Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Did I shave my legs for this?

It's that time of year again. Time to get my tires kicked and my oil changed at the "girly doctor". It's not easy keeping up a body that is 3 decades old. Maintenance is required. You would think that I would be ecstatic at the thought of sitting alone in a room full of elevator music and magazines for an undetermined amount of time. After all, it is a chance to catch up on my Women's Day, Woman's Weekly and Reader's Digest. Stimulating reads my people! I guess providing all those publications really cuts down on those awkward moments of wondering if you are in the right place. I was. Patiently waiting through the lottery of names, mine finally came up. Woohoo! (sarcasm included).

Off to the scale, which is more like confessional. The second I stood up on that metal platform, I immediately started confessing all of the shortcomings in my diet. The nurse gave me an unsympathetic look that said it all..."Here's a quarter honey. Call someone who cares or go buy another candy bar". I guess I'm not the only one. Next event, paper gown fashion show. Glamorous and breezy, what more could a girl ask for. After enjoying my recyclable outfit for a good 45 minutes with my back to the door, the doctor appeared on the scene. Why do they arrange the room so your back is to the door? Hello, here is my best side come on in!

I swear she must have turned up the heat, because the sight of those rubber gloves made me sweat like a banchee. This is only time I shy from hot pads. You know, the ones so gingerly placed over those shiny stirrups. At this point, I overcompensate by attempting to act normal which in turn makes me act even more abnormal. I start babbling on about the weather, chia pets, American Idol (which I don't really watch), lawn bowling, yada yada. Before I know it, I feel like I am having an out of body experience listening to this crazy who sounds like me. I am so uncool...and hot did I mention hot? Because while yammering on, I started to have every woman's fear of losing control of all body functions at an inopportune time. Oh the shame. Crisis averted. The only thing I couldn't control was my mouth and the doctor isn't paid to tell me to shut it. After tinkering around under my paper tent with her medieval salad tongs, the doctor pretty much pronounced "it's a girl" and was on her way. Yep, I am a girl...I probably could have told you that before the stirrups.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Piano Man

"Sing us a song, you're the piano man.
Sing us a song tonight.
Well, were all in the mood for a melody,
And you've got us feeling alright."
~Billy Joel

Multi-tasking man-style! I think it might be selective. He's not refereeing children, making dinner, talking on the phone, and taking out the trash while riding a unicycle, but this will do just fine. Play on....

Wednesday, April 16, 2008


Behind every great set of pearly whites, there's a great dentist. It is a noble profession, especially when my dragon breath is your 8am appointment. I went today. I love my dentist who also happens to be one of my father's frat buddies. I don't know if that helps his credibility. No, I did not have to drink fluoride out of a boot while getting paddled. Hazing is now against the law people! He must have been a real hoot back in the day with his party tricks. Because for some reason, he seemed to enjoy asking questions right as he was wedging a grown man's fist in my mouth. Thank goodness he strapped a bib on me, because my response went a little like this "Hmmmrrpphhmmrrpphpmm" with a lot of drool. I literally did "talk to the hand". As my mouth was resuming it's original shape, I further attempted to exchange pleasantries. This too proved difficult considering he was wielding an object that could remove tartar and an eyeball. No sudden movements! Feel free to just tell me the story- no need to act it out!

To top it off, I don't think honesty is always the best policy even if you are wearing a white lab coat. Things were wrapping up when I decided to mention a newly discovered chip on my tooth. Can't quite pinpoint the flyer accident, first and only girl fight, opening a pickle jar, the possibilities are endless. I was just curious. I wasn't looking for an extreme makeover. My dentist decided to take the road that should be less traveled by. He decided to ease my worries by pointing out another chip here, a crooked tooth there, and so on. I started to feel like snaggletooth- a snaggletooth that should ask for her money back. Yep, one little chip became a laundry list of imperfections. Gosh, I'd like to have this guy around on my worst day. I encouraged him to keep going, but to let me get a magic marker so he could circle the afflicted areas. Seriously buddy, keep going until you get to my love handles. HA! In hindsight, I should have shoved my fist in his mouth while he was talking. That is the last time I point out what I refer to as 'flaws that add character'. And heaven forbid I get a cavity- he might just point out that I have one leg shorter than the other.

Pride or Principle

It all started with a bet...and this is what you get. This obviously is not my husband (shucks!), but this is exactly what his hair currently looks like. Aren't I a lucky woman? I was told R's image was unavailable for blog use, so Jackie Moon is my substitute. Back to the story. R & buddies (aka fellow 'hair club for men members') thought it would be funny to see who could go the longest without a haircut. Little boys in large men bodies looking for a hair-raising experience. When shaking on the deal, I don't think any of them considered the repercussions.
R's hair looks like a helmet. He who shies from all things 'metro' was forced to purchase and use hair products for the first time. It's hilarious! I feel like I am watching a teenage boy learning how to use cologne. It's awkward, endearing, and downright dorky! So when I asked him about his day today, he got this disturbed look on his face. It all came spilling out. A man at the water cooler asked R if he got a "permanent" over the weekend. HA! Pride or principle, we'll see who wins the bet!

Monday, April 7, 2008

Invasion of the Body Snatcher

It's official, it's not "There goes the neighborhood", it's "There goes the neighbor". I have lowered my standards...I have no pride. The poor people (my family included) living within a two block radius are about to condemn me. I have been publicly spotted wandering the hood in my bathrobe on several occasions. I haven't brushed my hair for 3 days. I actually spruced up for Sunday family dinner with a wet wipe. I now understand those haggard women I see in public looking disheveled, glassy-eyed and in desperate need of a makeover. Granted we have been moving furniture around and packing boxes, but I have been letting myself get pretty gnarly. I finally showered this afternoon and when I got out of the shower I screamed. Not because my body rejected shampoo & conditioner as a foreign substance, but because I didn't recognize myself. Who was that stranger?! Out of my bathrobe, grungy sweats & work clothes, I didn't look any better. I had to remind myself that soap is not surgery. Then I paused...what was I hoping to find? A supermodel? I have been eating more than saltines and the last time I had professional grooming was...I can't remember. As for people wanting my photograph, there was that call from National Geographic. Have I really let myself go? And just how far gone am I?

As I stood there examining myself, notice I didn't say "checking out", I dug deep to find my inner Pollyanna/Tony Robbins. Nudity and vulnerability makes one quite gullible. Cue pep talk- I realized that I look pretty good as long as my eyeballs are above the water line. I have my health, all of my original teeth, my hair is nothing a weed wacker can't treat, my clothing covers all the important places and I have most of my brain. It's a fact that you lose brain cells when you are pregnant. NO I AM NOT, but I have been and I haven't recovered. My body is a road map. It shows where I've been and where I hope to go. Those well padded hips- great for child birth and packing around toddlers. The poochy stomach- perfect for hiding my feet when I leave the house in slippers. The booty- reflects my baking abilities and brings me one step closer to my future hip hop dancing career. The bingo wings (aka arms)- perfect for carrying, calming, landing airplanes, you name it. My point is that 'stranger' staring back at me is not such a stranger after all. I just need to spend a little more time with her. If that doesn't work, maybe I'll try "beer goggles". Everyone looks good after three! Just kidding!