Good Morning F*#$ Pants

Let's take a moment and talk about sexual harassment.  There are oh so many things that are completely different about this country when compared with my homeland.  I understand that I am an interesting mix of independent New England feminist and shrewd New Yorker.  This makes me the girl who moved to East Harlem to live by myself and did not think twice about it.  My standard mode of operation when in New York is to walk down the street with purpose like I am not to be trifled with, I might be crazier than you.  And most important, however this maybe something only women have, pay attention to that "uh-oh feeling" that occurs in your gut.  I emplore you, always listen to the "uh-oh" feeling.  This has kept me out of uncomfortable and possibly dangerous situations.  I am not saying this to make anyone think that NYC is scary or that Kolkata is worse, but rather to illustrate the code of conduct that I have followed and that I continue to follow when I am here.  I may never get hit on, but I also don't get followed or my ass pinched.  I was propositioned once on the subway but the man was extremely intoxicated and one death look accompanied by my growling the phrase "do we have a problem?" sent him off the train.  My point is, only stupid drunk people mess with me back home.

Here in the lovely city of Kolkata, we have a bit of a different situation.  This culture is extremely conservative.  The woman dress in traditional Indian garb with the exception of a few of the more wealthy younger girls.  But even so, you do not see shorts or tank tops.  This can be mind boggling for westerners since the temperature is so warm and you so often see elderly women baring their mid drifts.  What's more is that their movies have no kissing.  I did see one movie that had kissing and a sex scene but I was so shocked I yelled "what!?" quite loudly drawing the attention of other movie goers.  In your averave Bollywood movie even if the couple gets married, you will never see them kiss.  Not a kiss on the hand or cheek, absolutely nothing.  I don't think I could come up with more than five American movies where there is no kissing. And even so, most of them would be movies like The Lion King and March of the Penguins.   

Then we take the fact that in many ways, this country is still fuctioning like it is in the 19th century.  Most marriages are arranged, and women still need to have a dowery.  A DOWERY I tell you! Technically its illegal, but it is still practiced. There is a tremendous prejudice against women.  Many still do not inherit their husband's propety when they die and so unless they have a son to take care of them, they are put out on the street.  If you see a little old lady in a white sari with no teeth, this is her situation.  

In the early 1980's feticide  was outlawed.  Thus so was finding out the sex of a fetus due to the large number or women who were electing to have abortions to avoid having a daughter.  But that does not prevent the people who reside in the villages from committing the crime or doctors letting the information slip out during and exam.  It has been estimated that somewhere around seven million women have gone missing in the last twenty five years.   This has created an extremely imbalanced gender ratio and explains all the trouble they have with human trafficking and the sex trade.  In short, India is a sausage fest.  One afternoon while standing by then entrace to the subway I counted over a hundred men but only twenty nine women entering and exiting the station. This has made finding the younger generations of men wives rather difficult.  It is also an accepted practice that many wives stay in the village to raise the children while the men go to the city to work, living there for most of the year.  So the imbalance seems even greater in the cities. Then on top of that, the more conservative and traditional people never even see their spouses naked. So, what we have is an extremely sexually repressed culture that is easily riled up and now throw in a bunch of westerners.

The more obtuse tourists have no issue sporting sundresses, tank tops and shorts.  I personally think you have to be a complete idiot to wear that here.  When you get off the plane in India you become aware of a strange phenomenon that will follow you through the duration of your stay.  Indian people stare at anyone who is not Indian. And Indian people gawk at white people.  And me? Oh, a ginger like me gets greeted like I am a real life leprechaun frolicking down the street with my pot of gold bestowing lucky charms on all the wee children.  This gets old so very quickly.  I challenge anyone to not become self conscious when people see you, then get the attention of everyone around them and then actually point at you.  It feels harmless when its done by a small child, but that is not always the case.  It can be down right infuriating when it is done by a group of young men. Especially those times when you are lugging a large package, and then not only do they stare at you but they also refuse to get out of your way.  This does not bring out the best in me.  

The other day I was walking down the street with a rather cumbersome box.  Two packages had arrived at the mother house, one addressed to me and the other to the Tucker family.  Since they had departed I took the package.  To make the transportation of both parcels easier, I opened both and combined them.  So instead of needing to manage two boxes of moderate weight I had one heavy and very unstable box.  The fact that the damage of the larger box was so severe that it made it difficult to wield through the crowded bus, sidewalks and streets was a major oversight on my part.  I was a bit miffed by my poor decision.  This was exacerbated by the heat and the men gawking at me.  Most days I walk down the street with my sunglasses on and my head held high, ignoring the attention that I get and hoping that I give off an air of "don't even think about it" and magically,  I am left alone.  This day however, it was impossible to walk down the street with dignity when the box was so heavy and I was so sweaty.  Unable to fall back on my usual defenses I resorted to giving off the air of a disgruntled troll.  Grunting, sweating and giving off an odor similar to a dairy farm I wielded my box like a club, bashing the men who were staring at me and unwilling to get out of my way while cursing them out.  Not one of my finer moments. 

However, I am happy to report that while my mother would be most ashamed of that sort of behavior my father would be delighted to know that I have yet to be propositioned.  I was told before I arrived here to anticipate the groping situation and not to fear defending myself.  I have so far been pinched twice.  But both times were strange and apparently the perpetrators had bad aim since it was the side of my knee that received the squeeze.  You do hear the occasional horror story of young boys jumping out in a pack and grabbing a girl's chest, a man following a lone woman as she walks through the streets at night, or sexual predators who lure women into the back rooms of their shops offering to help them try on a sari.  A word to the wise ladies, an Indian man would never offer an Indian woman help with putting on her sari.  But most of the time it is just staring, and men "accidentally" brushing up against you as you pass in the street.  The best defensive stance it to carry some sort of bag that you can hang over you rear, while holding the strap in the front covering your chest with your arms.  Other people may be concerned with the bag being an easy target for pickpockets, but I rely on the large amount of crap in my bag to serve as a defense.  I figure, I can never find my wallet in my bag without some severe rummaging, so likelihood of someone else doing it stealthily is pretty low.  

I must say however, the men that I have been working with have been nothing short of chivalrous.  It must feel very emasculating to not be able to protect your wife or female companion.  I met a young German man named Sam who certainly felt this way.  He had heard some stories from some girls he had met and personally witnessed a girl he was walking with get his chest grabbed and it was quite endearing to see how upset he was by it.  Sam, I should say is quite tall standing at 6'4" and practically a giant for Indian standards.  He also rowed crew, played lacrosse and American football when he went to boarding school in Connecticut.  So he has an athletic build which is something you really only see in the movies here.  The wonderful thing about Sam was his gentlemanlike need to protect the ladies he was with.  I have been the only female to volunteer as a tutor downstairs at Daya Dan for nearly six weeks now.  So when the day is over, I am also the only female heading back to travel on the metro, an infamous place for groping.  Sam, being so tall while I am so short was always very protective of me, despite the fact that I am nearly eight years older than him.  He always let me through the turnstile first and made sure that other people weren't cutting me off when I was in line to get a token for the train.  One afternoon a train pulled up that was jam packed full of people.  I hesitated thinking that we could easily wait for the next one, when Sam side stepped into the train checking aside the much smaller men creating a small birth for himself and me. Just before the train doors closed he pulled me by the arm onto the train.  I stood there koalaing him, "we're good friends right?" I asked from his armpit.  He laughed.  As the train pulled up to the next station he said, "Ok, I'm going to hold them back as long as I can. You get off the train and step to the side till we can get back on." This is as close as I want to get to actually being in an action movie.  Laughing and shrieking I jumped off the train as the doors opened.  Sam actually did hold them back, and just as the doors were about to close he grabbed my arm again and pulled me back on the train.  This time, another man yelled from the middle of the car, "madam, come over here." I knew he was talking to me, because there were no other women around.  Sam however saved me the trouble of responding by saying, " No, she's fine". This, thank goodness has only ever happened once. 

Sam has left now, but I was fortunate enough to fall in with a few new young men, one from Denmark and two from Canada.  Each of them, has proved to be just as chivalrous.  And even though my new Canadian friends will be leaving next week, I have faith that they will most likely be replaced by another group of young men who will be happy to protect me on the subway and have lunch after.

The reason why even a modestly dressed western woman is such a susceptible target for all of this is obvious, it's Hollywood's fault.  Young men pack themselves into movie theaters here to see Hollywood movies with their racy sex scenes.  Men see movies where the main character approaches a woman in a bar, they talk for a bit and then low and behold, in the very next scene she is in bed with him.  Clearly this means all American women are sluts.  So, naturally men will see a western woman and then, not even thinking that he is doing anything wrong say "Hello madam, I would like to f*#$ you".  Uh, no thanks.  Then on occasion we have a young man who does not actually speak English but gets a random collection of words and tries them out on the first white girl he sees.

One afternoon I was informed by Kate of such a man who approached her on her way back from the station.  He came up to her with his ever so witty greeting of "Good Morning f*#$ pants." I might add it was about 5:00 pm.  I believe she was taken aback enough to say "excuse me?" but when he repeated himself she did not dignify him with a response and kept on walking.

Somedays when I am alone, after hearing a particularly vexing story from another young woman I sit and day dream of all the wonderful cutting remarks I might use on such a disgusting man.  And I know from my own past dealings that I have no problem defending myself if someone gets too handsy, so there is no need to worry about that.  But then I also wonder, has any man ever had succeeded with such a line? Are there actually girls with big enough daddy issues to succumb to such a offensive and lame request? If you are reading this and you are one of those girls, stop and get some therapy.  If not for yourself, then please, for the rest of us, so that we may walk down the streets in peace.  And to the them men out there who lack the self control to keep their hands to themselves, I am inclined to take away your genitals.  You can have them back when you have demonstrated yourself to be mature enough to handle the responsibility.  

Until then India, not if my life depended on it.

A Love Letter to the Tucker Family

Most people have a core group of friends that are involved in their everyday life.  These are the people we plan movie nights, coffee and lunch dates and share our birthdays with.  These friends are brought into out life through school or work and may fluctuate over the years as people grow and change.  Then there is another level of friendship that has stood the test of time.  These are the people who you may not see everyday but nonetheless you are bonded together by the longevity of kinship and their staked claim in being there for all of your firsts.  If you are luck these friends were there on your first day of school, when you chose your first color elastics for your braces, had your first kiss, had your first car accident and your first heart break.  However, life leads us down our own path which frequently carries us away from these childhood friends.  But those who are most true never move too far away from our thoughts and stay nestled in our hearts.  

Then there is another type of friend.  This is a person who you most certainly must meet as an adult. And you do not have everything in common, but such a deep respect for them that it overrides any petty differences. They are not the type of person who is casually brought into our lives but rather done so with such purpose that surely angels must have been involved.  And regardless of the time and distance between you, the fellowship developed will most certainly never wain.  This type of friend I think is quite rare, and I was lucky to not just find one but a whole family.

Before I ever dreamed of coming to Kolkata I am not even sure if I had exchanged more than a few words with Kate.  I knew her family and her three vivacious talented youngest sisters best.  I think the first conversation we ever actually had I was defending the vegan black bean burgers she had made for her sister Ali's college graduation party.   Friendly acquaintances would be an accurate description of our relationship.  

We sat down last June over coffee in a Dunkin Donuts to have our first talk about Kolkata.  I wanted to know as much as possible about the city and see if this was something I was actually looking to do.  As she delved into her story about why she had gone the first time and what the experience was for her, it was hard to not yearn to go simply because of how passionately she spoke about it.  Her first venture quite simply changed her life and the ripple effect was so great that it resulted in the adoption of two of the boys she had worked with while volunteering at Daya Dan.   I knew immediately that this was something I wanted to try.  When she asked me what I was looking to get out of it, my reply was "an experience".    

We stayed I touch over the next six months while we prepared for our trips.  Josh, her husband was there to answer any questions I had when filling out the forms for my visa.  Every time I would begin to get overwhelmed or nervous about anything Kate was there to just talk to, and I always came away with my nerves feeling quite settled.  I felt that it would be a great security blanket to have them here with me.  Not to mention the fact that they would have their three small children with them, and that would be quite the adventure to witness.  

I must say that I would have never ended up here if it were not for them and I might have never grown to discover the new person that Kolkata has made me.  And for that I owe you this:

Dear Josh, Kate, Ray, Jude and Hosea (Beezer)

I can not possible express to you the overwhelming gratitude that I have for all that you have done for me.  I do not know that I would have ever managed with out you and your guidance.

  I am truly inspired by your commitment here.  From your work with the Missionaries of Charity to Sari Bari (a center that rehabilitates prostitutes teaching them to sew bags and blankets) to the relationships you have with the street people, I am awestruck.  I managed to take myself out of what sometimes feels like the epicenter of narcissism to a place where everyday is filled with honest hard work to help others.

  Josh, rumor had it that you were a "rock star" over here.  I didn't quite know what that meant before my arrival but now I do.  Watching you interact with the locals and speak bengali was quite impressive.  Not to mention all of the stories you had to share about your time here.   And learning the story of your path to Kolkata just adds to my respect for you.  Thanks for checking on me when I was sick and getting me medication.  And thank you for helping me negotiate the food.

  I admire your courage to carry the lessons that you have learned through to your children from the get go.  Kate, you once said to me that you want your children to be more than just good at their profession but "good citizens of the world" and I have such faith that your boys will be.  The choice to bring your family here raised many eyebrows (including your own on some days) but after watching your boys learn to handle the streets of Kolkata, I feel you made the right choice. It was a joy to watch Ray befriend anyone and everyone from the people at your hotel to the waiters at Blue Sky to the street children, I know that the lessons you want him to learn were not lost on his young mind.  Often the things we learn when we are young still hold true into our adulthood.  Which explains why when my mother uses my full name and says "I need to talk to you" to this day I wrack my brain to think of what I could have done to be in trouble.  Even if many years pass before you are able to return here as a family, I think that your time here will resonate quite strongly.  I consider it a great privilege that I got to spend this time getting to know all of you.

  I shan't gush too much longer, or this will just get embarrassing for everyone.  So, thanks.  And I look forward to getting some Mexican food and margaritas with you when I get back.  Josh, we can compare fruit ninja scores then.

Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

It's a white girl problem

After being here for five weeks, making through my illness, getting a handle on my surroundings and finally feeling settled and strong in my purpose here I was ready to make some concessions to my western ways.  I can handle a fair amount of adversity.  I can handle virtually never feeling clean.  I can handle wearing clothes that feel like I am wearing a sack.  I can handle not wearing make-up.  What I can not handle is all three of these things all the time.  

I do not consider myself to be a prissy girl.  I have ripped a picnic table apart to use as firewood and I can adequately handle a drill.  However, I feel that I can safely say that the last time I went five weeks with out wearing a stitch of make up was easily before the Monica Lewinsky scandal.  I like red lipstick and fake eyelashes and I don't see anything wrong with that.  I have the kind of face that can take make-up like a drag queen.  In fact I have had several ask for advice, and I have decided to take that as a compliment.  It took me many years to figure out how to do my face and accentuate my features.  No one escapes the faze when your foundation is far too dark and not blended in with the rest of your skin.  Or when you don't know how to apply eyeliner to your upper lid so you just add more to the lower lid. Then of course there is my favorite awkward make up stage when you just wear whatever new sparkly eyeshadow Mary Kate and Ashley have put out applied as if by a tiny paint roller over your entire eyelid with nothing else.  Electrics blue is always a ballsy choice.  I know that many people may think I have a heavy hand when doing my face but because of my coloring, but I have realized that I am not able to do the "oh I'm not wearing make-up, I just naturally look like this" look.  So, I have simply chosen to boldly charge into my daily life sporting the "I am wearing make-up and I am not even a little bit sorry about it" look.  But I especially in my adulthood I have discovered the many steps it takes to make my face look balanced.  

Here is a glimpse at my daily make-up routine.  I wear very little foundation, I like to even it out more than cover it up.  I like my freckles and I don't want them to go away.  So, I cover up the imperfections (giant dark circles and annoying adulthood acne)  on my face and then apply a light layer of bare minerals powder to take care of any shininess. Then I move on to what is actually one of the most important parts of my face my eyebrows.  Eyebrows are so frequently overlooked when doing make-up but can really make a difference in your face, especially when like me, you don't have any.  For me, if I do my face and don't do my eyebrows it's like looking at a house with out a roof.  Even if the siding and the paint are great really, what's the point?  And in the summer when I want to lighten up on my make-up (because I'll sweat it off otherwise) I dye them a medium auburn color.  I twice tried having it done by a professional but both times had disastrous results. The first time the result had me looking like the most deplorable love child of Lucille Ball and Grouch Marx.  As it turns out, black eyebrows aren't really my look.  And the second time ended with a more suitable light brown color but unfortunately it was on one and a half brows.  Since then, I've just done it myself.  

Next, we move on to eye make-up.  There's a lot potential here, keep it simple or make it fun and colorful.  However, whatever I choose, I will certainly end with black eyeliner and mascara.  I know many people wonder why I don't go with brown, but I will say this, brown just end up looking kind of muddy, where black really makes my blue green eye color pop.  And I figure, no one is going to think I'm not wearing this stuff so, go big or go home.  Then lastly I sweep a little bronzer in an arc from the hollows of my cheeks to my temples, and a bit of blush on the apples of my cheeks.  I know this is extensive, but I also really like playing with make-up.  It's a full commitment but it certainly makes a difference.  

When I left home I did not intend on leaving my make-up at there, that was an accident.  But I wasn't too concerned.  I really didn't intend on putting a face on while I was here.  I felt that it would be good for me or good for my skin or something.  Mostly I just felt that I was coming here to focus on other things.  Also I had been warned about the groping situation with the Indian men here (we can save that for another post) and was prepared to go bare faced and baggy clothed for most of my trip.  Initially that sounded like a dream.  You must know that for all of my girliness I also asked for sweatpants for Christmas like four years in a row.  I am that girl who walks out of the house with a full face of make-up and hair and then is in sweatpants.  The point that I am dancing around is, I was fine with the idea of sweatpants and no make-up for four months.  

However, after my bout with all of the illnesses, I came to the realization that I didn't want to feel gross anymore, I wanted to be presentable.  If I understand this correctly I believe that this is a common side affect of being a grown-up.  The easiest and cheapest solution to this would be the purchase of make-up.  So, after I had recovered I ventured out to attempt to track down some products that would work.  Now, when home unless it is the middle of the summer and I have spent a good deal of time outside I always need to buy the fairest foundation available.  I have usually have the same skin tone as a vampire, so I knew I had a tall order.   Granted, there are entire lines of products here dedicated to whitening your skin here.  Big american companies put out all sorts of products from body lotion, to face and night cream, to a spray for your armpits.  "White armpits will drive your man wild."  What?! All these years I had no idea I should be concerned about the color of the skin in my armpits.  

The best part of those advertisements is all the women in strapless dresses.  What part of India are women wearing dresses like that?  I will tell you.  Nowhere. This country is very conservative in the décolletage, shoulders and back region.  Which makes these advertisements all the more silly.  But what I knew from all of this is that I had a little bit better than a snowball's chance in hell of finding some any products for my skin tone.

When I walk into the first shop I decide to just try to track down some suitable eye make-up.  I walk up to the counter where there is a group of women ready to help potential customers navigate their meager selection.  I am shown some foundation that they recommend for my skin that would be an Italian girl's summer foundation.  One woman tries very hard to sell me some teal eyeliner and I assure her that I don't think the nuns I work with would appreciate it.  She is able to help me out with some eyeliner and mascara that I will use, but when I ask her if they have any matte brown eyeshadow with no sparkles or shimmer things start to get interesting.  She assures me that they do have what I am looking for and takes my hand and repeats my phrase "brown eyeshadow, no sparkles" back to me as she smears sparkly copper eyeshadow across the back of my hand.  I am greatly amused at the thought of having shiny penny eyebrows, but then elaborate on what I intend on using this for.  When I say that it is to color in my eyebrows she gives a slight chuckle of realization and then delves into the cabinet and retrieves a champagne gold color liquid eyeshadow.  We have taken a step back.  I look perplexed for a moment and attempt another explanation.  After a few more exchanges I realize that I am getting nowhere and just take the mascara and eyeliner.  

On my way back I see another store that advertises having Maybelline and Cover Girl products.   I am greeted by another group of women who are ready to deck me out and experience deja vu as the exact same scene right down to the dialogue replays in this store.  I again try to elaborate on what I will be using this for and the women do not comprehend me.  Unibrows are a highly common here so I can understand why no one is looking to darken their eyebrows. 

Later that night, the Tucker family and I ended up venturing out to the South Street Mall.  A mall that is just as nice as any mall I have ever been to anywhere.  They even had toilet paper and soap I the bathroom. There was a crocs store, a multiplex movie theater and a subway sandwich shop, but don't ask for ranch dressing.  There were escalators and everything was very clean.   I was in heaven.  It almost felt like home.  After getting dinner at the food court, we wandered around looking at the fancy shops with western clothing.  I have rarely ever wanted to don a dress as desperately as I do now.  Anything whimsical and fancy really.  It does a girl good to be fancy every so often.  But after a while, when it just started to just get depressing looking at the dresses, I made my way to a department store called Pantaloons where I figured they would have the best selection in make-up.  I headed to the make-up counter where there were many women eager to help someone, anyone.  I looked at the many different sections to see what they would have for brands here.  I find it highly comical that at a department store in London or Paris or anywhere in the states you would find high brow designer brands like Estée Lauder or Clinique where as here I was looking at the the very exotic brand Maybelline.  A brand you normally find a Walmart.  However, at this point I don't care, at all. 

I talk to the woman at the Maybelline counter and explain my predicament.  And as the scene from earlier in the day is about to replay for the third time I stop her and slowly explain that I am looking to color in my eyebrows.  She pauses, looking a bit perplexed, and I commiserate "I know, it's a white girl problem."   But when I ask for a brown eyeliner pencil, comprehension dawns on her face and she pull out a brown eyeshadow pallet. There is a color that is a a bit sparkly but close enough.  I also purchase some other pieces and when as I get ready to leave she exclaims that I have purchased enough to receive a case.  She holds up two garish vinyl make-up bags almost shaped like a heart and informs me that I have a choice between pepto bismal pink and purple.  I would have found these ugly when I was in elementary school and dry reply "Obviously the purple one.".  She smiles kindly and her obtuseness to my sarcasm makes me feel like a jerk.  

A warning to all of my witty  sardonic friends and family members, Indian people are impervious to sarcasm and no amount of exaggeration in delivery will make them understand.  In the end, you come off looking like an a-hole.  No matter how much I try to remind myself to refrain from the use of sarcasm, I seem to weekly have a sticky moment where I appear to be a cad.  

After the acquisition of the materials necessary to paint my face on.  I felt like a whole new woman, almost.  There was matter of my eyebrows.  I have never been able to shape them myself.  This was never quite so evident as when they were jet black that one harrowing afternoon.  After voicing this Kate informed me of a beauty parlor that was one block over from Sudder St that did waxing and threading.  Soon enough we found ourselves walking through the door that said "ladies only" and climbing the stairs.  We were greeted by several women who more than happy to be pulled out of their perpetual state of ennui by our arrival.  We enquired about leg waxing and threading and I was lead over to a chair and two women whipped off my painted on brows to reveal the two blonde caterpillars perched on my forehead.  Then one swept down pulling the skin taught while the other woman proceeded to clean up my brows with her thread.  Threading is nothing I understand.  They take a long piece of thread and twist it and then move it over the offending hairy areas.  Essentially these women cat's cradle your hair off.  It seems like witchcraft, but whatever gets the job done.  

Meanwhile, Kate was whisked over to a row of several chairs where a woman approached with a bowl of hot wax and several fabric strips.  Her five year old son Ray had accompanied us to the beauty parlor and was intrigued by the gruesome prospect of his mom getting her hair ripped out ... on purpose.  Ray watched and held his mothers hand as the woman spread the hot wax over her skin, pressed the cloth piece down and then pulled each strip off.  He only exclaimed once when his mom squeezed his hand too hard.  And he eagerly scampered over to sit next to me when it was my turn to endure this insanity.  

All the while, the women were talking to each other about the state of our feet.  Managing your feet here is a full time job.  Because the streets are mostly dirt and it is too hot to wear anything but sandals your feet take a beating daily.  Every night I soak and then scrub them down in an attempt to prevent my heels from cracking further and return them to a normal human color as opposed to the swampy black they usually are.  I do not envy the poor pedicurist who is going try to fix my feet when I return.  In the beauty parlor the woman looked at our feet in horror and assured us that they would give us "normal feet". As tempting as it was we had not scheduled that for ourselves and had to depart after the waxing.

At the end of it all I spent three hundred rupees for everything, including the tips.  That is about six American dollars and easily one tenth of what I would have paid for just the leg waxing back home.  What a bargain!

The thing I had learned from all of this is that it is not selfish to want to be presentable.  There something to be said about not wanting to completely let yourself go.  I feel that it is not a luxury but a strong dose of medicine to ensure that I don't loose my mind in the middle of all of this mess of women putting their infants to bed on the sidewalk and men shooting up heroin in between their toes in the gutter.  I am willing to give a lot of myself to try to lend a helping hand here, but I won't give my sanity.  And if clean eyebrows and mascara help I don't see anything wrong with that.