Monthly Archives: July 2018

The Badass & A ‘Fro Below

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The Badass & A ‘Fro Below

Last night I was at a book club meeting with some friends. I think we all know that “book club” is code for over indulging in food and adult beverages in the suburbs. I partook in the food and limited beverages to water because I prefer to chew my calories. I am sworn to secrecy regarding my companions (not really, no one got sloppy). I will say I ate a hamster’s weight in bacon wrapped dates and I regret nothing, N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

The book we were discussing was Finding My Badass Self: A Year of Truths and Dares by Sherry Stanfa-Stanley. FindingMyBadassSelf  I met Sherry at the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Conference this past April and we hit it off. After the conference I contacted Sherry because I wanted to purchase 10 of her books. I turned the big ‘5-OH’ in June and I decided to give the books as a favor to the ladies who attended my birthday dinner. At that dinner a friend offered to host a book club to discuss it.

The book gave a description of Sherry’s experiences while ticking off an eclectic bucket list of things that pushed her out of her comfort zone. The tone of the book is friendly with a good amount of humor. It’s an interesting and fun read. I read the book in early May and one thing that stood out to me was the rhino situation. There are a few lines in the book that caught my attention (page 193 if you happen to have a copy):

(Sherry) “Oh! I think he’s going to pee!”

“Um, no,” Robin said. “See his equipment down there? This is similar to how we manually ejaculate him.”

I read that and I immediately had a stream of questions and thoughts. Here are some of them in no particular order:

Holy sh*t is this rhino getting happy endings as part of his care?

How often?

Is it always the same person or does this task get rotated? (and really which one is more disturbing; a rotating team of happy ending professionals or a single individual responsible for the “the job”? I’m still debating that. I’m leaning toward the one individual being worse because then it seems like an exclusive relationship, this bothers me. Is it consensual?)

Anyhow there were 52 unique and interesting experiences described in the book and this one was the one that haunted me. I may be a 12 year old boy trapped in the body of a midlife female.

Other topics carried over into things we had tried in our own life – one person jumped out of perfectly good airplanes several times (for fun, the weirdo). Others discussed being on nude beaches, eating in the dark, zip lines, sex shops (I told you it was a good book) and the “woes of waxing”.

I got a Brazilian wax once so I had some skin in the game on this one (wink for those that have experienced it). For the uninitiated, there is no amount of candle light, chanting monks and calming incense that can tame the horror of getting your lady bits waxed. Basically you are placed on a table with your legs pushed as close to your head as possible. The goal is to have your feet nestled beside your ears, easy peasy if you happen to be a double jointed acrobat, a ballerina or an expert level Yogi. Sadly I can not list any of those credentials on my resume.

I’m fairly bendy though so positioning was not the worst part. The worst part is having a Gyno light switched on while you are in that position and happen to be naked (or wearing a thong whose sole purpose is to help you pretend you have some modesty….insert maniacal laugh…you don’t, it’s all gone, it left with dignity.) Once the hospital-like floodlight is pointed toward your nether regions, a thin coat of hot (think lava) wax is applied to your most delicate areas – front to back. Then because that isn’t awful enough, tape is used to yank the wax and hair off (perhaps with some skin and 13% of your soul) At some point the technician will ask what your pruning preference is for the front of the house. The options range from geometric shapes to completely bald. I went with the landing strip option. A lightning bolt would have been cool sadly, I didn’t think of it until after and I never went back (that was 2007).

One of my friends who attended last night sent me a link to an article this morning which described a hairy situation. Apparently there is a feminist movement for growing out hair where in previous years the trends have been to shave or wax (down below, armpits, legs, anywhere). I replied with a big nope. Do what you want ladies, I’ll keep the ‘fro below to a crew cut.

 

 

 

 

Photo Credit: Copyright: <a href=’https://www.123rf.com/profile_bankjayphotto’>bankjayphotto / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

 

 

 

 

 

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Super Cringe

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Super Cringe

My alter ego has an alter ego. Stay with me here. I write under a pen name, so Bryce is an alter ego of sorts. The other day I thought perhaps I should have a character for my blog. Someone who visits from time to time with antics and foolishness to share. And then I thought:

If my alter ego wants an alter ego is that just multiple personality disorder? Asking for a friend (actually several friends…)

I posted that on Facebook and Twitter and to my surprise, no one had any solid advice for me (us, insert audible eye roll).

Left without supervision and zero guidance…I’ve decided screw it, let the alter ego’s alter ego be born. She shall have a name because – alter ego’s, alter ego is a terrible name. Too many words. Introducing (insert dramatic drum roll here)…(still drumming)….(just a smidge more drumming)…SUPER CRINGE.

Super Cringe is not your run of the mill heroine. There are no super powers to cast her for anything by Marvel. In fact, it’s her lack of anything spectacular that caused her existence. She leans into the ordinary.  A dorky, teen-embarrassing run-of-the-mill mom like so many that afflict our children. If you’ve raised humans you probably have some super cringe worthy stories of your own. Hell, even my dog is embarrassed by me sometimes. The husband just pretends he doesn’t know me in public.

Super Cringe was inspired by the fairly obnoxious text I got from my dear daughter a few nights ago. She was texting me on her way home from ski club. This is how it played out.

DD: Love u and it was fun. I went on a few black trails.

Me: Love u 2 my little bad@zz

DD: That was super cringe

And that is how Super Cringe was born, out of my child’s disdain for my choice of words. Stay tuned…visuals to follow.

 

Sketch drawn by the amazing Lisa McMillen of Cica Lisa Designs. Visit her website and prepare to be blown away. http://www.cicalisadesigns.com/

 

It’s a Deathtrap

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It’s a Deathtrap

It’s been a rough few days. Late last week I had a physical and I walked out of there with the trifecta of future appointments – mammogram, treadmill stress test and a colonoscopy. I hit 50 hard last month and apparently 50 hits back. I also got some bad news about my cholesterol which is high and has to be monitored. I come from a family which has lots of heart disease. I left the doctors office in a mood that can be described as “we’re all going to die”.Then I went home and took care of people because that’s what moms do. Over the weekend I distracted myself by shopping for swimsuits online.

Getting packages in the mail usually comes with some level of anticipation, unless it’s swimwear then it’s dread. It started out innocently enough, I was preparing for a family trip and decided to get some swimwear. Now I wasn’t entirely naive about the process, I despise putting on a bathing suit. I hate it so much that I have avoided it all together for the past three years. My family is about to embark on a once in a lifetime trip and I refuse to let vanity and insecurity sideline me. I need to get over myself and squeeze into something that resembles swimwear, perhaps from the Amish line.

I did what modern women do and went shopping online. Let’s be honest for a minute, is there a fresher hell than trying on swimsuits in a department store dressing room?  No there isn’t (OK side burner war, childhood diseases, man buns, poorly dressed baby goats, misogamy, racism and all the crime in the world for a moment) bathing suit shopping is awful and is made worse by florescent lights and the knowledge that some store security guard is watching you. No thanks, I’ll pay for shipping on returns if I have to in order to avoid being burned into Edna’s memory of most ridiculous customers.

I was cautiously optimistic when I began. I wasn’t opting for the Brazilian thong with a bandeau top (wireless). Those days are behind me (*sniff*sniff*) I went straight to modest yet modern swim skirts and tankini tops. I was pleasantly surprised when I found a swim skirt I like and it actually looked kind of cute. I felt cautiously optimistic, thinking my biggest challenge was behind me (wink) and I went to search for a top.

I found the top from a different company. A plain, yet seemingly well designed tankini top in black, should work fine with the aforementioned cute skirt. I took it out of the bag, it doesn’t resemble a 15th century torture device, so I decided to try it on. OMFG this thing is the stuff of nightmares. During my first attempt I was spun into some weird web of clothing denial. I thought I must have done something wrong, this can’t be right. It was only half on, yet it took the skills of a disjointed acrobat to wiggle my way out of there.

I checked the size, listened for encroaching family members and dove in for round two. OH FFS are they kidding me? No, flippin’ way. I was determined and soldiered through and managed to get this tankini from hell on my body over most of the right parts. Thank G-d it didn’t look good, if it did I may have been tempted to keep it beyond all logic.

Fear started to creep in. You know how it is when you’re watching a scary movie and you hear those first high pitched piano notes…something awful is about to happen and you go into high alert. Is it hiding in the drapes, crouched down near the sofa, OMG he’s behind me, isn’t he!!! And I realize I need to get out of this despicable garment without destroying it. Fantasies of shredding it Hulk style were replaced by the need to develop an exit strategy.

I looked at myself in the full length mirror, took a deep breath and determined the best course of action. Getting this top over “the girls” was particularly challenging. I’m a C-cup so we aren’t talking porn star breasts or anything unusual. Visions of me twisting my upper body to release the twins seemed like a bad idea. I wondered how it was that Harry Houdini could escape shackles in a water tank under duress and I struggled to get out of a bathing suit. I opted for the top down method. I released myself from the straps and rolled it down to my waist and kept going until I was free. The entire task likely lasted under five minutes and felt like a lifetime. The search continues…

Midlife Woman

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Midlife Woman

Me: I’d like to file a missing function report.

Physician: What function?

Me: My metabolism, it seems to have vanished into thin air. I can’t find it anywhere.

Physician: Well your thyroid levels are fine. Are you sure you aren’t binge eating fast food and pretending to be a sloth several times a week.

Me: No and no. Today I ate an oat granola bar and a handful of black cherries and I’m pretty sure I gained weight. As for the sloth part, that’s adorable. I’m a mom of two teens, I run my own business and my husband thinks it’s 1950. I assure you I do not live the sloth lifestyle.

Physician: Perhaps try adding exercise to your routine.

Me: Also, adorable. I’ve been working out 3 to 4 times a week for literally 30 years. Push ups, planks, kick-boxing, horrific stuff doc. I’ve seen men leave the classes I take in tears…grown ass 30 year old men…tears.

Physician: Well you are in the range for menopause.

Me: Except that bitch Flo still shows up, usually at random unpredictable and highly inconvenient times. Last month it was on the beach…did you know that ladies rooms no longer have the machines for “essentials”. Hell, they don’t even offer paper hand towels anymore. That Dyson hand dryer was nifty but not very useful for my predicament. What else you got?

Physician: (silence)

Me: I’ll see myself out.

 

Photo Credit: Jim Vallee, used under agreement with 123RF

 

 

 

Damn it, the Civil War is Postponed!

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Damn it, the Civil War is Postponed!

Susan, a white woman wearing a resist shirt is yelling into a megaphone at a protest: “The Fourth of July Civil War has been postponed! (gasps from the crowd, loud sighing with audible eye rolls) I repeat, the July 4th Civil War has been postponed! Alex Jones is on to us AGAIN, he must have a mole in here. (Susan pauses to eye the crowd with suspicion) The avocado launchers need to be rolled back along with the gluten free pasta guns – oops sorry they aren’t guns, guns are bad, they are peashooters – don’t worry we aren’t using actual peas, people still eat those, non-GMO of course (a collective sigh of relief from the crowd).

Kevin, a bearded dude in the audience wearing an ‘I’m with Her’ t-shirt: “What will we do with all of the avocados Susan?”

Susan: “We will enact the 3-2-1 Emergency Plan and make guacamole for everyone at the Texas border!”

Kevin: “That’s ambitious Susan do we have enough cilantro? I like tomatoes in my quac, I heard there was a shortage, not enough farm workers to harvest this year….”

Susan: “G-damn it Kevin we’ve been through this in the practice drills. We will make due with the cilantro on hand. You may have to let go of the tomatoes. We’re all making sacrifices here (mutters Geezus, under her breath but everyone hears it).”

(A beleaguered looking mother of 6 overheard in the background in a sing-song voice): “You get what you get and you don’t get upset!”

Susan: “Thanks everyone for coming out today! Don’t be discouraged we will reconvene next week at the usual location.”

Millennial from the crowd wearing an androgyny smock: “Is that still at Whole Foods or did we switch when they got acquired by Bezos?” (an Echo is heard in the background offering to create a Whole Foods shopping list – 1,243 people all yell “Shut Up ALEXA!!! OFF!!!” simultaneously)

Susan: “Thanks for asking Magenta. We will be meeting in church basements, Quaker Meetinghouses and yoga studios under the guise of self help groups. Namaste everyone, namaste.”

 

This post brought to you by sarcasm and humor, two of my oldest friends. And I’m throwing in a plug for Periodically Inspired because I love their shirts (and I did NOT get paid for that). Happy 4th y’all!

https://www.periodicallyinspired.com/

 

 

 

 

 

I Miss Purple

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I Miss Purple

Hello friends, it’s been a while…I need to clear some cobwebs from my blog and just soldier through and write something. It’s hard to write in the middle of this dumpster fire that is the current state of the USA (lots of places actually, this one is just the most familiar to me). I’m so tired of the ugly, awful things happening here. I’m saddened by the hateful words passed back and forth like some awful baton, as if we are in a race to see which words can inflict the most damage. The reds, the blues are firmly entrenched on their opposing sides and I’m longing for some purple. God, I miss purple.

I also miss God, calm down this isn’t about to go all evangelical. I miss the God of my understanding (not yours or his or hers or theirs, my understanding). The God of my understanding was introduced to me when I was a teenager struggling with addiction and the effects of a really dysfunctional family. I had a childhood filled with Episcopal churches to introduce me to religion, this was easier to grasp. The God of my understanding is a loving father figure, the good in the world, not quick to anger, forgiving, omnipotent, kind. I’m not seeing a lot of that in the world right now and it adds to the melancholy.

Even if we can’t agree on the cause or the blame, can we relate to each other on an emotional level? Are you all tired, exhausted to the bones over our current state or are you still fueled on anger and blind rage? Do you know another human on the other side that can give you a shred of hope that they aren’t “all” bad? Have you locked yourself in an echo chamber where you can only hear the thoughts, ideas and beliefs that convey your own on replay 24 hours a day? Some days I feel like a mom from 1972 with Anderson Cooper and Glenn Beck arguing in the back seat of the family car, don’t make me pull over boys.

I’d love to write some hysterically funny post right now but it isn’t in me. I’d love to write some well thought out poignant piece that can cause someone to think of things differently, pause to see a previously unseen angle and that seems equally impossible. So here I sit, missing middle ground, an overlap of ideas, a common thread. That thread is purple.

 

Photo credit: Copyright: <a href=’https://www.123rf.com/profile_belchonock’>belchonock / 123RF Stock Photo</a>