Abortion Documentaries and Glamorpusses

In early February, Sara and I were interviewed for a documentary about the abortion debate (or read Sara's better account of the event at Amusing Farf) as the co-leaders of Haven Coalition. Readying myself for the interview was a bit of a process, not in terms of what I would say, but more importantly, how I would look. I could not just stick a yellow Jelly Belly in my nose, and call it a day because I resemble Natalie Merchant (or Tom Sizemore). Nope, I had to go to Sara's before the interview so that she could smear all sorts of fancy make up products on my face so that I would not look like a baby eating zombie on camera. (It's not good for my side when I look like I might enjoy consuming human flesh.) Sara did a great job, and it all worked out until I opened my big fat mouth as we were leaving and said "controversial" things that I don't remember at this point, but I think it had something to do with calling anti-choice leaders propaganda spewing liars. (Me? Never!)

The upside of my free speech moment was that the producers wanted to interview me again outside of my role as a Haven leader, as I would never say "controversial" things while representing another organization. That day arrived this past Saturday. The producers called me in the morning and asked if I could come in at 2 pm.

"Sure," I said. "Remind me again what I had wanted to talk about?" (Seriously, I didn't remember.)

Bruce Isacson, the director of the documentary (aka "Jaffe" from Outbreak and friend of "Rene" as in "Russo") said that I wanted to tell the truth about the other side. OK, whatever. Because by then, a far scarier idea than getting killed by crazy anti-choice leaders crossed my mind: I had no make up, and Sara was out of town for the weekend. Emergency calls were made. No one was around and able to help. Fortunately, Future Sister-in-Law (FSIL), who was in NJ for a wedding, suggested that I hop on over to Sephora, a place I normally regard as an inner circle of hell, and ask for help. "I see people getting done up in there all the time," FSIL explained.

I ditty-bopped my unplucked eyebrowed face over there pronto. It turns out that you need to book an appointment in advance, but I explained that I was going to be interviewed for a documentary and didn't know until that morning, they took pity on me and hooked me up with a rep from a cosmetics company who did me up. The results: It was maybe a little too much make up, but not bad. Certainly better than looking like I use dead babies for my Passover matzah, but personally, I prefer the Jelly Belly in the nose look. Ultimately, I felt obligated to buy the shit she used on me, which I wish I was kidding when I say cost $190.74. (The foundation alone was $35!!!!! Damn, I save a lot of money by not wearing make up.) You know I'll be heading back to Sephora to return most of the useless crap this afternoon, but I digress…

Husband tagged along with me to the interview (I wanted him to stop me if I veered into nutjob territory), and he agreed that it went well. And that's the sad story of abortion documentaries and glamorpusses.