillow with complimentary commentary. So, we need other people’s opinions to make us feel good about ourselves? Huh?

I for one, don’t go out without at least tinted moisturizer, mascara eyeliner, some concealer and lipstick. Why? Because my face is no different than any other part of my appearance; I wouldn’t go downtown with ratty track pants on either. If I’m at home, I will usually go “fresh faced” (those damn quotation marks again!) to give my face a rest. Wearing makeup, to me, isn’t about “hiding who I am”. This is because I feel GOOD about myself when I feel I look good. When I’ve taken the time to take care of my skin. When I put my best foot/face forward. Because I don’t tend to wear a lot of makeup, it’s not a huge difference when I don’t have any on.


I remember a friend of my mother’s who wore so much make up that the one rare day that we saw her without her face on, we stared, slack jawed, at the difference.

Let’s get back to our worthy cause; fighting Cancer. You cannot find a movement closer to my heart. However, I don’t for one minute believe my dozens of friends have made contributions to fight Cancer in order to post their “fresh face fotos”. I don’t believe that part of the meme has made it through the social media chain.

If there are actual donations, (I’m calling Urban Myth on this one) I’d LOVE to know how much has been raised. Because if my little circle of friends/acquantainces is any indication, the cure for Cancer should be ready by Friday of next week.

Now, before people give me grief that they have done this excercise in good faith, please know I’m not here to judge. You can continue to post these photos and comment to your heart’s content.

Just don’t expect my face in your newsfeed.


Gone to the Dogs

Anyone who knows me, knows I like to cook and bake. I actually find it quite therapeutic. I’m not intimidated by new dishes, and to me, there are fewer things more rewarding than a table full of people enjoying something you’ve made.

Unless it’s your dogs.


A friend at work, who helped us find Cane, has two shepherds and a lab. Soon after we brought Cane home, she asked if we were raw feeding our dogs. Completely baffled, we asked her to explain, and before long, I was online researching options on how to make home-made food.

Crazy? Not so much.

When you think about it, you try to eat healthy and take care of your body. Why treat your pet any differently? Some people can spend thousands of dollars a year on their pets, and never think about the food that is in their bowls. Sure, you buy the best kibble you can afford, but what’s really in it?

I could totally tell you what’s in dog kibble, in varying degrees, from your basic bulk styrofoam, to your overpriced designer puppy chow. But gross is gross, people.

This got me thinking and before long, I was over the stove, with a copy of my friend’s recipe my hand. The concoction has two components; meat, or in this case ground turkey necks, and veggies, specifically oats, rice and a blend of veggies with some fruit thrown in for good measure.

Not much to look at…yet!

Not much to look at…yet!

Within minutes, the smell from the pot was drawing attention from the two-legged members of the household, who wanted to give it a taste test.

Down the hatch!

Down the hatch!

The verdict from First Born Son and The Big Guy – a little bland, but nothing that a bit of salt wouldn’t cure. Second Born Son took a pass.

Meat and veggies

Meat and veggies

So with two hungry pups, it was time to see if they would enjoy their new menu.

A chef and her first attempts.

A chef and her first attempts.

It was difficult to keep them away from their bowls. Once they got into it….

Not a veggie guy.

Not a veggie guy.

Roman was thrilled with the idea of REAL food. He was really off his kibble, even though we always bought better than average food. He delicately removed the offensive broccoli and strawberries, leading us to believe he was not a fruit and veggie kind of guy.

Cane eats everything that isn't nailed down.

Cane eats everything that isn’t nailed down.

Cane, on the other hand, dug into it like there was no tomorrow. Our poor pup, who is growing so fast, his bones were sticking out, has finally filled out. Roman, who was getting pudgy, in spite of the fact that he didn’t eat two squares a day, is now in the best shape of his adult life.

A couple of weeks later, I made another batch,

2014-03-13 11.50.37

This time, tomatoes!

So in the month we have switched to this new diet, we’ve noticed a number of things;

a) No food sitting in the bowls, ever.

b) Cane has gained weight, mainly because we can feed him more protein, while Roman has lost weight which was necessary, because he’s eating less filler.

c) No more dog breath. Scouts honour. Dog Breath is actually a compliment around here.

d) The cleanest teeth you’ll ever see on a dog. When these guys bare their teeth, they glow in the dark!

e) More organic waste. This will be a real plus for FBS and SBS who are CAOs of Poop Scooping. It reported breaks down faster and there is less of it, since the food is absorbed better.

f) The cost is on par with what we were spending on commercial dog food. Our time is all we invest.

And when we look at all these benefits, it’s well worth it.


Sharp Dressed Man

We all have our talents.

My Dad’s? He can look at you and tell you what size suit you wear. He knows if you should bump up to the “Tall” sizes, and when to advise someone to walk away, before they alter the crap out of their proposed purchase. It came in very handy throughout the 50+ years he work in retail, specifically men’s apparel.

While he always said he was thrilled to have daughters, none of us doubted his enthusiasm when The Big Guy came on the scene. Here was a tall, slim male that looked good in just about everything he wore. Before long, The Big Guy’s wardrobe was being revamped; a shirt given to Dad by a traveling sales rep, advice on what styles he should wear. For Christmas, the year before we were married, The Big Guy hit the motherlode – a garmet bag with a gorgeous pair of khaki pants, double-breasted navy blazer, a shirt and tie.

And it ALL fit.

Dad didn’t have to lay a measuring tape on you, he could eyeball your neck measurement; your arm length, your inseam, and he wasn’t off very often.

Suffice it to say, other than some sweatshirts and shorts, The Big Guy hasn’t had to buy any clothes from the time we were married. Dad’s wardrobe was expansive and impressive, so when he received purchasing credits, or simply found a great deal, he would pull it aside in the right size for his son-in-law. He was always proud of how my hubby looked and my hubby was thrilled to be turned out so well. I think Dad liked to dress his son-in-law in fashions that he himself could not carry off, even if was the latest look. He understood the art of making a person look good.

Four years ago, another suit showed up. Beautiful dark chocolate brown with stunning accessories. The caveat was that this would likely be the last suit; Dad was retiring as a suit jockey.

This is why we were so surprised when my parents combined The Big Guy’s Christmas and birthday presents; a shopping trip for a new suit! The Big Guy was thrilled and intimidated at the same time; he literally could not recall the last time he bought a suit.

I got to tag along, why I still don’t know, but the three of us walked into a major men’s clothing chain to capitalized on a huge sale. We were soon attended by staff member who was a confusing combination of overly helpful and neglectful. He wore a gorgeous salmon colored shirt with a bold tie, however, his pants were very on-trend and so tight he may have required surgery to fit his feet out the bottom. The long, pointed shoes he wore made him a genetic link away from Ronald McDonald. He wasn’t overly tall, and the length of his kicks indicated that he would NEVER blow over in a wind storm. His suit jacket was cropped short so you could see his butt and much more fitted around the waist. Don’t get me wrong, he was VERY stylish. Just not a style that was hitting any one of us.

While he did point out the area where we could find the size of suits we were looking for, he didn’t help us look for the suits. We grabbed an armful, located a dressing room and let The Big Guy go at it. Dad was keeping his distance, not wanting to step on the saleman’s shoes (and with those shoes, it would have been really easy). Ironically, the rep was nowhere to be found.

The Big Guy steps out of the change room with a look of horror on his face; he has on a pair of pants just like the sales reps. They are slim fit and mold to his leg, which causes him to shake out his legs, trying to make fabric drape like the regular-cut pants he’s used to. To no avail. He spins back into the change room. One down.

He steps out again with the second suit on and feels much more at ease, until out of nowhere we hear;


It’s the phantom sales man. He’s popped out of a clothing carousel somewhere and declares the suit as simply unsuitable. The Big Guy’s face tightens and although Dad is trying to get some feedback from him, my poor hubby is having none of it.

This was a decent shot until we heard from the peanut gallery...

This was a decent shot until we heard from the peanut gallery…

A third suit is modeled and again, the young salesman comes out with, “That’s SO wrong for you!” in a voice loud enough that people parking their vehicles are now in the loop.

The Big Guy is done. A quick tete a tete in the change room reveals what I thought to be the case; my husband doesn’t want to work with anyone else but his own stylist, my father. I agree to run interference with the sales rep while my Dad consults with my husband. They find two suits that are not only “RIGHT” but look great on him.

We move on to shirts and ties. The salesman is back in ready to roll. He brings out boring, old-looking styles because he’s picked up on the fact that this “old” customer and his “ancient” father in law are not going want anything remotely stylish.

The three of us proceed to blow his mind with our selections; purple, brown, plaids, patterns. He’s amazed at how well our choices work with both suits. I tell him that our style tends to be funky, (not freaky – okay, I left this part off!)

As we walk out of the store, we agree, that while it’s one thing to be a slave to fashion, but it’s quite another to know your own style.

And we also agree that when it comes to salespeople, my father is the last of generation.