Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon(Enough)
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
One of my most vivid childhood memories is of my mom's coral floral quilted makeup bag. It was filled with pink plastic refillable Mary Kay eyeshadows and waxy eyeliners, hot pink tubes of mascara and soft swirly brushes that I recall my mom sweeping across my cheeks some mornings, no doubt with nothing on them.
On rare occasions, my mom would let me take this bag out onto the front porch of our house and I'd play with it, removing the items from the bag carefully, setting them up on the rough concrete step. I would unscrew the tubes of lipstick and line them up so that I could see the shades of bricks, peonies, roses that I could choose from.
The tweezers got ignored in favor of more colorful pots of powder. I would carefully sweep the shadows across my eyes, using the liner to trace my eyes appraising my own face, layering the liner until I looked like a seven year old blonde straggly, bruised-knee Cleopatra. My lips pursed in a pout, I used my superior skills gleaned from coloring books to follow the lines.
I'd look into the big swirly blue plastic handheld mirror trying it all on for size, trying to hasten the day that I'd be able to wear this stuff all the time. Then I'd usually return to my room, put the Grease soundtrack on the white leatherlike box turntable. I'd put on the closest thing I had to the outfits and reenact nearly the entire movie in my bedroom. I was an only child, this is how I passed time.
I remember a night around this time, I must have been maybe nine or ten tops. It was a sticky Wisconsin summer evening and my mom and I had gone to see a late movie. We would frequently pay for one, stay for two. We drove home in her car with the windows rolled down, the swirling air drying the perspiration, cooling our skin. Bored, I fished through my mother's purse, handling the sundry of objects. The tan crumpled pack of Winston lights that I would frequently take out and pantomime my best Marlene Dietrich or Faye Dunaway, her smudgy sunglasses sliding down my nose, Chapstick covered with stray tobacco and purse lint, pens, lighters, a stray tampon flinging itself free from the thin paper wrapper rendering itself useless in all but the most dire of emergencies.
I found the tube of lipstick and put it on, using the streetlights to see by. I sat on my knees in the passenger seat, no doubt without a seatbelt, to appear taller, and I looked out at the passing cars waiting to be looked at. I saw a truck with two men in it and I tilted my head so that my blonde hair was caught by the wind coming in and whipped around. I didn't look at them but pursed my lips out, angled my head and felt at some point that I was being looked at. I looked briefly and could see that they were smiling at me and angling to move into the lane closest to ours. My mom finally noticed them, the driver almost hanging out of the car trying to get our attention, as they got closer I watched the drivers face change to disbelief as he must have finally realized I was just a girl.
So what's the point of this trip down memory lane you ask. I don't remember how much early conditioning I had in the girly arts but my mom was not overly fixated on her appearance and while my grandmother had fun things like hat pins and long bright pink fingered gloved and hard lucite purses and hats with veils and leopard spotted coats, day to day, she mostly wore polyester pants, cheap shoes and tank tops and garden gloves. I think I was one very girly girl from pretty early on. You could have presented me a case full of shiny new hotwheels or some ratty silver platforms, cats eye glasses and a balding feather boa and I would have picked the accessories every single time.
I am a feminist. I believe in equal opportunities. I strive to give my children a common experience. In our household, everyone cooks, everyone cleans, everyone soothes, everyone cares for children. I am strong, feminine, I wear skirts frequently more out comfort than convention. I typically wear makeup when I leave the house and when my husband and I go out, you'll usually find me in heels although I admit they are uncomfortable and crippling. In spite of having three children and a fuck lot to do, I cannot seem to part with my long hair though occasionally I will longingly imagine a cute bob that air drys in ten minutes.
So I am okay with my daughters wanting to play dress up and enjoying my application of makeup whiskers to their Halloween kitty costumes. I am not concerned by my five year old's near insistence that she wear pink because she can also explain the basics of photosynthesis.
What I am concerned about is the sexualization of girls. I am concerned about the images of girls and women portrayed in what are supposed to be children's shows. I am concerned when parents allow the imagery of Miley Cyrus and Britney Spears and others to take a strong enough hold that these created, manufactured images become what is aspired to. I am concerned that later, when these idolized girls do silly and not so silly things, parents allow these same girls who idolize these girls to watch programs where their mistakes or heedless actions are put on display, given attention to and of course, tacit approval. I am concerned that parents willingly purchase and allow into their home dolls and toys that encourage young girls to be provocative and precocious.
One of the things I remember that night the men in the truck mistook me for a woman was that beauty or the attention of men was it's own kind of power and powerlessness. It could be the thing a prospective employer looked at instead of your talent. It could be a message you got that how you look is more important than who you are. It could come in often unwanted jeers from strange men. It could erase thoughts of science and math and discovery and replace them with outfits and insecurities and attempts to be pleasing. For a woman it is an everyday double edge sword, for a girl, it is an albatross, a burden, an unfair responsibility, choppy waters that they are unprepared to navigate.
This is not what empowerment looks like.
Child Abuse
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I'm not sure but I think this might come up in therapy later.
Easter Phony
Saturday, April 11, 2009
So the boy was talking to the hubs Friday about the Easter bunny. He wanted to know why the stuff from the Easter bunny has UPC codes on it. Hubs said, “What, you think a bunny actually manufactures all the stuff?”
Disaster averted.
Until I brought home the Easter basket crap and hubs and I were in the kitchen assembling the baskets when the boy “just happened” to come in an hour after bedtime into the kitchen to get a drink(which he never does). Mind you, the big kids have their own cups in the bathroom where they normally get a drink so he was sniffing around for sure.
He comes in and sees all the loot on the table and his eyes get as big as my mother-in-law's ass.
"Get in bed," my husband shouted, and he smugly walked back to his bedroom.
"Little fucker," I say, "what a Snoopy McSnooperson."
"Geez," hubs said, "what do I tell him now? Easter is over as we know it. Christmas and the tooth fairy can't be far behind."
"I know," I pipe in, "tell him that the Easter bunny had to lay off some workers, you know, the recession and all and since he's short on people, he had to spread deliveries over three days instead of just Sunday and since there have been so many layoffs and cutbacks, he's understaffed and just dropping off the stuff this year and making all the parents actually assemble the baskets. "
"Fuck it, it's over." hubs relented.
"Look on the bright side," I offered," if he knows that all the loot comes from us, maybe he'll start sucking up a little, it would be nice to finally get a little credit for all of this fairytale stuff.
'Da Butts
She has been doing a lot of this lately and it cracks me up. I don't know what all 'da butts stuff is but I think she means buttons. The video is about three minutes long, too long for most of you but I think she says fuck at about minute 3:20. That's my girl.
Oh the Humanity
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
I looked not unlike a Weeble Wobble, sort of egg-shaped like one of those plastic toys that according to the manufacturer, “wobble but don't fall down.” I was nearing the end of my pregnancy and on my way home after a long day at work. My feet hurt, my legs were swollen, my ankles nonexistent. I was crabby, exhausted, resentful to still be working and not at all looking forward to coming home to two needy, exhaustively chatty kids and one husband who probably had not picked up the house, started homework or saved some dinner for me. My car had become the setting for a very large personal pity party and I was headed home with a boulder-size chip on my shoulder.
I slowed my car to a stop at the red light and that's when I saw him. He had amazingly clear blue eyes and as they met mine, his face broke out into the widest, most friendly smile I had seen for days. His hand went up and he waved wildly at me hunkering his head down a little in my direction so I knew it was for me. I couldn't help it, I forgot my building tirade and I smiled and waved back. It was one of those odd simple moments where I am reminded of my humanity.
He must have been in his late thirties or early forties but he looked closer to seventy. I don't know if the drink had done it, meth or the other cornucopia of drugs that can drag a person to the depths. Maybe it was mental illness or a combination of all of them. His skin was thick and leathery and tanned to the color of a saddle from his days outdoors. His pants were too long and too big, cinched around his thin waist with a belt. His long hair was greasy and pulled back in a ponytail. I saw his shopping cart parked next to a pair of defunct pay phones, well within his sight protecting what were no doubt his only possessions.
I started crying as the light changed to green and I continued home. Maybe it was the hormones, maybe it was the humanity. I don't mean to say that just because a person smiles, he or she is happy but in my mind I considered that if he could smile, why couldn't I. I contemplated that long ago, he was someone's baby boy with big clear blue eyes, small chubby fingers and a host of needs and wants. I remembered that nearly all of us start there, perfect, unsullied, a blank canvas. Then we are written on and sometimes scribbled and scratched and crumpled up and thrown away. It is just a matter of luck and circumstance that some of us can rebound while others of us spiral further and further down.
I considered my pretty house, healthy children, caring husband, my warm bed with clean soft sheets, my hot shower, my warm and satisfying meals, my children's hugs, my safety net. Yes it may seem like a pretty obvious a-ha moment or a little Lifetime but that day, that short, probably three minute light shifted my paradigm. Gratitude is a funny thing, it comes and goes, I am reminded at least weekly of the constant need to refocus, be grateful, be kind. These small reminders are gifts, small pokes and pinches to pull us back to the reality of how good most of us have it, how much better a hand fate has dealt us. I don't mean that personal responsibility doesn't have a hand in it but how many of us could be that person were it not for the resources of health care, mental health, recovery, family not willing to let us sink, kind friends and partners who perhaps filled the gaps and holes childhood left behind or a simple, clawing tenacity to not be left behind.
One of my most recent personal goals has been to do more of the things that I intend to. I think intent is a powerful thing but action even more so. A few months back, a neighbor of ours lost a seventeen year old son. My husband and I went back and forth trying to think of something we could do for them. We don't know them at all, we've never even introduced ourselves but we wanted to make a gesture, to do something that would perhaps ease even just a moment or show that they were in our thoughts. Should we bring dinner? I thought they really don't know us well enough where they would just eat something we brought over. Then we thought maybe some muffins and fruit and things that would be good to have on hand when people stop by. Death so frequently brings company. Then I thought, muffins? Fucking muffins? Why do I think that me bringing over a basket of muffins will do anything to make anything better for this family. What did we end up doing? Nothing. I couldn't think of something appropriate, something I was sure would be taken the right way and seen as a kindness and not an intrusion. I was ashamed that I had really intended to do something and I didn't, because it was just easier not to.
So I have been on a mission of making my actions match my intentions. Which brings me to my blue eyed fellow human. I literally see him in that same spot every time I leave work for home, I don't know how I never noticed him before. Ever since that day that he gave me that gift of gratitude, I have intended to pull in the parking lot near where he waves and panhandles. I've wanted to tell him that he made a bad day better, that he touched something in me, that he spared my family from my anger and hostility that day.
I used to be judgemental and self-righteous about giving people money I knew would be used to buy alcohol and drugs but now I think, who am I to tell this person what they need or don't need to get through the day. In addition to verbalizing my thanks, I wanted to give him some money. In part because I have attachments to money and in my fledgling study of Buddhism, one of the goals is to release your attachment to things. Mind you not get rid of all money, but loosen one's attachment to it.
I most certainly have attachments to money, which means I worry, mostly needlessly about having enough. It makes me stingy because I think, what if my children need this someday, what if I want something and I don't have enough money, what if my husband loses his job again or my shop goes down the tubes. Still none of this is real and my mantra, which I have to remind myself of frequently, is 'I have everything I need, I always have enough'. I had just worked and had cash in my pocket. I also wanted to make his day the way he made mine, maybe he could find a cheap room for the night, take a hot shower, sleep in a warm bed, sleep safely.
I have intended to do this for about twenty months, that's over six hundred and twenty days of intending to do something. This past Saturday, I finally did it.
She
Monday, April 6, 2009
Several months back, Chris, one of my favorite reads, asked me to guest post. He gave me a jumping off point-- 1995. 1995? Many of you might have taken the hop over to his place to see my post but here it is for those of you unfamiliar with using links. Yes Grandma, I mean you.
I look back to those days and hardly recognize myself. Those were probably some of the most difficult days for me, that tumultuous transition between childhood and adulthood. Not legal adulthood mind you, but adult in the sense that you truly take care of yourself and make your own decisions. I was terribly unsure of myself back then. I was still living under the roof of my very opinionated mother, running almost every decision past her because I didn't trust myself. I was, and continue to be, the extroverted introvert. Shy and slightly uncomfortable in social situations, being funny and gregarious is my defense mechanism to overcome that anxiety. I only appear socially adept.
I thought about how much of what I know now I wish I had known then. I imagine sitting down with my twenty-one year old self. What would I tell her if I had the chance? How could I better prepare her? I'm sure the things I'd say will continue to evolve, but at thirty-five, this is what I'd pass along.
1-You are not the only one who is insecure and unsure of yourself, in this regard, you are just like everyone else which should be comforting.
2-Don't be ashamed or embarrassed about being smart, later on you'll find the best men like the smart girls.
3-You need some breathing room away from your family to figure out who you are and what you want.
4-With regard to said family, just so you know, they're not always right.
5-Tennis? Volleyball? Ballet? So what if you're hopelessly uncoordinated? Especially since really, you're not, your just so self conscious that you get yourself all torqued up and forget to move your body. These are things you want to try, so what if you look silly, what do you care? Guess what? Most people are too self-absorbed to care what you're doing anyway.
6-Stop being so afraid of failing. You think half the people out there are misguided and misinformed anyway so why do you care what they think?
7-You think you're not pretty and you need to figure out why you think that because it's not true.
8-Go easy on the carbs and you'll lose that babyfat. Stop eating salads with ranch dressing and cheese, in spite of what you think, this is not going to help you lose weight and frankly, it tastes awful.
9-Your parents can only give you the tools they have so you are not going to be armed with everything you need. Some things you'll figure out the hard way, other tools you can get through some keen observation, the latter is far easier.
10-You got the short straw in the dad department. His behavior has absolutely nothing to do with you. You don't deserve it, you didn't do anything to cause it. You are not difficult to love and in time, you will figure out how to trust men again.
11-With regard to men, you seriously have to expect more.
12-That thing you do, you know the thing I'm talking about, you need to stop doing it on the first date.
13-Get yourself a good therapist(see #9 & #10)
14-Clean up those eyebrows already, bushy brows are so 1995.
15-One word, sunscreen.
16-Quit smoking today.
17-Trust your gut. Whether it's school, men, friends, you know more than you think you do.
*I never actually attended law school so that 7% is the sum of my bragging rights.
I See London, I See France
Saturday, April 4, 2009
My five year old is at the stage where she has and wants to wear jeans but has not figured out that girl trick of hoisting them all the way up. Likewise, she only snaps or buttons them about fifty percent of the time.
At the end of the day, I suppose I should be grateful that I see her giant "granny panties" hanging out of her jeans and not a thong.
What Do People Do During an Economic Depression?
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
They eat and they, well, you know, do other things that don't cost money(well, at least not if you're married).
The husband started a new job a month back, a real job, for real pay. Not the 50% of his pay scale job he first accepted in a mad dash to be employed. I didn't want to mention it for fear of jinxing it but things have mellowed considerably here at the maison 'de formerlyfun. He is still in high gear as he proves his mettle at the new digs but the heavy cloud of what ifs has passed for now.
Still, we continue to be in belts tightened mode, if for nothing more than to replenish the savings we spent the first part of the year. We've looked to do things that are entertaining and cheap(each other) and we've eaten from home most of the time. My grandparents, who were Depression-era, took a great pleasure in food. I don't know if it is because they remember lean and hungry times or if food was a measure of wealth, simple pleasures or all of the above.
I've always been an adept cook but I've never been much for baking. When I was single I didn't attempt baking because I knew I'd be the one eating all of my experiments and this could make singleton status permanent. With the rigors of young family life, who had time to dish up some fruit and yogurt much less make a cake or a pie. But then came the economic downturn and time on my hands with little money to spare. Additionally, have you noticed how blech most of the things from the grocery bakery taste? Why does nothing have butter in it anymore? I don't want lard in my frosting dammit. Sugar and Crisco do not great flavours make, I don't care how much pink food coloring you put in it.
So with my husband's birthday around the corner, I decided to attempt a homemade birthday cake. Caveat, much like my grandmother's idea of homemade, I mean a box cake, not just dumped into a sheet pan, with homemade frosting and something thrown on top. So I decided to make a devil's food cake with Swiss buttercream(yes, real butter, about 8 sticks thank you very much)frosting and a chocolate drizzle, mmmmmm. My first attempt I used two round cake pans, a mix, a recipe for the frosting, with included doing a bain-marie(fancy french name for warming something in a water bath rather than directly on the burner) and some shaky decorating skills.
This is what I got:
This is what it looked like after photo retouching. Yes, even cakes can be airbrushed.
So it was two layers and yes, it tasted damn fine. There is nothing that compares to frosting with butter and sugar versus high fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated vegetable oil.
So this was the tester cake because I had really only ever made like two cakes before and didn't want to 'practice' for the hubs birthday. After this one turned out so delicious, I got a little cocky and decided to go three layers. I changed up the decor a little and ended up with this bad boy.
The cake was a little slice of 3000 calorie heaven on a plate. I wish I would have taken a picture of the inside but as soon as I cut into it, the whole family devoured it. It was a big hit and yes, you must now bow down to my baking acumen.
So the moral of the story? Economic downturn's are not all bad as long as you have the heady muse of chocolate to assuage your empty wallet.
Hot Catholic School Girls Tear into Lifesize Zac Efron Pinata
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
I figured since this was basically a redirect post anyhow, I'd grab you with the title and amuse myself with the subsequent google searches.
In case you haven't had your fill of FormerlyFun, I am over at Rassles today guest posting, la di da. So while Rassles defiles the whole of New Orleans, you can peer inside my childhood. While you are there, I encourage you to take a look around. She is beyond funny, can write insanely great dialogue and has what I think is the most unique perspective on things ever.
An Ode to Thighs
Monday, March 23, 2009
These are thighs.
These are thighs.
These are thighs
These are thighs.
These are thighs.
These? These are not thighs.
For the One Man Who Likes My Thighs
There was the expensive cream from France
that promised the dimples would vanish
if applied nightly to the problem spots.
Then, when that didn't work, Kiko, the masseuse
at Profile Health Spa, dug her thumbs
deep into my flesh as she explained
in quasi-scientific terms that her rough hands
could break up the toughest globules of cellulite.
I screamed, then bruised over, but nothing
else happened. When they healed, my legs still looked
like tapioca pudding. There was the rolling pin method
I tried as far back as seventh grade,
kneading my lumpy legs as though I was making bread.
Cottage Cheese Knees, Thunder Thighs --
I heard it all -- under the guise of teasing,
under the leaky umbrella mistaken for affection.
I learned to choose long dresses
and dark woolen tights, clam diggers instead of short-shorts,
and, when I could get away with it, skirted bathing suits.
The nutritionist said that maybe Royal Jelly tablets
would break up the fat. I drank eight glasses
of water everyday for a month. I ate nothing
but steak for a week. I had to take everyone's advice,
fearing that if I didn't, my thighs
would truly be all my own fault. Liposuction
cost too much. The foil sweat-it-out
shorts advertised in the back of Redbook
didn't work. Swimming, walking in place, leg lifts.
It's embarrassing, especially being a feminist.
I wondered if Andrea Dworkin had stopped worrying,
and how. If Gloria Steinem does aerobics,
claiming it's just for her own enjoyment.
Then I read in a self-help book:
if you learn to appreciate your thighs, they'll appreciate
you back. Though it wasn't romance at first sight,
I did try to thank my legs for carrying me up nine flights
the day when the elevator at work was out;
for their quick sprint that propelled me
through the closing doors of the subway
so that I wouldn't be late for a movie;
for supporting my nieces who straddled, one
on each thigh, their heads burrowing deep into my lap.
I think, in fact, that it was at that moment
of being an aunt I forgot for an instant
about my thigh dilemma and began, more fully,
as they say, enjoying my life. So when it happened later
that I fell in love, and as a bonus,
the man said he liked my thighs, I shouldn't have been
so thoroughly surprised. At first I was sure I'd misheard --
that he liked my eyes, that he had heard someone else sigh,
or that maybe he was having a craving for french fries.
And it wasn't very easy to nonchalantly say oh, thanks
after I'd made him repeat. I kept asking
if he was sure, then waiting for a punch
line of some mean-spirited thigh-related joke.
I ran my fingers over his calf, brown and firm,
with beautiful muscles waving down the back.
It made no sense the way love makes no sense.
Then it made all the sense in the world.
Silly Pink Frou Frou Bebe
Friday, March 20, 2009
Alternately titled: My Bebe is Pinker than Your Bebe
Circus performer, ballerina, doctor, I don't care as long as she stays away from the pole and she's never the object of affection in a rap video, though she does have smoove mooves.
Postscript: By the way, this outfit was aquired via Grandma, I don't dress her like this everyday.
Ask Formerly Fun: Dude Looks Like a Lady
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
OK, Formerlyfun,
I recently stumbled across your blog. Don't ask me how, the web is weird like that. I read your article about your first "Manzillian" and I found it incredibly humorous. Now, let me tell you something about me that I have only told two other people on planet Earth: I am a crossdresser. I came out to my wife about a year & a half ago, and things went rather well, and things have been.... well... progressing ever since.
I remove a lot of body hair and the woman doesn't mind a bit. In fact she seems to like it. Long about November 08, I bought an Epilator. Because I was sick of shaving my legs every .00037 minutes. Apart from the massive crop of in-growns, I rather like the Epilator. It has solved the largest problems with shaving. The two biggest downsides to epilating being TIME (Oh, lord does it take time to do it right) & the PAIN!. Some areas are better than others, but overall, its devastatingly painful. This coming from a man who triathlon trained himself into doctor's orders not to even climb a single flight of stairs. It hurts worse than triathlon training ever did, yes. But I do it. I even do it on the "nether regions" and this is indescribably painful. It takes equal parts determination, motivation & stupidity. But it's worth it. Barely. Because I like smoothness.
Now you being married and knowing a man's body, and doing at least one Manzillian, are familiar with the seam that runs the vertical length of the nutbag? Yes!? This area is EXTREMELY painful and ultimately impossible to use an Epilator on. If anyone could do it, it's me. And I simply cannot. My wife buys the occasional home waxing kit and we attempted to use that. On the vertical seam & the rest of the nutbag, yes. It turns out that it works just fine. If you don't mind losing the skin there for 3 - 5 days. Would you believe that I tried it three times before giving up?Now today I have set up my first "Manzillian", which will take place one week from today. I have modified the basic program ever so slightly. I'm not interested in removing the "main swatch" of pubic hair, just north of the penis. I don't really need to. I just shave it down to 1/8", and it looks & feels fabulous. But everything else covered by the Manzillian must go. So... Is there anything I should know about this particular operation? This analogy might distract you. But imagine your husband, brother, nephew, etc. were about to have one. What would you tell him? How would you prep him? Would you tell him nothing, because there is no preparation to be had?I would truly appreciate any input that you could provide, as you are a professional in this area, and riotously fun to wit... Thanks!
Alandra
``````````````````````````````````````````````````
Alandra,
First to the most pressing matter, your upcoming professional wax. The good news is that most estheticians will not do male genital waxing so if you found one who does, chances are she/he knows what they are doing. You've read my Manzilian story and that lays out the basic procedure though it may vary a little from esthetician to esthetician. I'm all about hard wax when it comes to the testicles and if I had them, I wouldn't let an Epilator or soft wax near them. The tissue, much like a female labia is very thin and prone to tearing and lifting. Hopefully your esthetician will use hard wax, if not you may tear but since you've mangled yourself you might as well give a pro a shot since if she does a good job, you can forgo DIY on this one.
The difference between hard wax and soft wax is with soft wax, the area is powdered, warm wax is applied in a thin coat and then muslin or pellon is smoothed over the wax and pulled off, often with skin attached to it, ouch! With hard wax, a thin coat of oil is applied to the skin first, then the warm hard wax is applied, this wax completely hardens and"shrink wraps" the hair but does not adhere to the skin, so when its pulled off the skin stays put, yipee!
As far as prep for your wax goes, cleanliness on your part is always appreciated. Whenever I've been faced with a client with funk, I do a hasty job figuring if you had the balls, no pun intended, to come grungy then a quickie is all you deserve, give me my money thank you see you again never. Take a Vicodin or an OTC pain reliever about and hour before your visit. Lay back and uh, enjoy the rest. If you do tear at all, slather the area where the skin lifted with Neosporin until it heals.
Now to the rest of your letter. First, congratulations! Now if your wife is really as understanding as you say, you owe it to her to go buy her something big and shiny(not a new makeup mirror because you stole hers), I mean something expensive. It can't be easy vying for bathroom time and honestly, if my husband ever got into my NARS Orgasm blush or my custom blended foundation, or my favorite YSL eyeshadow that I've had for almost 7 years because they don't make it anymore or even my MD Skincare $120 moisturizer, I would probably divorce him. I'm not even kidding.
An Epilator A Shark
See the resemblance?
Second, the Epilator? Really? Even the Bush administration refused to use Epilators on the Guantanamo Bay crowd because they felt it fell under "torture". The Epilator is so 1990 and it's no wonder you are getting ingrowns because it can break the hair just under the skin rather than pull the complete hair from the follicle like waxing thus causing it to continue growing under the skin. Get your legs, underarm, etc. waxed a few times by a pro, if you are worried that men don't wax, just tell them you swim a lot and are trying to improve your time. If you can afford to, let a pro continue to do it. If you can't, pay attention to how they do it so that you can replicate it at home. The kickass thing about 2009 is everything is online. Go to your local beauty supply store or go online and purchase the supplies and look here for a good how to. Waxing lasts much longer and it's far quicker. You can even find hard wax for your sac wax here. A little practice and you'll be on your way. Good luck with the short and curlies.
Your pal,
Finals Blew I Barely Knew My Graduation Speech
Monday, March 2, 2009
On any given muggy summer night somewhere around 1993, you could find my friend Stefani and I hanging out at my house killing time. Because we were punk, naughty, buck the system girls, we decided to get stoned. Stefani was lucky enough to have a friend that grew his own stuff and supplied it freely as long as you agreed not to ever sell it to anyone. So I could envelope myself in a hazy cloud of lightness without feeling like I was contributing to the 'war on drugs'.
Of course, hip girls that we were, I bet you're wondering what we did afterward. Perhaps we went to Summerfest, Wisconsin's giant world class music festival or maybe Lollapaloza or Lillith Fair. We went to all of those but most nights were spent doing ridiculously fabulous things like hours worth of jigsaw puzzles, creative writing games, painting(yes, we were arsty punky girls), putting on makeup and taking pictures of each other and the pièce de résistance, making up alternate lyrics to the Diarrhea Song.
Stefani could always be counted on to be silly and we must have spent at least two hours, high as kite stuck in a Redwood, trying to rhyme, laughing until the pain in our faces and bellies eclipsed the hilarity. This was only one of many silly, goofy, teenage girl things we did. One of the things I miss about those days is how silly I was. I haven't felt silly for a long time. Playful yes, thankfully my husband is replete with ribbing and innuendo to keep me laughing and on my toes(and sometimes over his knee).
Still, I long for those carefree days of girlhood where you were only charged with yourself, responsible for no one except maybe a cat or two. Don't get me wrong, life at this end is good too. Still, while I would never go back and do these years over again, I might just like to drop in on a few of the more memorable moments. I saved those silly lyrics we wrote, so now, for your pleasure, the Poopy Song's alternate verses:
When your brother's punched you hard and your pants are filled with lard...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When your stomach's not at ease and your ass is gonna sneeze...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When your tract is on a roll and you gotta let it flow...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When you're visiting a castle and a chamber pots a hassle...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When your stomachs filled with pain, it's so loose you can't restrain...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When your cheeks are really strained it's your cushions you will stain...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When your bowels are feelin' loose and your ass is squeezing juice...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When your stomachs feelin' knotty and you're runnin' for the potty...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When your ass is filled with gas but it's sludge you're gonna pass.
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When your diets filled with prunes and your sphincters in the ruins...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
When you're filled up to the max and your rectum's feelin' lax...
diarrhea, diarrhea.
Good times, good times.
So you guys can just send that Pulitzer to my house.
Trifecta of Chris
Thursday, February 26, 2009
One of my favorite bloggers, Chris over at afreeman initiated another round of peer interviewing. I am usually the official unjoiner of anything like this but I know from reading and commenting on his site, he attracts a very thoughtful, intelligent crowd and my curiosity was piqued. I was interviewed by Christine/Flutter of Flutter Dark and Divine. I was acquainted with Flutter before having meandered over there after she got a favorable review here. I was instantly hooked on the honesty and clear voice that radiates throughout her writing. A lot of people blog to work through things and make progress toward figuring out their stuff and the steps toward being fully who they are. Flutter is a woman who lets you walk those steps with her and it is humbling to be allowed a window into her mind. She asked some really thoughtful questions and here are my answers. 
Flutter:
When you think of the reasons that you started to blog, what is the most important? What is the least?
Chris:
When I started blogging last year, my youngest daughter was nearly six months old and I was in the throes of postpartum depression. Months of sleep deprivation and being overwhelmed with three kids, a business and a hubs to take care of, left me feeling woefully inadequate and completely over my head. After a few weeks of frequent crying, self-loathing and general disinterest in well, anything, I went to my doctor.
In spite of my initial embarrassment over what I felt was a personal weakness, I knew walking around like a pod person, a shell of my formerly fun self(yes this is where my moniker stems from) wasn't good for anyone. I quietly went on an antidepressant telling no one except my husband. I had some fear that I might do something weird and needed at least one person to know I was on the crazy pills.
There's a stigma in my family about needing help, for not being able to do things on your own. I felt better on the meds immediately but I still felt like something was wrong with me that I needed medication to handle my life. I wasn't embarrassed enough to go off them because rather than feel like some supercharged happy schmappy supermom, I finally felt like myself again and I wasn't willing to give that up, no matter how weak I felt about needing it.
I hadn't been involved with the blogging community at all, wasn't even really aware of it. Still, I love the internet as a resource and when I went looking for information on depression after childbirth, I found all these women speaking honestly about the reality of being a mother in today's world. The delicate balancing of all of the things expected of us, the futility of the goal of womanhood to do all this stuff and then strive to make it look effortless. I was hooked immediately. I think that's why so many moms blog, the relative anonymity, the shield of the computer screen allows women to strip down the facade of perfection and share openly with a lot of support and minimal judgement.
Ok, so the the short answer to the question, the most important reason I started blogging? My sanity and relating to other women on a deeper level. The least important? I love writing and blogging allows me to keep that muscle flexed. I also get feedback on the writing which is nice. It feels really good to know that certain things you have written have moved people, inspired them to be more gentle on themselves, made them laugh. This is a great side benefit to blogging and it's motivated me to write more and set and work toward personal writing goals. So it's important but definitely secondary to having a forum and outlet that keeps me feeling good.
Flutter:
What writers inspire you?
Chris:
I write mostly humorous personal essays so writers who do this very well inspire me. My favorite is David Sedaris. In fact one of my most treasured gifts was when my husband took me to a David Sedaris reading for my Christmas present. We both laughed so hard that our bellies ached all night. He's just so good at what he does and though his family is unique in their own way, he captures the milieu of the American family like no one else. I like other writers in this category like Cynthia Heimel, Erma Bombeck, Robert Fulghum, Augusten Burroughs, even Dave Eggers . I am attracted to people who use humor to deal with the difficulties of life. I am inspired by writers who are able to turn sometimes painful things into funny stories. I think this comedy/tragedy speaks of the resilience of people. I am a voracious reader and love schloads of books and authors but these guys inspire me because it's what I aspire to.
Flutter:
If you were to teach a course in comparative religions, your faith being one point of view and one more religion being a counterpoint, how would that class look?
Chris:
This is a hard one. I am a spiritual but not religious agnostic. Agnosticism is defined as:
the philosophical view that the truth value of certain claims —particularly metaphysical claims regarding theology, afterlife or the existence of deities, ghosts, or even ultimate reality — is unknown or, depending on the form of agnosticism, inherently impossible to prove or disprove. It is often put forth as a middle ground between theism and atheism.My counterpoint would be atheism because I abhor people who claim to have a monopoly on truth. For an agnostic anyone who believes they hold the ultimate truth is questionable. I am not a huge fan of most organized religion in part because they tend to be exclusionary and the same applies to atheism. I am a follower of science and the provable, testable. And yet, I can't look at the beauty and organization around me and not think that there is something greater than me, some force of creation that is well beyond my capability to even imagine. That's why it slays me when people view god as this big mean father-figure in the heavens looking down on us judging what we do. I just don't think it works that way. I don't think we know or will ever know and that is perfectly ok with me.
So what would my class be like? I would endeavor to imbibe students with a sense of wonder, an awe of discovery and a comfort with the unknown. I would hope to create an atmosphere where we could question why our brains are hardwired for things like religion. Why we probably constructed religion the way we have, why we anthropomorphise god. I would explore how most of the tenets and parables of religion appear in all of the major religions. I wouldn't need to change student's minds but allow critical thinking and reason to be a part of the discussion.
Flutter:
It's a rainy day, you have the house to yourself and the entire day, what do you do?
Chris:
As a mom of three, this is one of my ultimate fantasies(besides all my kids saying yes mom for one day and my husband cleaning the house and attending to all of my, uh, needs.) I used to devour books, reading a few a week. Since having kids, I struggle to make time to both read and write. Writing takes precedence and it's easier to put aside and come back to for me. So for my day to myself, I'd pick one of the many unread books awaiting my rainy day and spend all day reading. I'd read in bed, read in a hot bath spiked with lavender and rosemary. I'd read on the chaise lounge out in my garden, I'd read over lunch and a cup of tea. I would, for the first time in a while, finish a book the same day I started it. I did that frequently BC(before children) and it's one of the few things I really miss.
Flutter:
Quick, what's the first word that comes to mind when I say "balls"?
Chris:
My mother. She has giant ones and though she drives me crazy sometimes and we are very different people philosophically, she has set a good example when it comes to standing up for yourself, requiring more from people, working hard and aspiring to more and never letting other people tell you what you're capable of. I have a slew of great stories relating to this but they are all worthy of their own post.
Flutter:
If we are to come away with one thing from reading your blog, what do you feel is the most important?
Chris:
I'm all over the board with my blog. Sometimes I'm funny, irreverent, even silly. Other times, I am contemplative, serious and downright morose. I know from reader's comments that different people appreciate and connect with different things. I think I just want people to take something. I've written quite a bit about body image and I hope women can read some of that and be kinder on themselves. I hope that struggling moms can read some of my travails of motherhood and know they are not alone in this difficult but loved job. I hope that people read my political and opinion posts not to agree with me but to allow for the dissemination and discussion of ideas. I think a lot of our political problems have come from people's assent and reticence to vocally dissent when they think their opinion might be unpopular. If people dropping by can take something away period, then that is fair and kind payment for the effort that goes into blogging.
One Year Later
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
My unbelievably loved and respected grandfather died on this day, one year ago. This first year is the only time I will mark this date, after this choosing to celebrate only the good days. My grandfather was immeasurably important to me, to all of my family. To say that he was a good man, a dedicated father, an adoring grandfather, great grandfather, a loyal friend -- none of it encompasses how he impacted the people around him. When I need a measuring stick in human kindness,compassion and morality that eclipses religion, it is him that I measure against. What follows is rather long, quite personal, it certainly isn't one of those 'general audience' pieces but it was important to me, at this year mark, to remember.
July 23, 2007 - Diary
Today my daughter poked her eye with the corner of a book and I found out my Grandpa has pancreatic cancer. I am profoundly sad. Surprisingly, I don’t feel sad for me, even though Grandpa has been more a father to me at times than my own father, even though he is the most stable and loving man I’ve ever known until I met my own husband, even though he is an important fixture in our families often shaky stability.
I am sad for my grandparents. Tonight I called and my cousin was there with her mom and she talked to me while she did dishes. My grandparents are scared and it scares me that they, they who have always been strong before us are anxious, unsure and visibly rocked by this news. Again, when my grandpa dies, whenever that is, my world will not change considerably. But my grandmother has shared a bed with this man for nearly sixty years, my whole chest contracts with the thought of losing my husband, I can’t even imagine how directionless and pained my grandmother would feel without hers.
I am scared and sad for the indignities my grandfather will have to endure, and that’s if things are good enough to warrant the indignities of the poisons of cancer treatment. I am scared for him, with him, of the pain, the physical pain and the pain of seeing your family sad and frightened. The fear and uncertainty of trusting doctors to know what you need and do their best and manage your pain and your expectations. I am sad that my grandparents will have to walk that line between optimism and realism. I am sad that he may have to find a way to say goodbye to all of us. I am just sad for them and the uncertain road ahead.
I’m sad for me too because I love this man so much and he is the only man I have ever looked up to and admired, respected, trusted and felt completely loved and accepted by. But I don’t need him anymore, want him yes, but Gene has filled the place in my life that my grandfather held open, waiting for the right person to come and occupy for the long haul.
I am sad for my mom and her siblings because to lose your father is different than your grandfather and to watch your grandmother sad and scared is not jarring in the way it is to see your mother contemplate what’s ahead. I wish for my grandfather whatever it is he needs to make any of this, whatever this turns out to be, as easy as possible. I love him, them and I only wish that knowing that we all care so much will make things easier not harder.
My aunt has found a site, the Caring Bridge that will help my grandparents keep their large family and bevy of friends updated on my grandpa's progress. We have all left messages which my cousin prints up for my grandfather to read. My Grandma told me that these messages mean a lot to him, something to keep his mind off things.FRIDAY, AUGUST 03, 2007 - Caring Bridge
Grandpa & Grandma,
I miss you both so much and would give you a big hug if I were there. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything fine, but I know I can’t. Nevertheless, you have all of my support and love in the difficult days ahead. I am so proud to be your granddaughter and the courage and commitment you have shown to each other, especially as of late, is yet another opportunity for me to learn from you both. You have always been a huge source of strength and stability for me, I’m certain for many of us. Now, you need to focus inward and take care of each other knowing we’re all ok and will do whatever it is you need us to. I love you both.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 03, 2007 - Caring BridgeHi Grandpa and Grandma,
Grandma, happy birthday. Wish I could have been at Mom's to celebrate with you. Even though it was your birthday, I bet you still made the cake. I would give anything for a piece of your poppyseed cake right now. Grandpa, Mom filled me in on your last treatment and I'm glad to know you're doing well. It's nice to get the detailed report from her since every time I call you guys, we're only on the phone five minutes or so before one of the other kids or grandkids or friends calls to talk to you too. As for me, I'm in the home stretch now as far as the pregnancy goes. Every time I think I'm as big as I'll get, I get a little bit bigger. Gene has been generous with nightly back and foot rubs, extra help around the house and with the kids and ice cream runs a couple of times a week. The doctors expect I'll deliver between the 25th of September and October 5th so we'll see, maybe the bebe will share your birthday :) With Mom, Dad's, yours and Gene's dads birthdays all around the same time, she has a pretty good chance of sharing somebody's birthday. Anyway, just wanted to drop you a note and let you know I miss you.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 2007 - Caring Bridge
Grandpa & Grandma,
I miss you both so much I cannot even put it into words. I am so big, ungainly, and bored already(I worked my last day for the time being Saturday) that if I were in town, I think I'd be at your house every day eating good food, watching your big tv, chatting with you both and letting grandma overfeed me powder donuts, shrimp salad, pizelles, baked chicken and all the other things I miss. Wow, I guess this email has a food theme, I'm getting hungry just writing it.
Anyhow, I am in my 37th week of pregnancy and could officially "go" any day now. I'm hoping for sooner rather than later because I am so big, you wouldn't believe it. On my 5 foot frame, I look like an egg on legs. The big kids both have said they'll be glad when the baby comes and I have a lap they can sit on again. Gene is taking good care of me even though I am getting more and more anxious to get the show on the road. I'll keep you posted on my progress and keep me in your thoughts for an earlier rather than later birth, maybe sometime around Grandpa's birthday:) Love you both, miss you and wish I was there, albeit selfishly so you could love me up a little. Love, Christy
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2007 - Caring BridgeHappy Birthday Grandpa,
Wow, 87 years, I can hardly believe it.
You seem so much younger and not just because you’re handsome and still a fierce player on the golf course. You seem so much younger than 87 in part because of the adaptability you have shown through the multiple generations of growth in your family and how well you have handled everything we’ve thrown at you.
You have and continue to be, a model of unconditional love and you and grandma(I mention her because sometimes I see you as two halves of the same person) have served as the foundation and heart of our family. I have learned so many things from you and cherish every day we’ve spent together. Not only have you been a great role model but you are simply nice to be around. I’ve appreciated that without saying much, I always knew what you meant whether it was conveying love or letting me know I had to do something better. I remember occasionally getting into trouble and getting lectures over dinner at your kitchen table from Mom, Grandma and even Linda sometimes, but all you had to do was look up from your plate at me and I knew what you were thinking.
I recall with pride all of the times you’ve said to me, “Chrissy, you’re the one we never worry about, we know you’ll figure it out.” Believe me, there were many times I reminded myself of your words to reassure myself that I could handle all the stumbling blocks and obstacles of adulthood. Your confidence in me was a powerful armor out in the world. I loved that when I told you I had finally found “the one” when I met Gene, all you said was, “Chrissy, if you love him, I love him." And I have loved seeing your relationship with Grandma evolve over the many different stages of your lives. You have never stopped working to treat each other better and I have never met two people more committed and loyal to each other. Beyond the bonds of almost 60 years together it is also so apparent that you two are still in love, a giant accomplishment in any marriage.
I’ve also appreciated your impish sense of humor. You and Grandma definitely taught me that if you can laugh together, it’s awfully hard to stay angry very long and that a sense of humor and perspective can be a real comfort when things are hard or looking dim. Grandpa, I hope it is a really good birthday and know that I love you and you mean the world to me. I hope the next year brings you a wealth of health, happiness and all that you dream of.
Love,
Christy
Tuesday, October 23, 2007 -Caring BridgeHi Grandpa,
I wanted to write sooner but with the new baby I'm lucky if I have time for a shower! Thank you so much for giving up Grandma for a few days so she could come out to California with Mom to see the baby and help out. It was so nice to have my family here so soon after the baby's birth and I couldn't wait for Grandma and mom to meet my new girl. Gene and I were so tired after 2 weeks with Izzy up every few hours so Grandma and mom were nice enough to keep the baby with them two of the nights they visited so Gene and I could get a full nights sleep. What a treat that was. I felt positively human again rather than the walking zombie I was beginning to resemble.
Grandma played for hours with the kids and it made me think of all the times Grandma made up games for she and I to play or took the time to teach me how to do things from playing gin to making a pie. Mom and Grandma also picked up where I left off with my yard before I started getting too big to garden. They split up and thinned out a bunch of our plants, bought some colorful new ones and got the yard looking its best. With a little of our year-round California sunshine, it won't take long for it to all fill in again and look positively lush.
Only Grandma and Mom spend big $$ on plane tickets, get on a long plane ride just to sleep on our couch(they liked it better than the air mattress:), cuddle a crying baby in the middle of the night getting only a little sleep and do some heavy duty gardening. While recovering from a Cesarean and getting acclimated to a new baby and third child, it really helped me to have them here, even for a few days so thanks for parting with your favorite girl for a few days.
Oh Grandpa, I wish you'd been out to meet Isabella too but I'll bring her home to Milwaukee as soon as I can. She is such a treat, I can't imagine what we ever did without her. I love you and look forward to seeing you in person. Happy anniversary and have a good turkey day too
Love, Christy
I am sitting on Gene’s lap and crying for the third time today because it’s Christmas Eve and my grandfather has been admitted to the hospital because of complications from either the chemotherapy or the pancreatic cancer it’s supposed to be treating. I am so fucking sad I can’t stand it. Not only is he like a father to me but he is one of only a handful of people who I believe I absolutely know the person he is. Oh man that sentence is so off and I can’t even put words together that make sense and that is the thing I can always do.
It is late and I go out on the front porch of our house because the cool stone on my bare feet and the air on my face feels good. I look around at the lights of my neighbors and this Siamese that I have noticed around the last few weeks finally comes over and gives me the time of day. I crouch down and he walks right over and butts his heart shaped face against my hand. He lets me pick him up and he smells like wood smoke. This is the highlight of my day, a little affection from somebody else’s cat. I have not even paid much attention to my own cats today instead spending most of the day getting ready for company tomorrow. And normally, given my mood, I would be wishing a giant sinkhole would open in the road leading to our house so everyone would have to divert and I’d be rescued from a few hours of vacuous conversation but instead I am grateful for the distraction. I am going to open presents with my children tomorrow, and I am going to make small talk and be happy being around people who make me happy, even when I am not.
January 3, 2008 - Diary
I am really angry right now. Everybody in my family are such goddamn cheerleaders that no is telling me the truth about how bad my Grandfather is. It's as if admitting he is close to death will usher it in on the spot. I get it, I get that to acknowledge it feels like giving up but here I sit two-thousand miles away and I need someone to tell me if I need to come home and no one is telling me the truth. He's okay my mom says, they're being aggressive, the chemo is taking a toll on him. What part of how he's doing is the chemo and how much is the cancer I ask, needing to understand if this is a symptom of the poison running through him or his body shutting down. They don't know she says. Well, whats typical in these case, I ask though I already know, it is grim, I just want to here her say it, confirm what I've already read over and over again unable to fathom how deadly something could be that I've never heard of before. "He's a fighter Christy, you know that, he wants to live, he isn't done yet, we have to keep praying, anything could happen." Maybe this is what every family goes through when faced with losing someone so important. How we all handle this is also complicated by the fact that my grandmother survived stage four ovarian cancer, given only a few months, here she is nursing my ailing grandfather some twenty-five years later. How can you not put some hope in the miraculous when you saw it firsthand? Still, I trust statistics and the numbers on pancreatic are so fucking grim there isn't much room left for hope. My dad is a pessimist, my mom an optimist, I am a pragmatist. So I yell at just about every member of my family until I think I have gotten straight answers. I need to go see him. I want to introduce him to our new baby, I know it could cheer him up, but I am I am nervous about travelling with her. She is only a few weeks old and it doesn't seem right to put her on a plane during the worst of cold and flu season. I try and figure out how to finagle my husband coming with me but the sad truth that there will be a funeral this year hits home and I know I will need him there then and that we cannot afford to do both. So I plan a trip for just the baby and I. I stress over it, I sob in my husband's arms feeling like a ten year old girl in my capacity to safely and calmly get this child on a plane. I don't know if I have the emotional wherewithal to handle a baby on a plane by myself. Looking back I am already having some PPD though I didn't know it yet so I am doing all this in a place of extreme panic and fragility, I am not even a fraction of my normally competent collected self. The bebe was perfect, she cooed and slept and snuggled the whole flight, I got hosts of compliments from passengers about what a pleasure she was to fly with. I, on the other hand was a mess. I had a full blown anxiety attack on the gangway, not sure if I was going to pass out or throw up, I stood frozen while other passengers made their way onto the plane. Finally a Midwest Airlines flight attendant, who I cannot thank enough, saw how disconcerted I was as I struggled to keep it together. I'm not sure if I am going to be sick I told her, I am physically ok, I think I am having a panic attack, my grandfather is very ill I'm going to see him and I've been very nervous about flying on my own with the baby. I remember she looked like Kate from Charlie Angel's and she asked if she could help me with the baby and she told me she'd help me get seated and give me an airsick bag right away so I had it if I needed it. She got me a glass of water and told me everything was going to be ok and just somebody saying it I started to think believe it would be. I took many deep breaths trying to stave off the nausea that I couldn't shake. I tried not to think about my Grandpa too much. Brace yourself Christy, they had all told me, he looks, well,, sick. I hadn't seem him since July shortly before he'd been accidentally diagnosed. He looked healthy then, even robust and tan, having played golf only a few days before.
January 18, 2008 - Diary
Yesterday I said goodbye to my grandfather. He was at the hospital getting some fluids after he had taken a fall the night before, probably because of low blood pressure. I am certain he won’t last six months and I am uncertain if he will last six weeks. I was getting on a plane the next day to go home, and I might not return before his cancer finally takes his life. So, I had to say goodbye as if it was the last time I would ever see him alive because it might be. He cried and apologized for ruining my trip home. I told him, Grandpa, I came to see you so how could anything you do ruin my trip? I told him that I was so happy that he met my newest daughter. I told him I loved him and admired him and how important he was to me. I told him that I knew he knew these things, this was not the first time I had ever uttered the words. I told him that if he wanted to fight, (even though it was an uphill battle filled with pain and indignitites), he should, but if and when he was done fighting, that was okay too. I told him to do whatever he needed to, that it was okay to be selfish in this instance. I told him we would take good care of Grandma. I told him whatever happens, it will be ok that no matter what, he is and will always be a part of my life. I rubbed the scruff on his face and put my hand at his temples, I kissed him and pressed my face against his. I held his hand and said the words, this might be the last time we see each other and he said I know. We both cried. I think this is the most intimate and honest conversation I have ever had in my life and the most vulnerable I have ever seen a person. I said I hope I see you in March but if I don’t, it’s ok. I went and got the baby, his latest great grandchild and brought her in, the mood lightened a little. He was too sore from the fall to hold her but he held her hand and she smiled at him, he kissed her head and cried a little more. I looked him in the eyes and I said I love you and then I walked from the room. I didn't turn around I couldn’t. My aunt, cousin and Grandma were in a nearby hall alcove. They saw me and all started to cry, my aunt came over and gave me a hug and I cried harder and she held me. Grandma said he’s a good man isn’t he, he loves you all so much. My mom came back from having talked with one of the nurses and as usual, was a cheerleader, reminding everyone to hope for the best, removing herself from that moment. I just wanted to be in that moment, allow myself the weight of the sadness of saying goodbye. I think it changed things a little for everyone. They saw a preview of what they could be doing any day now. I did it today because I am two thousand miles away and I wanted to look him in the eye and be truthful about what might be.
Dear Family and Friends,
We are very sad to tell you that Sunday evening,
after a seven month battle with cancer,
the angels came and guided Hank home to heaven.
Hank's passing was very peaceful.
Please continue to keep all of us in your prayers.
Vintage Vag - Same as It Ever Was
Sunday, February 22, 2009
This is a vintage ad for Lysol brand douche. Seriously, I'm not even making this up, Lysol used to make douche. Yes, the same Lysol that you may or may not clean and disinfect your floors with. How dirty are your nether regions if you have to get the Lysol out? Or maybe, just maybe this is yet one more way to keep a bitch down. Ladies, take it from me because I know(remember I see a lotta cha in my biz), your 'ginas don't need Lysol.
Husbands, do you want your wives to be feminine? Ladies, do you want to try Demure so you can discover how completely feminine you can be? Do you want to freshen your lady business? Come on, they're promising it will make you feel very special 'down there'. Special? You know what will also make you feel special 'down there'?
And I quote, "Bidette is your assurance of all day daintiness."
"Keep Bidette handy and deal with a woman's problem like a woman."So what is the alternative? Deal with a woman's problem a man's way? Try to fix it yourself and then end up making it way worse and having to call in a professional to get it done right? Or ignoring it until your wife finely gets frustrated and does it herself?
This one's called Pristeen. Oh boy. This one says to me that if you don't get that vaginal odor under control, you are going to be sitting on some beach by yourself with a book. Yes please. I'll take my vag odor cause that beach is looking pretty awesome. "The real problem is trying to keep the most girl part of you free of any worry making odors."The most girl part of me?
I'm going to use this as my new euphemism for my vagina.
Husband, I would like you to touch the most girl part of me tonight.
Nurse, I'd like to make my annual appointment to have the most girl part of me checked out.
Seriously, I am going to try to work that into a sentence at least one a day.
Exhibit A
Female Total Odor Control
Availability: Usually ships in 2-3 business days.
Item #: FEM-D
Price: $17.95
Product Description
12 inches long Round and curvy, sleek Feminine odor control Now we have a pad designed just for you. Neutralizes odors with our exclusive activated charcoal cloth material. It will last several weeks - depending on usage Ultra-soft Washable and reusable Comfortable Highly absorbent Very Thin Details:1 Pad and 10 Double Sided Tape strips Instructions
A pantylineresque thing that "lasts for several weeks"? Something that requires double-sided tape near my girl bits? Pass.
Exhibit B
This one is tricky because it's marketed to be female friendly and hip. Look one's called Shower of Power. That's right girls, when your vag is squeaky clean you feel powerful. "This unique and modern advance in intimate care, coined our Shower of Power, consists of single dose packettes of intimate waters, Spot Clean! that blend with lukewarm 'H-2-oh'(water), and is carefully monitored by our temperature sensitive "smart" bidet bottle label that reads READY. SPOT. GO. when "temperature-sweet" for that extra care down there. The result is a skin-softening, cleansing, spot-refreshing 'portable bidet'"
citrus galbanum
Unless your husband/boyfriend/lover/girlfriend is a bee, I think making your cha cha smell like fruit and herbs is a bad idea. If anything, your guy would rather have it smell like pizza and beer than basil grapefruit.
Posts
