Tough Life Choices

"You can do this." Liz looked down, letting out a long, slow breath. She thought about what this would mean. It went against her very core, but it had to be done, and there wasn't anyone else who could do it for her.

She thought about everything that led her to this point: the migrant workers, suffering under grueling conditions; the hours she spent preparing, the knives she'd sharpened to make it possible.

Nothing prepared her for feeling this way. She'd been a happy kid. She had a pleasant childhood. Her family got along--well, as much as any family can. She went to college, had a good job, had a dog.

But this? This was never part of the plan. She wasn't supposed to have to deal with it. She'd assumed she'd get to keep enjoying her pleasantries.

She sighed.

No, it wasn't supposed to come to this. She eyed the prongs in her hand, poised, ready for the kill. She wasn't going to like this. But it had to get done. Her life was on the line, and she didn't have a choice.

"You can do this," she said, again, as she plunged the sharpened tool and stabbed the first bite of lettuce.

That One Time When It Took Me Two Years To Buy A Car

If you've had the pleasure of encountering me in the last two years, then you've had pleasure of hearing about how I have been in the process of purchasing a new car. The conversation probably went something like this:

You: Hey, Liz! How's it going? What's new?
Me: HI IT'S GREAT I'M BUYING A NEW CAR AND I'VE BEEN SAVING UP FOREVER AND THAT'S WHY I'M ALWAYS BROKE AND NEVER GO OUT BUT I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I WANT AND--
You: (slowly backs away)

 Hey, by the way. Did I mention I was buying a car?

'Cause I am. And I did. And here's how it went:

Me and my first love. March 2005. 

March 2005
Me with my new (used) car! I am 17 years old and just discovered the hidden 6-CD changer under the passenger seat. This car has special features like leather seats, a sunroof, cruise control, and a cassette tape  player. THAT'S RIGHT. #Winning






June 2012
Fast forward several years. I'm flying down I-44 in Oklahoma City at 75 mph (approximately 20 mph faster than any other car on the road, because Oklahoma) when my car breaks down. Forty-eight hours and five hundred dollars later, I think to myself, Maybe it's about time to think about a new car.

June 2013
On a particularly plain afternoon--ALSO THREE DAYS AFTER STARTING A NEW JOB HELLO STRESS--I hear my car once again make a noise. Green Gatorade is gushing out the underbelly of my car into my crisp new garage. Seventy-two hours and nine-hundred dollars later, I think to myself, Maybe it's about time I think about a new car.

August 2013
After marinating on this blog's suggestion of budgeting, I start saving up for a new car. I figure out how much I can afford for a car payment, and decide to start paying myself that much per month so I will have some cash to put down on a car next time mine decides to break. Not that I had any clue what a real car payment looks like. APR? Oh well. Dave Ramsey would be proud.

June 2014
Knowing I am twelve months from saving enough to buy a car and that I will buy a slightly used 2014, I begin my test drives. I narrow down my list of possibilities:

Nissan Pathfinder (too bulky and not that cute).

Toyota Highlander (too Mom-ish. But the new interior shelf and purse-holder? Drool.).

Jeep Grand Cherokee (come to Mama!).

BMW X3 (It's kinda like, "you were almost able to afford a real Beamer. Here's a gold star for your effort. Now get out.").







Let's be honest, the Jeep is the only SUV I was really interested in. I promised myself I wouldn't buy another car until there was one out there as pretty slash prettier than my Infinity, and the Jeep is the only one to measure up.

March 2015
I find approximately forty-two Jeeps I want to buy. I take one home for a one-night stand, but I know it's too much money so I end up giving it back. I drive out of state to view two other vehicles but ultimately wimp out.

April 1, 2015
By God's good graces and some generous donations from various family members and friends, I meet my savings goal and begin the search for a car, of which there are none. Literally. Anywhere in the country. After months of research, decision making, mind changing, and test drives, I now know exactly what I want, and there are exactly zero gently used vehicles in the country that meet my specifications. I can feel the money burning a hole in my pocket and no one will let me spend it.

April 15, 2015
I think I've found it. Against my ego, I search the Carmax website, and there it is. It's in Georgia, but it's the right color (okay, it's my verysecondchoice right color, but I'm too excited to worry about it). It has all the fancy features I want. It has crazy low mileage. It's a little pricey, but I can come to terms with that. It has the bigger, V8 engine, and as much as my tree-hugging self scoffs at the extra gas I'll be guzzling, my ego is revving. I make the call.

April 20, 2015
I have one more day to change my mind. The car will ship out tomorrow, and if I don't find anything better today, my deposit will turn into commitment. I take one last look. Cars.com turns up nothing. Sewell.com turns up nothing. No dealer has emailed me. It's 10:45. One last look at Carmax.

Crap.

I make another call.
I talk to the wrong salesperson.
I'm in trouble with the first over an issue of split commission.
There are more phone calls.
Am I running out of time?
The inquiries come back positive.
No dings.
Panoramic sunroof.
Heated steering wheel (What?! Yes, this is a thing).
No scratches.
Clean history.
It was born in Hawaii. A-LOW-HA!
They might pick up the other car a day early.
Please don't be running out of time.
I get passive aggressive texts.
I'm unsure.
Did it go through?
I leave voice mails.
I call again.

And then.

It's done.

The perfect car has found it's way to me. I made a last minute switch, but I'm so glad I did. For less money, and handful more miles, a smaller engine, and the absolutely first place color choice, I've got the right car.

I'm so grateful for everyone who listened to me as I worked through this process. To my friends who supported my months and months of anti-social behavior so I could save money. To my parents for being excited for each new car I found and went to see. For my grandmother for her generous donations that made it possible for me to afford more than I should. For the endless supply of sources on the internet that piece-by-piece explained the process to me. For the guys at the bank for patiently explaining loans to me. For the salesmen who kept up with me and treated me respectfully. For the salesmen who were real pains in the butts so I'd know that their car wasn't meant for me.

And finally, a big thank you to my first car.

For taking me on countless adventures, detours, and road trips.

For keeping me safe through sun, rain, ice, snow, hail, and tornadoes.

For shuttling my friends and I through our formative years.

For being the only home I never had to pack up and leave.

And for lasting until I was ready to say goodbye.

I sincerely hope you don't end up with ISIS.

This concludes my chapter on "How Liz Bought A Car All By Her Big-Girl Self". Now, would someone help me figure out how to turn this thing on? #RemoteStart

New car. May 2015. 

Fire's Catching: A Look at Mockingjay in the First Person Present

This week at the Unwriter’s Blog, we’re going to discuss a hot topic of writing. But to do so, we need to first take a trip to District 13, where Katniss Everdeen has learned of a rescue mission.

“Finnick and I try to station ourselves in Command, where surely first word of the rescue will come, but we are barred because serious war business is being carried out. We refuse to leave Special Defense and end up waiting in the hummingbird room for news” (174).

This weekend, the long awaited penultimate installment of the Hunger Games films opened: Mockingjay—Part 1! I’ve been looking forward to seeing this movie for as long as everyone else, and it was everything I could have hoped for!

I’ve been a longtime fan of both the books and the movies, and especially so since the books are written in the first person present point of view. This means the story is told from Katniss’s point of view as she’s living through the story. Any action scene or event that we readers get to see, we see through Katniss’s eyes. And this choice—the author, Suzanne Collins’s choice—to tell this story through Katniss’s eyes only, presents quite the conundrum in this month’s blockbuster film.

You see, in one pivotal chapter of the series’ third book (Spoiler alert!), Katniss sits in District 13, awaiting word that a rescue mission to free Peeta and the other victors held captive in the Capitol has returned successfully.

 “Making knots. Making knots. No word. Making knots. Tick-tock. This is a clock. Do not think of Gale. Do not think of Peeta. Making knots. We do not want dinner. Fingers raw and bleeding. Finnick finally gives up and assumes the hunched position he took in the arena when the jabberjays attacked. I perfect my miniature noose. The words of ‘The Hanging Tree’ replay in my head. Gale and Peeta. Peeta and Gale.”

The book, staying true to the first person point of view, keeps us with Katniss as we watch her anxiety build, as she tries to distract herself, waiting for the mission’s return. The movie, however, shows this scene in action since it’s such a wonderful opportunity to create tension for the climax of the movie—not to mention to use a bunch of special effects. So how did they pull it off, knowing that it wasn’t told in the book?

Simple. Katniss watches.

We need to perceive this story through her eyes, so the only way to show the scene in all its Hollywood glory, is to let Katniss watch it unfold as well. It’s how Hollywood adapts point of view to the big screen.

But it begs the question of the importance of point of view. My initial interest in seeing the Hunger Games movies (beyond being a total fangirl), was to see how they were going to present the story through Katniss’s eyes. For example, in the first movie, there’s an excellent scene where Katniss is stung by tracker jackers, a vicious wasp-like creature whose venom create frightening hallucinations in those who are stung. The movie does an excellent job of staying in Katniss’s point of view by warping the cinematography to show what her blurred and delusional vision must look like. It’s a beautiful expression of first person on screen. But movies don’t normally have the limitation of one point of view, so they get to jump around whenever they like. They can show the hero training and then jump over to the villain’s lair to see them plot their attack. By keeping the protagonist in the dark, viewers feel tension and suspense. But when a story is told in first person, we never get the opportunity to see the villain, or any other subplot, play out. To make sure they had their final action scene, Mockingjay’s screenwriter’s had to bring Katniss into the room so we could keep the story in her point of view.

It makes perfect sense for Mockingjay—Part 1 to bring Katniss into the scene to watch the rescue mission. But it wasn’t in the book. And it wasn’t in the book for a reason. What, then, does that tell us about telling a story in first person?

In short, it means that Collins wants us to love Katniss more than any other character. It means that despite the temptation to write the scenes we love to write—action scenes—this is still Katniss’s story, and our job is to watch Katniss live through it. It becomes more important to watch Katniss become anxious and stressed than to break away from her eyes and see the rescue mission. It becomes more important to watch her distract herself. Find out what she’s willing to do on her end to ensure the rescue is a success. It becomes more important to feel Katniss’s emotions with her, than to feel Gale’s conflict, Bogg’s determination, and Peeta’s gratitude. It ensures that we know that Katniss is the center of the story.

Collins is willing to sacrifice the thrill of the rescue to secure Katniss’s place in our minds. She’s willing to give up the chance to show emotions from other characters or a chance to see what the Capitol currently looks like. Because Katniss can’t know. She can’t know what’s happening in the Capitol or what Gale is really thinking.

We want to know. Anyone who swoons over Gale or has fallen in love with Peeta wants to be there, rescuing him. But Collins won’t let us. She’s willing to upset us to keep the integrity of her story alive. She’s willing to let Katniss look whiny, selfish even, to protect her story.

As writers we need to embrace this same commitment to our story. We all have complicated stories to tell. We all know the backstories, the side stories, the subplots. We all have opportunities to show parts of our story that would be really exciting. But the question to ask ourselves is—is it necessary? Is the scene vital to our story? Or is sticking with our character more important? What are we willing to sacrifice to keep our story focused?

The answer to that question must trump any desire you have to show off those scenes that might taste delicious, but add only empty calories to your novel.  

“It must be midnight, it must be tomorrow when Haymitch pushes open the door. ‘They’re back...’” (175).

Boomer Sooner to All!

‘Twas the night before Texas, and all through the state

Not a student was stirring, not any roommate

The buses were parked at Lloyd Noble with care,

Prepared for the team, who would soon be there.

The players were nestled all snug in their seats

While burgers of Bevo were all they could eat

And Bell in his jersey, and Ross with his grip

Had just settled in for long road trip

When out on the field there arose such a clatter,

Stoops sprang from his chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the press box he flew like a kite,

Turned on the big lights to check on the site

The lights on the breast of the new-painted grass

Gave the luster of mid-day to those who would pass

When, what to his wandering eyes would appear,

But a horse-drawn schooner, with two pony dears

With a little old driver, so lively and marry

He knew in a moment it must be Barry

More determined than soldiers, his faithful they came,

He whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Perine! Now Shepard! Now Williams and Hayes

On, Nelson! On, Sanchez! On Striker and Clay!

Down I-35 quickly! Straight into Fair Park!

Now touchdown! And field goal! Before it gets dark!

And then, with a bell, Stoops heard from behind

The sounds of his Sooners, like God’s mankind

“There’s a team in Oklahoma, Norman to be exact

Where champions are bred, with the records to back.

“We swear our allegiance to the crimson and cream,

and lay down our efforts to honor this team.

We stand in the shadows of champions past,

And guard every inch of this hallowed grass.”

Stoops bowed down his head, to his team gave a nod,

And knew it was time to win on that sod.

Down to Dallas he’d go, to fight the Longhorns

And to take on Charles Strong, who'd lose all and mourn.

With a first down, a blitz, a touchdown and all,

Stoops watched his team gain winning points for that Fall.

Strong cried his way out, Stoops had won that grand fight. 

"Boomer Sooner to all, and to all a good night!"

The Big Bang Theory of Friends

Tonight is the season premier of The Big Bang Theory. And therefore the return of my favorite sitcom, Friends.

If you grew up with Friends, then it's no doubt you still find reasons to quote it throughout the day. Sadly, Friends ended ten years ago. But don't fret--because it's made a secret comeback, and you've been enjoying it every week on CBS.

Friends has come back as The Big Bang Theory, and here's the proof*:

1. The Cheeto.

"Penny, you've got Cheetos in your hair."

"You got a Cheeto on your face, man."

2. Giving up your beliefs.

"Okay, let's go see your psychic."

"There might be...a teeny...tiny...possibility..."

3. Giving birth and kidney stones.

"I never told you about my brother's kidney stone. Do you want to hear everything that comes out of my family's genitals?"

"Kidney stones!"

4. Vegas.

"We had one of those silly, fake weddings."

"What's the big deal, y'know? It's not like it's a real marriage... If you get married in Vegas, you're only married in Vegas."

5. The throw-down.

(Couldn't find a gif for this one, so, enjoy the script!):

Leonard: Hey, pal. You didn’t see me telling Kevin that you thought cold wars were only fought in winter.

Penny: Okay. Then I’ll return the favour, and I won’t tell…

Laura: Laura.

Penny: Laura that half the dirty movies you own are animated.

Leonard: When you were telling Kevin about your acting career, did you mention your long-running role as "Waitress" in a local production of The Cheesecake Factory?

Penny: Did you tell her about your lucky asthma inhaler?

Leonard: Oh, yeah? Spell asthma.

Penny: A… S… Take me home.

Leonard: Maybe I’m not done hanging out with… (Laura has gone) You’re right, it’s getting late.

                                     

Joey: "Where do you think we lost her?" 

Ross: "Probably around Gonorrhea."

6. Rock, Paper, Scissor.

"Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock!"

Joey: "Fire, it beats everything."

Phoebe: "Oh yeah, does it beat water balloon?"

7. The messy apartment.

"This is chaos!"

                                       

"!!!"

8. Glue.

(Again, couldn't find the gif):

Ross (to Monica): "You can't go. You're the glue that holds this group together."

Sheldon (to Amy): They can't function without me. I'm the social glue that holds this little group together.

9. The weird beauty skill.

"See? With the grain."

                                       

"Aaaaand, done."

AND FINALLY:

10. Quiet down

"Fellas, please..."

                                    

"Uhh, fellas..."

Now, can someone tell me how to get this on Buzzfeed?

*It took me HOURS to find and create all these gifs. So, make sure you leave me a comment complimenting my skillz.

The Space Between Two Words

I grew up going to a summer camp that focuses much of its daily energy on the character development and leadership skills of its campers. This camp taught me not only to climb trees, shoot guns, and right a capsized boat but also to overcome even the most grueling challenges—physical, mental, and emotional. For as much as my time as both a camper and a counselor shaped who I have grown to be, bulking up my weaker muscles and ironing out the messier wrinkles, over time there is one such lesson that has had a more profound effect on my professional life than I ever expected.

That is the lesson on creativity.

There are two kinds of people in my family: those who go to museums and those who meet at the café afterward. While my grandparents, my mom, my aunt, and my brother innately understand traditional art, my dad and I just don’t get it. We’re math people. Logic people. Football people. We say, “Have a nice time. We’ll wait in the car.”

So, naturally, I grew up understanding that I was just not a creative person. I off loaded all creative responsibilities to my more creative friends and family members, even having my mother create a gift for a friend in my place because I knew I wasn't creative enough to accomplish it. I told myself I was acknowledging my own limitations and seeking solutions from those with the talents I needed. This kind of attitude was golden in job interviews, and, I believe, landed me my first, and favorite, job.

I realized my lack of creative talent was a problem on my second day. As part of my on-boarding to the publishing house I had recently joined, I was to attend a brainstorming meeting in which we would create new titles for the books we published.  I distinctly remember the thoughts that followed me from my desk to that conference room. Uh oh. I’m not creative. This is not going to go well, and I’ll probably get fired. By the time I sat down, my brain came to my defense by acknowledging that it was my first time, and I could probably get by with “just observing for now.”

But after months and months of listening to so many good ideas and hearing my own measly ideas shot down on the few occasions I spoke up, I grew increasingly fearful.

What if I’m not creative enough for this job?

What if they notice?

Surely they've already noticed.

I’m such a fraud.

Of all the ways college tries to prepare you for the real world, it was camp that had prepared me for this kind of battle. Self-esteem is hard to come by in a text book, but out in the woods you learn how to pick yourself back up, keep you head held high, and remind yourself of the reason you are not a fraud and happen to be doing okay. Not great, I conceded,—but okay. After all, they hadn't fired me yet.

It was during the losing third quarter of this mental game that I made a pilgrimage back to camp to visit for a night and attend a Sunday evening council fire—where campers are recognized for their achievements and receive a sermon-esc lesson discussing a chosen quality that they are to practice in the coming week. That night, we learned about creativity.

Creativity, apparently, was a quality that everyone could express. As I began to hear myself chant those familiar words—I’m not creative—in the back of my head, I asked myself to be quiet for a moment and listen to the speaker. She spoke of our God-given ability to be creative and that each of us had the intelligence and the skill to create ideas. And this is where I interrupt this story to make a very important point. You see, she did not say create “good” ideas. Or create “award-winning” ideas. Or create “client-approving, you-get-a-raise-for-your-brilliance” ideas. There was no adjective between the verb and noun. Only the space it takes to get from the end of one word to the beginning of the next. And that’s when my perspective on creativity shifted so suddenly, so profoundly, that I attribute my entire professional success to that very small space between “create” and “ideas.”

You see, she took me back to the denotation of the word “create.” She stripped it of its cultural connotations about positive adjective associations. Of its inherent talent to socialize with only the artistic few. Of its fleeting and mostly disappointing presence in my life. This is when I remembered that before it conjured images of Van Gogh and modern dance, it fueled Henry Ford’s assembly line. The art of creating has been ongoing for centuries—millenniums—since the beginning of time, really. Whether through divine forces or scientific bangs, creation just happens. It does not require adjectives of color, line, form, or praise. It is a verb void of prerequisites.

It denotes, in it’s most natural form, the creation not of only good ideas, but ideas.

Suddenly the sound of creativity did not include only colorful birds chirping during an afternoon of painting in a whimsical garden of poetry and genius. Now, it even sounded like wheels, grinding along a conveyor belt with nuts and bolts, churning out materials in a sweltering factory. It sounded like number two pencils scrawling digits across an evenly-lined notepad. Like the sizzle of oil in a pan while a chicken fried itself into dinner.

I returned my thoughts back to that sermon, and felt a fire ignite in my chest. Suddenly, I was creative. I looked around and noticed creativity in everything. I created thoughts with my mind. I created dinner with the food in my pantry. I created jokes during conversations. I created plot twists for my authors.  Dare I say I had been creative this whole time?

I decided then and there that I would no longer dismiss my ability to be creative—seeing it as a natural talent that my mathematical-side of the family had left me lacking—but would embrace it even in it’s smallest presence in my life. Yes, I would now practice it as if it were a skill to master—like calculus.

It’s been three years since this revelation and in that time I've spent many more days walking from my desk to a conference room to brainstorm with my coworkers. But now, the thoughts that carry me down the hall include, Let’s see what we can come up with. Let’s generate at least 3 (adjective-less) ideas in the course of this session. Let’s keep practicing creativity. Every now and then, the younger version of me will groan at the thought of having to interrupt my busy day for another brainstorming session and that old, familiar—though quieter—chant will begin, I’m not creative. But now, in its wake the older me pipes up, dismissing my past self, giggling at the notion that I could even have the choice to not be creative. After all, even the thought “I’m not creative” had to be created. 

I find myself now enjoying creativity more than I ever thought I would. I hear people describe my writing career as “so creative” even though I've always thought of it like math with words. I've found myself sought out for brainstorming sessions due to my creativity.  I even take on projects that require “someone creative” because I know that that person is me, and I look forward to the opportunity to challenge myself into earning the adjective “good” in front of my ideas.

It takes only one thought, only one shift, that tiny space between one word and the next to turn the impossible into the possible. To sit on a log bench and hear your biggest weakness described not as a talent you cannot attain, but instead as a definition you’re already defining. To find yourself lost in a career that requires creativity far beyond your talents and to realize that you can and will master it as a skill. Because despite your own objections, creativity is just a word with a definition—needing no adjective to exist. 

5 Weird Beauty Tips I Learned From My Dad

Dad's are funny creatures. If yours is anything like mine, your childhood was filled with weekend house projects, boring golf lectures, and endless tie shopping. Dad's are annoying, funny, awkward, and lame. They do ridiculous things like tell racist jokes in front of your new Hispanic friend or use the term "partner" without realizing it's connotation has evolved. But they also do good things like change your break pads and promise to buy you a Porsche when they strike gold.

Sometimes, they even provide beauty tips.

I realized far too late into my adolescence that I didn't grow up like most girls. I didn't practice putting on makeup, doing my hair, or accessorizing my outfits. I had no regular shopping trips, and I wore cloths from The Limited Too for a few too many years. While some girls were reading Seventeen, I was reading the fifth Harry Potter. Again. To this day, I'm still pretty bad at doing makeup, I'm too lazy to do my hair, and I'm just now updating my high school wardrobe.

Despite these girly set backs, I did end up learning a few valuable beauty tips from my dad. And not on purpose.

1. Leave in conditioner
Did you know that if you leave a little conditioner in your hair rather than rinsing it completely out in the shower you could end up with silky, smooth hair? I didn't. Not until my dad mentioned that the reason our Golden Retriever was so soft was because he didn't rinse the conditioner out of his fur during baths. That's right, my dog had better hair than me for years until I heard this little gem! (Let's face it, he still has better hair than me and is most definitely the prettiest member of my family.)

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful." --Dave, the dog

2. Stop touching to stop breakouts
The best way to stop breakouts and reduce acne is to stop touching your face. Every time you itch your cheek, pick a pimple, or wipe sweat with your hands, you're transferring God-knows-what from your fingers to your face. I didn't have a Pro-Active worthy face of acne as a teen, but I broke out often enough that it was a little annoying. My dad mentioned that he stopped breaking out after he learned to stop touching his face so often. I'm unlucky to take after his pale, burnable skin instead of my mother's dark Floridian tan, so I listened up. Now-a-days, when I'm deep into editing and I find myself resting my chin in the palm of my hand, I try to remember to move my hands into my lap so my fingers can't brush my chin and cause awkward adult breakouts.

3. Suck it in and stand up straight
One time, my dad called me fat. I was about eleven years old and standing in the family room with him. He told me I needed to suck in my tummy so I wouldn't look fat. Now before you call Child Protective Services, realize with me that he really meant I needed to stand up straight. I was slouching, with my back arched so that it curved in severely and pushed my abdomen out. From the side I looked like the letter S (the second person from the left in the photo below). If I would stand up straight, with my pelvis squared and my hips tucked under, my tummy would align appropriately, and I'd look more like the letter I (the middle person). Think about how a dancer stands with her core contracted and her hips aligned with her shoulders. This advice would come in handy, particularly when I was posing for photos in my future prom dresses. Hips squared, tummy in, shoulders back. Ultimately, better posture. Which brings me to...

Standing up straight can instantly slim you!.

4. Dress your figure, not the outfit
Looking good in a prom dress is not about the accessories, fabric, or bling. It's about choosing a dress that curves in all the same places your body curves. Watch enough Miss America formal wear contests with my dad, and you'll learn all about which dresses look good and which do not. You better bet he'll be helping me pick out my wedding dress someday.

Nope, not workin' for ya.

5. Anti-aging cream
I recently had a conversation with a friend who was shocked to hear how old my dad is. He doesn't look his age; he looks ten, maybe twenty, years younger. He is active and healthy and capable of doing the physical activities he is interested in: walking, biking, golfing, and playing with the dog (see above). His anti-aging secret has to do with his philosophical beliefs of what it means to age. He doesn't accept traditional limitations of a body's capabilities due to it's age. In fact, he doesn't celebrate his birthday because the number is not important. So while lots of people run around looking for creams, injections, or surgeries to reverse the effects of aging, he doesn't accept the concept of aging at all. It's a beauty tip more valuable than all the others--although, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to give up my birthday cake.

Don't be weird.

And there you have it. What beauty tips did you learn from your dad? Who's the prettiest member of your family?

My dad and Dave the dog. Best buds.