OK, no not really. But my teenager is here for the summer now. At his size, I'm pretty sure the only beatings will be in the games we play. Darts, various board games, Wii games...
I say size because my teenager is well over 6 inches taller than me. And since he's eating more, I'm pretty sure he will have another growth spurt this summer, or shortly into his Sophmore year. Right now, he's only about an inch taller than last summer. But he's also notorious for hardly eating. My son is about as bad as a supermodel, when it comes to his eating habits. Hopefully minus rumored purging. So, with his (what should be) normal teenage appetite, I will predict my son to hit 6ft this summer or shortly after he returns to his father. And potentially exceeding that by a good 3 inches. And since he has my genes, he might very well finally pack on some weight and be a good sized man. My great-grandfather was 6'4" and pushed close to 300#. Big burly Missouri farmer.
In other child abuse news, I didn't recognize my own son when he came thru the security doors at the airport. See, for the past 4 years or so, my son has had a buzz cut. His father wouldn't allow any other hair style for him, after I was out of the picture. Which is totally hypocritical of my ex, since just a couple years before we split up, he'd had a 3 foot ponytail cut off and donated to Locks of Love. 3 full feet of ginger hair. All natural. He took his brother's idea of growing it out when he got out of the military. His brother, last I saw him, still had a long scraggly ponytail. My ex's was thick and luxurious. So why he forced my son to get buzz cuts for years, I can't explain. Wouldn't have been my choice.
Fast-forward to Friday afternoon sitting in the Boise Airport anxiously awaiting a glimpse of my son, and he had to practically walk up to where I was sitting before I realized it was him. He now has the surfer/skater look(depending on how old you are, you might remember it as the SoCal surfer look of the 70s/80s or the skater look of the early 2000s) but with curls at the ends. He tells me his dad will probably demand he get another buzz cut before starting school, even tho I've heard "out of the eyes and off the collar". Well, I can accommodate that! To within the barest minimum requirements!
His hair doesn't look bad at all! I just didn't expect it. And it's a much darker blonde than I'm used to. And with curls!! Ahhh, teenagers. I know, I know, 'post a picture...' I can't. It's not my face I'd be posting on the interwebz. Last I checked, he doesn't even have his pic on his FB page.
Am I a bad parent for telling my son to willfully disobey his other parent? Here's the situation, as told to me by my teen.( I have yet to corroborate with the ex on this one.)
My ex has been forcing my son to go to church. This was a shock to me, as my ex was never a church-goer when we were together. His parents didn't even go to church. His father was raised Mormon, but for whatever reason decided not to continue. It's not a Mormon service he's attending, but I don't know why the sudden churchiness. It wasn't like this 6 months ago.
Fine, no biggie if my ex has suddenly found the need, but why would you force someone to go? To me, that falls under religious intolerance. I was never forced to go to church. When I was little and we lived in the south, I decided I wanted to go to Sunday school. There aren't too many choices other than Baptist when you live in the South. At least not where we were. And the bus came by to pick up the kiddies! It was my choice, and eventually, I decided it wasn't for me. My parents didn't attend with me, I didn't attend because of them. My choice. When I was married to the ex, we never went to church. Maybe ( a very very strong maybe) for weddings or funerals, but not once did we get fancied up on a Sunday morning and attend a church.
My son has no desire at this point to attend a church. He doesn't get anything out of the service. He has no problem studying the various main religions, and has, in fact, read various religions' texts. Apparently this isn't enough for the ex. He is still demanding my son attend. Teenager and I discussed him getting out of the house early so he's not around for church. I am all for him disobeying his father on this one.
You should never, ever force religion on someone. Most likely, you're just going to ruin the possibility of that person ever wanting to come to your religion.
Kids who have always been raised in the church(any church) are used to it and don't know any different, mostly. I don't consider that forcing the person. If that child ever decides they don't want to attend anymore, or they chose another path, then let them go and find their own path.
We even went far into the tangent of "if it gets bad enough, you can always live here." Again, something I've never, ever tried to influence my son on. Which parent he wanted to live with. And now, at his ripe old age of 15, it can be discussed w/o influence. He knows what he wants and what he doesn't want. He's very well established with friends and school. It would take something extreme to make him want to move to Redneck Central, Idaho. :) (I love where I live. I just know it's a far cry from the ideals of most anywhere on the West Coast.)
So, back to the question, am I a bad parent for telling my son to willfully disobey his father in this?
Monday, June 24, 2013
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Summertime Blues
I don't even want to blog today, but it's been too many days. I might not get started again if I let it go on too long.
Summer is starting. My teenager will be here in a few days to spend his summer with the rednecks in Idaho. He lives somewhere else, a little more high-falutin'. Normally this would put a smile on my face and a spring in my step. I miss my son when he's not here and I feel more complete when I can get him to allow me a hug. I say normally. And I am super glad he's coming. I don't have any concrete plans for the summer, but I am glad he's coming.
And, we're probably moving this summer. We've finally been pre-approved for a home loan! Soon I get to buy MY OWN HOME!! Undeniable joy!
GOOD things coming for the summer!!
But the reason my title and my mood are so dreary: we have two old woman dogs who are on their last legs. One of which came on very rapidly. Two weeks ago, Sarah was just an old, creaky dog. Now, she's effectively totally blind, mostly deaf and won't eat anymore. The other old woman dog, Delia, is just as blind and deaf, but hers has been gradual and she has learned to navigate her surroundings and you can barely tell she doesn't have all her faculties. And D still eats. No matter how I fix the dog food: water to make 'gravy', warm water to soften faster, warm milk for extra flavor, various people flavors to coat the food.... No mind, she won't eat. Oh, she'll eat the cheese we toss her way. Or the bread scraps. But, as much as doggie parents KNOW that people food isn't ideal for the health of our doggies, we still do it, at least in moderation. In Sarah's case, since that's ALL she will eat, we don't want to screw up her system too badly. She's already having issues when she can navigate out to the yard. A friend suggested wet, canned food. Great idea! Except, with Sarah's already fragile system, we don't want to cause discomfort by changing her diet so drastically. And she is so skinny. I can see her ribs. Trust me, we try to feed her. Even so far as to put her bowl full of yummy nummy warm milk soaked food in front of her nose where ever she's laying down. Nope.
Sidewayz was certain she wouldn't last the weekend. I'm not sure she'll make this whole week. Speaking of this week. Did I mention my son comes in on Friday? I can't decide if it would be better for him to see Sarah one last time before she goes or for him to remember her as she was. Just a few months ago, when he was here for Xmas, Sarah was a crazy old dog who would still pin the puppy on his back in their play attacks. We're not taking Sarah in to have her put down or anything. Unless she's in screaming pain, of course. But, so far, she's just doing the rapid old age decline.
We usually go camping every summer. At least once, but every few weeks would be ideal. Sidewayz and I have already decided that because Delia is so old, we can't take her for a weekend in the sticks and we can't leave her all weekend. Sarah wasn't even a factor in this conversation a few weeks ago, as she was still going strong.
Goodness. As I type this, she stands at the open back door, debating on braving the step, porch and yard. Apparently not. She just went back to her safe corner. Her balance is shot, too. She does the doggie shake of her head and damn near falls over. I think she has a brain tumor, for all this to be so sudden. And at 16, it's best to let her live out her days as she wants.
Sidewayz babies these two old women. Gives them (mostly) anything they want. See, he was lost in the mountains some years back, before I met him, and these two sweet dogs saved his life. For reals. Three days he was lost. Full on search parties, helicopters and everything. Don't worry, he learned his lesson. He now has just about everything survival you can have, that will fit in your pockets. And on a pack on a dog. So, because they saved his life, he has a special bond with them. It's really tearing him up to see his old ladies at this stage.
(looking at my semi-lengthy post) I didn't want to blog today because I'm in a bit of a dreary mood, but clearly I had something to say. Sorry if I brought you down to my mood. Kind of why I didn't want to post today. Not real keen on being a downer for others.
Oh and on that same note, this is why there will be no photos in this post. I refuse to take/post pics of the old dogs. Eventually there will be a photo of the young, healthy girls, but not today.
Summer is starting. My teenager will be here in a few days to spend his summer with the rednecks in Idaho. He lives somewhere else, a little more high-falutin'. Normally this would put a smile on my face and a spring in my step. I miss my son when he's not here and I feel more complete when I can get him to allow me a hug. I say normally. And I am super glad he's coming. I don't have any concrete plans for the summer, but I am glad he's coming.
And, we're probably moving this summer. We've finally been pre-approved for a home loan! Soon I get to buy MY OWN HOME!! Undeniable joy!
GOOD things coming for the summer!!
But the reason my title and my mood are so dreary: we have two old woman dogs who are on their last legs. One of which came on very rapidly. Two weeks ago, Sarah was just an old, creaky dog. Now, she's effectively totally blind, mostly deaf and won't eat anymore. The other old woman dog, Delia, is just as blind and deaf, but hers has been gradual and she has learned to navigate her surroundings and you can barely tell she doesn't have all her faculties. And D still eats. No matter how I fix the dog food: water to make 'gravy', warm water to soften faster, warm milk for extra flavor, various people flavors to coat the food.... No mind, she won't eat. Oh, she'll eat the cheese we toss her way. Or the bread scraps. But, as much as doggie parents KNOW that people food isn't ideal for the health of our doggies, we still do it, at least in moderation. In Sarah's case, since that's ALL she will eat, we don't want to screw up her system too badly. She's already having issues when she can navigate out to the yard. A friend suggested wet, canned food. Great idea! Except, with Sarah's already fragile system, we don't want to cause discomfort by changing her diet so drastically. And she is so skinny. I can see her ribs. Trust me, we try to feed her. Even so far as to put her bowl full of yummy nummy warm milk soaked food in front of her nose where ever she's laying down. Nope.
Sidewayz was certain she wouldn't last the weekend. I'm not sure she'll make this whole week. Speaking of this week. Did I mention my son comes in on Friday? I can't decide if it would be better for him to see Sarah one last time before she goes or for him to remember her as she was. Just a few months ago, when he was here for Xmas, Sarah was a crazy old dog who would still pin the puppy on his back in their play attacks. We're not taking Sarah in to have her put down or anything. Unless she's in screaming pain, of course. But, so far, she's just doing the rapid old age decline.
We usually go camping every summer. At least once, but every few weeks would be ideal. Sidewayz and I have already decided that because Delia is so old, we can't take her for a weekend in the sticks and we can't leave her all weekend. Sarah wasn't even a factor in this conversation a few weeks ago, as she was still going strong.
Goodness. As I type this, she stands at the open back door, debating on braving the step, porch and yard. Apparently not. She just went back to her safe corner. Her balance is shot, too. She does the doggie shake of her head and damn near falls over. I think she has a brain tumor, for all this to be so sudden. And at 16, it's best to let her live out her days as she wants.
Sidewayz babies these two old women. Gives them (mostly) anything they want. See, he was lost in the mountains some years back, before I met him, and these two sweet dogs saved his life. For reals. Three days he was lost. Full on search parties, helicopters and everything. Don't worry, he learned his lesson. He now has just about everything survival you can have, that will fit in your pockets. And on a pack on a dog. So, because they saved his life, he has a special bond with them. It's really tearing him up to see his old ladies at this stage.
(looking at my semi-lengthy post) I didn't want to blog today because I'm in a bit of a dreary mood, but clearly I had something to say. Sorry if I brought you down to my mood. Kind of why I didn't want to post today. Not real keen on being a downer for others.
Oh and on that same note, this is why there will be no photos in this post. I refuse to take/post pics of the old dogs. Eventually there will be a photo of the young, healthy girls, but not today.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
5 Things I Don't Like About Myself
In honor of Frank's
blog on Glipho, here are my 5 Things. And I deliberately didn't read anyone
else's lists, so as to keep my own list pure. (Thanks Frank!)
1) I am so flippin LAZY!!
I would so much rather play Sims3 all day long, even leaving the game running as long as it can before an event pauses the game. I would rather sit for hours watching drivel, than unload and load the dishwasher. It's not like I even have to HANDWASH the dishes. Sometimes I see little funny meme's on Pintrest (oh, don't get me started on the hours I can spend on Pinterest!) that say something like: Go out tonight? Oh, but I've already taken off my bra, sorry.
TOTALLY ME. How hard is it to put a bra on, (guys, don't answer that one!), brush your hair and put some clean clothes on, so you can sit and be lazy at a friends' house?
2) I have NO WILL POWER!!
I am supposed to be cutting down/out glutens, as I have a sensitivity. I don't know if it's a full blown issue with glutens, as I don't have health insurance, and therefore haven't been tested. I'm only going off my Uncle's findings about himself, and as it's genetic... We don't have parents/grandparents from that side of the family to ask questions about their health, so, we have each other. The no-will power part? Glutens are yummeh. And, my husband, the famous Sidewayz, clearly doesn't need to restrict his diet. Freakin' Jack Sprat. Shut up, I know what you just pictured/heard in your head. If I try really, really hard, I can stick to a 'diet' for ... well, I've done it for a month. Back in January 2010 I went off sugar for a whole month. I loves me some sugar! I have managed to be more aware of my gluten intake. And, altho it wasn't part of the goal, (cuz I had no idea) I did cut WAY down on the glutens starting last Easter, and I lost 20#s in a month. That was last Easter.
3) I can snap to ANGER so fast!
Something I am working on. It usually only manifests with the loved ones who know the right button to push, even if it's unintentional. Like a husband or a kid. :) I have learned to recognize it quicker than I used to. And I apologize for it. I never used to.
4)Women issues as I get older. You might think, if you yourself don't experience them, 'but that's natural, how can you hate this about yourself?' You might be correct, I don't know. There are many, many women who have the same issues I do. And many, many who have it WAY worse. To me, it doesn't matter if this is the way it's supposed to happen(I don't think it's supposed to be this way!), I still hate it. The pain, the misery, the migraines, the.... well, I won't go into gory details. I do have male readers! (You're welcome!) Oh, and early menopause symptoms. What the fluck, Chuck? I'm only in my 30s. Granted, it's the down slope to 40, but it's still really early!!
5)I can't seem to stick with something long-term. I put many things in this category. I'm hoping to change this as I go. Like blogging. I really hope I can stick with it longer than a few months. And exercising. Keeping up with my self-appointed lists of things to do. I think #5 goes hand-in-hand with #1 & #2.
I'm not counting body issues. Every single person in the free world has issues with something about their own bodies. I say free world because, honestly, people who aren't free, have way more issues to worry about than a flabby butt.
There are way more things I DO like about myself. Or at least am at a point in my aged life where I can come to terms with things. Another post for another day.
1) I am so flippin LAZY!!
I would so much rather play Sims3 all day long, even leaving the game running as long as it can before an event pauses the game. I would rather sit for hours watching drivel, than unload and load the dishwasher. It's not like I even have to HANDWASH the dishes. Sometimes I see little funny meme's on Pintrest (oh, don't get me started on the hours I can spend on Pinterest!) that say something like: Go out tonight? Oh, but I've already taken off my bra, sorry.
TOTALLY ME. How hard is it to put a bra on, (guys, don't answer that one!), brush your hair and put some clean clothes on, so you can sit and be lazy at a friends' house?
2) I have NO WILL POWER!!
I am supposed to be cutting down/out glutens, as I have a sensitivity. I don't know if it's a full blown issue with glutens, as I don't have health insurance, and therefore haven't been tested. I'm only going off my Uncle's findings about himself, and as it's genetic... We don't have parents/grandparents from that side of the family to ask questions about their health, so, we have each other. The no-will power part? Glutens are yummeh. And, my husband, the famous Sidewayz, clearly doesn't need to restrict his diet. Freakin' Jack Sprat. Shut up, I know what you just pictured/heard in your head. If I try really, really hard, I can stick to a 'diet' for ... well, I've done it for a month. Back in January 2010 I went off sugar for a whole month. I loves me some sugar! I have managed to be more aware of my gluten intake. And, altho it wasn't part of the goal, (cuz I had no idea) I did cut WAY down on the glutens starting last Easter, and I lost 20#s in a month. That was last Easter.
3) I can snap to ANGER so fast!
Something I am working on. It usually only manifests with the loved ones who know the right button to push, even if it's unintentional. Like a husband or a kid. :) I have learned to recognize it quicker than I used to. And I apologize for it. I never used to.
4)Women issues as I get older. You might think, if you yourself don't experience them, 'but that's natural, how can you hate this about yourself?' You might be correct, I don't know. There are many, many women who have the same issues I do. And many, many who have it WAY worse. To me, it doesn't matter if this is the way it's supposed to happen(I don't think it's supposed to be this way!), I still hate it. The pain, the misery, the migraines, the.... well, I won't go into gory details. I do have male readers! (You're welcome!) Oh, and early menopause symptoms. What the fluck, Chuck? I'm only in my 30s. Granted, it's the down slope to 40, but it's still really early!!
5)I can't seem to stick with something long-term. I put many things in this category. I'm hoping to change this as I go. Like blogging. I really hope I can stick with it longer than a few months. And exercising. Keeping up with my self-appointed lists of things to do. I think #5 goes hand-in-hand with #1 & #2.
I'm not counting body issues. Every single person in the free world has issues with something about their own bodies. I say free world because, honestly, people who aren't free, have way more issues to worry about than a flabby butt.
There are way more things I DO like about myself. Or at least am at a point in my aged life where I can come to terms with things. Another post for another day.
#160 Becoming
I know I've been away for a bit. I have some health issues that escalate as I get older. Unfortunately they can take me out for a while. Nothing to compare to those with chronic illness, but it saps me nonetheless. My poor kitchen right now!
Never fear. Today I rose at the self-appointed time, took care of some things, and then jumped right into my own little morning workout. I even started incorporating an arm workout. And now here I sit, blogging away.
Today's topic is Becoming. This can be interpreted a few ways, I'm sure. Heck, a really creative person could turn it into a great story.
As I get older, I find that I am BECOMING, in some ways, less tolerant. I just don't care to (and so, don't!) put up with bullspit. Be it from friends, neighbors, loved ones, internet acquaintances, politicians, people in the public eye... I don't HAVE to put up with it, so therefore, I don't. I'm also not as gullible as I used to be. As a kid, I used to believe just about everything I was told. And that in turn made me tell weird stories that couldn't possibly be true, but dang it, I was sticking to my story and too bad if you didn't believe it. Would have been nice had that not been 'corrected'... I could have been a great storyteller/writer.
I also (hope) I am BECOMING a better wife. Now, I know many of the women who will read this, will think I'm backwards and 'what about all the work millions of women have done to rise above...' Yep. My choice is backwards from all those women who fought so hard to get OUT of the kitchen and into the equal workforce. I had my time in the equal workforce. And before some of you think, "oh, sure, office work = equal.' I worked construction. I was in a union and I worked my way through the apprenticeship, 2 nights of school a week while working full time on the job, daily. I worked and sweated my sizable ass off next to, and often faster than, the guys. I got my Journeyman's card. I was in charge of crews and projects. I was the go-to person when Nintendo of America needed new high-speed data cables pulled in. I made myself on-call, since I lived 5 minutes away. I paid my dues. Literally, when it comes to unions.
Let me tell you, for those who've never worked construction-- it sucks. The work is hard. The winter wind, when working outdoors or in a structure with no windows/walls, is bitingly bitter and cold. When you're the only woman on the crew, you do have to put with with some stuff. I will say that I only ONCE experienced true sexual harassment, well, twice, but one of those was a dumb kid who thought he was being funny. I handled that one personally. ( I am not a shy violet and have no problem getting physical when it's called for.) The other time, I said something to my crew chief. The person in question wasn't just in charge of the crew that day, he was also an instructor at the apprenticeship AND a leader in the union. Let's just say, it's incredibly inappropriate to 'spank' a female crew member with some of the tools of the trade, as she bends to reach the job at hand.
So, yeah, I've paid my dues in the working world. I've also worked in an office.(something I yearned for while I was the dirty construction worker!) I've been a lead for a crew of some of the most immature adults I've ever met. Working under some leaders who deliberately have blinders on. Working for a company who refuses to pay the people what they're worth, or even for the scope of work they are doing. And many of those people know they are (still) being taken advantage of, but 'because of the economy', just stick around being taken advantage of, barely surviving. I finally had enough. I quit/was pushed out just after the holidays. Perfectly fine by me. Now I can stay at home, clean my house, learn to cook properly, get back into shape and generally, do what I want. Funny part of that story-- my husband now works for the same company (again) that I just quit. That part isn't funny----this is. He is basically doing the same job I was doing, but does NOT have to put up with a crew who still acts like they're in Jr. High. And he makes almost 2.5 TIMES as much as they were oh-so-generously allowing me to make.
I BECAME less tolerant of that place. Less tolerant of the asinine antics of the co-workers. I BECAME less likely to put up being taken advantage of.
I want to BECOME a better housewife. I want to BECOME a better cook. (my mom's mom never taught her, as she was raised in a convent and I don't think you learn to cook in a convent... correct me if this is incorrect!) I would have loved to BECOME a new mommy, but that's not in my stars, so I have to BECOME a better absentee parent to my teenage son.
So, even at my (feels like) considerable age, I am BECOMING something more, something different, maybe even, something better.
Never fear. Today I rose at the self-appointed time, took care of some things, and then jumped right into my own little morning workout. I even started incorporating an arm workout. And now here I sit, blogging away.
Today's topic is Becoming. This can be interpreted a few ways, I'm sure. Heck, a really creative person could turn it into a great story.
As I get older, I find that I am BECOMING, in some ways, less tolerant. I just don't care to (and so, don't!) put up with bullspit. Be it from friends, neighbors, loved ones, internet acquaintances, politicians, people in the public eye... I don't HAVE to put up with it, so therefore, I don't. I'm also not as gullible as I used to be. As a kid, I used to believe just about everything I was told. And that in turn made me tell weird stories that couldn't possibly be true, but dang it, I was sticking to my story and too bad if you didn't believe it. Would have been nice had that not been 'corrected'... I could have been a great storyteller/writer.
I also (hope) I am BECOMING a better wife. Now, I know many of the women who will read this, will think I'm backwards and 'what about all the work millions of women have done to rise above...' Yep. My choice is backwards from all those women who fought so hard to get OUT of the kitchen and into the equal workforce. I had my time in the equal workforce. And before some of you think, "oh, sure, office work = equal.' I worked construction. I was in a union and I worked my way through the apprenticeship, 2 nights of school a week while working full time on the job, daily. I worked and sweated my sizable ass off next to, and often faster than, the guys. I got my Journeyman's card. I was in charge of crews and projects. I was the go-to person when Nintendo of America needed new high-speed data cables pulled in. I made myself on-call, since I lived 5 minutes away. I paid my dues. Literally, when it comes to unions.
Let me tell you, for those who've never worked construction-- it sucks. The work is hard. The winter wind, when working outdoors or in a structure with no windows/walls, is bitingly bitter and cold. When you're the only woman on the crew, you do have to put with with some stuff. I will say that I only ONCE experienced true sexual harassment, well, twice, but one of those was a dumb kid who thought he was being funny. I handled that one personally. ( I am not a shy violet and have no problem getting physical when it's called for.) The other time, I said something to my crew chief. The person in question wasn't just in charge of the crew that day, he was also an instructor at the apprenticeship AND a leader in the union. Let's just say, it's incredibly inappropriate to 'spank' a female crew member with some of the tools of the trade, as she bends to reach the job at hand.
So, yeah, I've paid my dues in the working world. I've also worked in an office.(something I yearned for while I was the dirty construction worker!) I've been a lead for a crew of some of the most immature adults I've ever met. Working under some leaders who deliberately have blinders on. Working for a company who refuses to pay the people what they're worth, or even for the scope of work they are doing. And many of those people know they are (still) being taken advantage of, but 'because of the economy', just stick around being taken advantage of, barely surviving. I finally had enough. I quit/was pushed out just after the holidays. Perfectly fine by me. Now I can stay at home, clean my house, learn to cook properly, get back into shape and generally, do what I want. Funny part of that story-- my husband now works for the same company (again) that I just quit. That part isn't funny----this is. He is basically doing the same job I was doing, but does NOT have to put up with a crew who still acts like they're in Jr. High. And he makes almost 2.5 TIMES as much as they were oh-so-generously allowing me to make.
I BECAME less tolerant of that place. Less tolerant of the asinine antics of the co-workers. I BECAME less likely to put up being taken advantage of.
I want to BECOME a better housewife. I want to BECOME a better cook. (my mom's mom never taught her, as she was raised in a convent and I don't think you learn to cook in a convent... correct me if this is incorrect!) I would have loved to BECOME a new mommy, but that's not in my stars, so I have to BECOME a better absentee parent to my teenage son.
So, even at my (feels like) considerable age, I am BECOMING something more, something different, maybe even, something better.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Hoo-Ha OUCH!
I don't know where this little story originated, but I know I posted it on my myspace page a zillion years ago and it got great responses, so I thought I'd try to find it again and post it here.
Really sorry if this is YOURS. Please let me know so I can assign a proper name to it.
Ladies, get ready to cringe and laugh your hoo-ha off! (remember, this started circulating probably 10 years or more ago..so it's probably a tad dated.)
All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.
It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me. I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip), I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!! I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD! Vision
returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. Another deep breath and RRIIP! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear
crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.
Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. I hear the slamming of a cell door. *Hoo-hoo* Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut! I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!"
What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.
So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain.
God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom.
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter--"So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"
There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or who- ha?"
She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.
While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off.
By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.
It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT.
So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point. Next week I'm going to try hair color. . .
Really sorry if this is YOURS. Please let me know so I can assign a proper name to it.
Ladies, get ready to cringe and laugh your hoo-ha off! (remember, this started circulating probably 10 years or more ago..so it's probably a tad dated.)
All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.
It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me. I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip), I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!! I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD! Vision
returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. Another deep breath and RRIIP! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear
crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.
Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. I hear the slamming of a cell door. *Hoo-hoo* Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut! I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!"
What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.
So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain.
God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom.
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter--"So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"
There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or who- ha?"
She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.
While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off.
By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.
It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT.
So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point. Next week I'm going to try hair color. . .
Oh, for the love of....!
It's been a few days, I know, but here I am. We all need breaks from the computer from time to time.
As I've mentioned, Gramma is in a nursing home because of her dementia. This past Saturday, I met up with my dad and V(his new wife) at Gramma's little apartment, and we began the task of packing up her stuff.
O_o
Even in a tiny little one bedroom place, that woman has a LOT of crap! OK, not all of it is crap, as I will lay out here in a moment. But she IS a hoarder. Her HOUSE is going to be a monumental task. Yes, there is still a house full of stuff-- like 50odd YEARS of STUFF. Did I mention she's a hoarder? Not the shifting mountains that could fall and kill you, like in the 'reality' show, but...yeah. She is a shopaholic, and then will let the items stay in the shopping bags, tags still on them, receipts still in the bag... and it just accumulates.
In the spare bedroom alone, I bet (and someday I will test this!) you can 'dig' down thru the decades. Put it this way. My biological mother left me when I was 3 yrs old, and Dad got the uncontested divorce probably a year later. There are STILL some of my mother's clothes hanging in that bedroom closet, TO THIS DAY. Mom left nearly 35 years ago. No, really!
There is a bed in there. Can't see it. There's some sort of faded area rug in there. Can't see it. In fact, there used to be a path from one door the other(as it was a shortcut to the bathroom from the living room) but no longer. Can barely open the one door anymore.
And we have to sort thru ALL OF IT, some day. Can't just toss it all in garbage bags(mildew damage--the roof leaks and the house has been unoccupied for at least 4 years) because Gramma likes to hide things.
For instance, Gramma closed her bank account and drew out all her money about 6-8 months ago. There is apparently still $1000 or more missing. Cash. We have no idea if it's stashed and hidden somewhere in the apartment, or if she spent it and can't remember(easily!), or if it was pocketed by someone visiting her(nurses, therapists, house cleaners... who knows.) In this economy and this low-income area, that wouldn't surprise us at all. $1000 can go a long way to pay bills or feed your kids.
The point is, we can't just chuck it all. We have to sort it all.
My husband, Sidewayz, began sorting thru little containers and cups and things on the table(a horizontal surface!) because, being a stasher himself, he knew not to discount what he could see on the surface. He found jewelry mixed with those squarish plastic bread ties. He found a cup full of change, mixed with sewing pins. He later, luckily, found an old cigarette case, (picture coin purse with the clasp on top, but a long purse) half full of silver dollars. This was under the bed.
She also is an artist. She has (as far as I am concerned, ALWAYS) painted. Oils & acrylics mostly. Being the only granddaughter, I am slated to inherit quite a bit of stuff. This typically means after someone passes. Well, art supplies don't store in one of those outdoor storage places very well. So, everything artsy was loaded in my car and now I get to look like a hoarder. :)
But it's fine. I've been wanting to get back to art for a long time now. I've been out of practice for far too long. Now I have an easel, about 10 different canvases (sadly, some are grimy with dust), countless paint brushes, pastels, charcoal, colored pencils, frames, and other art mediums I can't even list yet, as I'm not sure what they do. :) I'm set! Oh and paint. AND a serger? surger? machine. I don't even know how to spell it, let alone use it, but it's mine. Not to mention, once we start on the 'big house', a once-state-of-the-art sewing machine. (that will make 3 separate sewing machines for me, AND the se/urger. :)
I'm looking around and thinking I will need a 4 bedroom house just to hold my inheritance.
So, yay! I get to start painting and drawing and other artsy things that I never have the money for. That's the main reason I haven't been doing artsy things these past too many years. The cost! But now I think I'm set for a few years. But watch, I will find myself out there buying something I need for a project. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Oh, and some day, I will have a decent phone/camera so I can post photos like a real blogger.
As I've mentioned, Gramma is in a nursing home because of her dementia. This past Saturday, I met up with my dad and V(his new wife) at Gramma's little apartment, and we began the task of packing up her stuff.
O_o
Even in a tiny little one bedroom place, that woman has a LOT of crap! OK, not all of it is crap, as I will lay out here in a moment. But she IS a hoarder. Her HOUSE is going to be a monumental task. Yes, there is still a house full of stuff-- like 50odd YEARS of STUFF. Did I mention she's a hoarder? Not the shifting mountains that could fall and kill you, like in the 'reality' show, but...yeah. She is a shopaholic, and then will let the items stay in the shopping bags, tags still on them, receipts still in the bag... and it just accumulates.
In the spare bedroom alone, I bet (and someday I will test this!) you can 'dig' down thru the decades. Put it this way. My biological mother left me when I was 3 yrs old, and Dad got the uncontested divorce probably a year later. There are STILL some of my mother's clothes hanging in that bedroom closet, TO THIS DAY. Mom left nearly 35 years ago. No, really!
There is a bed in there. Can't see it. There's some sort of faded area rug in there. Can't see it. In fact, there used to be a path from one door the other(as it was a shortcut to the bathroom from the living room) but no longer. Can barely open the one door anymore.
And we have to sort thru ALL OF IT, some day. Can't just toss it all in garbage bags(mildew damage--the roof leaks and the house has been unoccupied for at least 4 years) because Gramma likes to hide things.
For instance, Gramma closed her bank account and drew out all her money about 6-8 months ago. There is apparently still $1000 or more missing. Cash. We have no idea if it's stashed and hidden somewhere in the apartment, or if she spent it and can't remember(easily!), or if it was pocketed by someone visiting her(nurses, therapists, house cleaners... who knows.) In this economy and this low-income area, that wouldn't surprise us at all. $1000 can go a long way to pay bills or feed your kids.
The point is, we can't just chuck it all. We have to sort it all.
My husband, Sidewayz, began sorting thru little containers and cups and things on the table(a horizontal surface!) because, being a stasher himself, he knew not to discount what he could see on the surface. He found jewelry mixed with those squarish plastic bread ties. He found a cup full of change, mixed with sewing pins. He later, luckily, found an old cigarette case, (picture coin purse with the clasp on top, but a long purse) half full of silver dollars. This was under the bed.
She also is an artist. She has (as far as I am concerned, ALWAYS) painted. Oils & acrylics mostly. Being the only granddaughter, I am slated to inherit quite a bit of stuff. This typically means after someone passes. Well, art supplies don't store in one of those outdoor storage places very well. So, everything artsy was loaded in my car and now I get to look like a hoarder. :)
But it's fine. I've been wanting to get back to art for a long time now. I've been out of practice for far too long. Now I have an easel, about 10 different canvases (sadly, some are grimy with dust), countless paint brushes, pastels, charcoal, colored pencils, frames, and other art mediums I can't even list yet, as I'm not sure what they do. :) I'm set! Oh and paint. AND a serger? surger? machine. I don't even know how to spell it, let alone use it, but it's mine. Not to mention, once we start on the 'big house', a once-state-of-the-art sewing machine. (that will make 3 separate sewing machines for me, AND the se/urger. :)
I'm looking around and thinking I will need a 4 bedroom house just to hold my inheritance.
So, yay! I get to start painting and drawing and other artsy things that I never have the money for. That's the main reason I haven't been doing artsy things these past too many years. The cost! But now I think I'm set for a few years. But watch, I will find myself out there buying something I need for a project. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Oh, and some day, I will have a decent phone/camera so I can post photos like a real blogger.
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