28 October 2008
Who in the hell developed the Brazilian Wax and how in the hell did he get women to go for it?
Really, think about it. I knew what was involved and so I couldn't fathom why someone would put themselves through this. The preponderance of patients who have obviously gone through this procedure notwithstanding. I also have many friends who have had this experience and the tales of position changes that require you to be a cross between a contortionist, a Cirque du Soliel performer and a pretzel increased my confusion. So, I decided to find out for myself what it was like. Why? Because I'm RETARDED!
I entered my usual waxing room already giggling in the way I do when I am nervous about something. It starts as giggling and escalates rapidly to hysterical laughter. I was also sweating like an expectant father with the clap. (Thank you Meatballs.) My dear aesthetician and I discussed the plan and she stepped out so I could disrobe and cover up. Unfortunately for me, the beds are heated which, in no way, helped with the sweating. Johnna came in and instructed me to frog my legs. "Assuming the position" as I call it in my line of work. The first part was really no big deal, as I was used to waxing anyway. Then she moved closer to *ahem* midline as it were. The first pull of the wax bowed my back like a electro-shock therapy patient. Yeowza! At this point I began breathing like I was in transition. It didn't help any better here than it did when I was in labor. My favorite word did NOT make an appearance, I didn't even think it. This may be because I'm sure I blacked out or had an out of body experience. Pretty sad I'm more professional when I'm being denuded faster than the Amazonian rain forest than when I'm in my place of business.
It was at this point that I decided being an aesthetician was a far weirder job than mine. And I deal with strange women and their girl parts all day long. Still not as weird.
The job got finished amid more laughing ( I was NERVOUS!) and discussions about other clients who got halfway through and decided they had had enough. I don't know if a Brazilian wax is a good time to go 40 Year Old Virgin and bail. Seems to me to be a bad look.
So, my unhealthy curiosity is assuaged and I can sleep easier knowing what exactly is entailed in a Brazilian wax. Now I just get to look forward to grow out. Sheesh.
As a Post Script: I got beat like a dog at work for the last few days, so when the phone rang at 0539 this am I didn't even say hello. All they got was "Uh-uh!" Click.
26 October 2008
Do not think the tracks in the gravel were caused when going over the embankment because that would imply someone, ANYONE, had employed the brakes. Instead SoS , the neighbor and the Mule tumbled over the embankment, rolled several times, popped out the windshield and came to rest about half way down.
See that cross way tree in the picture? Riiiiiiggghhhht there? That's where my offspring ended up wrapped up in neighbor and Mule. Here's a close up:
Way cool. Needless to say, we're not doing that again.
In other news: yet another sign that your private personality is sneaking into your professional life. I went in to work at 0300 today and got a patient that was later found out to be a face presentation (coming out face first instead of back of the head first for anyone who might land here by accident). After many hours of trying to position changes, pitocin, and aggravation it was decided that perhaps this kid wasn't coming out that way and we should deliver her surgically. The oncoming doc asked if her water had broken and if it was clear fluid. I said that she had meconium and the offgoing doc said, "But it was clear when she came in yesterday." My response: "Well, if you slammed my face into a wall for several hours I'd shit my pants too." Oh, jeez.
22 October 2008
19 October 2008
18 October 2008
I removed both header and footer of the shade, not really knowing what I would find and whether it would be fixable.
Imagine my surprise and joy when I saw that there was a convenient little bracket for the cord to go through and all I needed was a way to get it through all the way to the bottom. Aha! I thought, as I often have such exclamation when talking to myself, I will pull the remaining cord tight and tie the shade together so I can effect my repair. Once again I only fake being Handy Manny, or Mannette in this case, and so I tied it not with zip ties....jeez, I actually had those, but they were in the frosty garage....but with nice. cozy, yarn.
I then completed my repair, released the shade and extended it so that I had plenty of length, and voila! Repaired shade. Not too shabby if I do say so myself. I did, however forget to accommodate the length of the drapery cord to the height of the window, so when it is retracted all the way up....I may need a chair to release the shade. But! Redneck no longer.
My project today consisted of replacing the towel bar in the kids bathroom. This towel bar was placed by my a-hole contractor who told me, "That will fall down; call me when it happens and I'll replace it." Yeah, you'll be the first one I call when you just told me you did a half-assed job putting it up in the first place. And really, it has hung on for almost 6 years.... .which coincides with how long SoS has been on the planet. So, now that he is old enough to shower and dry off all by himself and he wants to put the towel back like he's supposed to..........you get the picture. I had some nice, heavy duty toggle screws to replace the cheap ass plastic mollies the a-hole used but when I went to get my drill, I couldn't seem to find my screwdriver bits. I can attribute this to FB and SoS feeling the need to string my tools from one end of the garage to another, kick them under cabinets and all manner of mayhem. I needed to go to Home Depot to see if they had brackets to replace the one I obliterated with my brute mommy strength anyway, so I thought I could pick up a screwdriver bit for my drill while I was there. The drapery people at Home Depot acted like I was from another planet and suggested I call the manufacturer, even though I purchased the shades through them. Crapped out on the bracket. Then, I found I couldn't buy single bits, but I did find this:
Oh, my heck, I almost creamed my jeans, and I'm sure my nippies got hard! See, I'm easy. Give this chick a Home Depot gift card and a chance to run wild, and I am yours forever! I've got the guts of one more toilet to change out and a set of roman shades to make and then, nothing but painting. Woohoo. I friggin' hate painting.
In other news, SoS had a belt test for a belt that wasn't for Little Ninjas. It was, in fact, the first grade belt for kids who are continuing on in Tae Kwon Do. He did very well in his counting, skipping only 2 numbers and never slipping from Korean to Spanish. And he sat quietly and respectfully for the next hour while others tested. Take that kindergarten Nazis! Of course, he did spend his afternoon grounded on bed arrest, but I don't know if that had any bearing on anything.
12 October 2008
We got a little souvenir from Carlos:
25 dolla for what amounts to a Polaroid in a card frame. Not that I'm complaining, because really, how often is this going to happen? It's like going on vacation to Disneyworld. Celluloid memories don't come cheap, but you're so hopped up on endorphins you don't realize you've hemorrhaged money all week until you get home. Totally worth it.
Here is a Carlos skit from about 2001. NSFW probably and defintely not for the easily o-ffended!
08 October 2008
Now, I am not a girly girl, frightened by spiders and other creepy crawlies requiring rescue by some brave, strapping man. Good thing, as I am fresh out at 12:15 am. I'm not one to even react to such sights other than a mild "My, what a large arachnid." But when you are going about your own business, way early in the morning after being droned into a stupor by a presidential "town hall" and the ensuing critiques, your reaction is more along the lines of a loud and prolonged "F*******ck!" accompanied by your rendition of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies. See if you don't.
After I regained my composure, I found two empty Play-doh containers, jostled Charlotte into them and chucked her outside. I know, it ensured her death just as if I had gotten a paper towel and crushed her body into dust, but this way I avoided the sickening crunch that would occur. Besides, it's a well known fact that hypothermia (after the initial freezing your keister off part) is a much gentler death than being squished. Call me a humanitarian.
06 October 2008
Ah, Turkish Peppers... glad is my heart. These little gems taste like salty black licorice with a dash of battery acid. They are filled with a powdered form of the salty black licorice/battery acid concoction. Definitely an acquired taste. The graphic in the bottom corner accurately represents my reaction to my first Turkinpippuri. My dear friends who introduced me to these wonders encouraged me to chew them. That is akin attaching jumper cables to your tongue and turning the key while someone pours a conducting agent into your mouth. Invigorating. I told the boys they were not allowed to have these candies as they would not enjoy them. I cautioned SHSO'C against trying them, even going to far as to state "they are the absolute worst thing you will ever try." Being the brave man he is, he popped one in his mouth. His stoic reaction was to tell SoS and FB "Yeah, you guys wouldn't like these." We then went back to Oktoberfest and SHSO'C went in search of more beer. I'm sure it was to wash away the nightmare after effects. (SHSO'C is quite the fingerful to type. Perhaps I should shorten his alias. To say, Cougar Bait....)
SHSO'C and I then went to see Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, which was a cute little flick that reminded me of some of my drunkard babysitting days. I love movies with smart asses. Which is why I'm looking forward to seeing Sexdrive. Not only does it have James Mardsen (yum) who can be freakin' hilarious
but it also has Seth Green as a smart ass Amish.
Comic genius that boy! Family Guy, Robot Chicken, his portrayal of a disgusted and frustrated Scott Evil...not to mention his Chris Crocker spoof.
Sunday found me actually making an effort at responsible home ownership. I figured now that it was October it was time to put the Slip 'N' Slide away. But first I had to de-poo the lawn. This was quite the project and brought home to me that perhaps I should not have left it quite so long, or I should have put my indentured servants..er...children to work. I then pulled the Slip 'N' Slide off the big toy, where it resides to be safe from Knucklehead McSpazatron from chewing it into confetti, and was promptly stung by the last living hornet/wasp/whatever the hell in the Northwest. I stood there, trying to maintain my composure as my favorite word bounced around my head like a game of Brickbreaker, glorying in the fact that at least that little rat bastard would now die faster! Cruel I know, but damn, that hurt. I was saved from weeding by a return the torrential downpour, so I retired inside and curled up with a cheesy '80s movie from Netflix on my laptop.
My insomnia being what it is, coupled with the fact that I had to keep a fish eye on my dishwasher to make sure it wasn't trying to go tits up on me, found me in bed at my usual late hour. I had found my mouth guard again, so I was sleeping fairly well, chewing on that instead of my tongue or the inside of my mouth. My eyes popped open at 0230 to the sight of FB standing at the bedside. His modus operandi when trying to wake me up is not to say my name or touch my shoulder, but to shake and jiggle the mattress until I wake up. This pisses me off for no known reason. So my reaction is to screech "What?!?' like a demented fishwife trying to sell her wares to the deaf. Poor FB says "My ear hurts." Change of weather plays havoc with his allergies and has a tendency to plug his eustachian tubes. I keep a handy supply of Auralgan for just such occasions. I fill his ear canal with lidocaine goodness and tuck him into bed. This morning I dope him up with more Auralgan, ibuprofen and some Claritin to try and open things up. I made it through work without a phone call from the school which had me pleasantly surprised as FB has more of his father's wimpy constitution, (prone to howling over every hurt real or imagined) rather than my more stoic one. (Hey! Natural childbirth dammit! And getting back into a saddle on a broken ankle, thereby dislocating it to a mere breadth of a compound fracture!) When I picked him up from daycare he was a little peaked looking and acting kind of punk. We got home and he said his ear still hurt. I put more Auralgan in and then decided, critical thinking in action here, that maybe I should look at his ear as he has a history of perforating his eardrum. (While I was at ACLS, thankyouverymuch!) I use my little otoscope and da-yum! We should probably take a trip to Urgent Care. When the doc in the box says "Oh, yeah, that's a good one!" you know that sucker is bad. I told the doc, who was the same one from our visit in May with the perfed eardrum, about the Motrin and Auralgan and he said, "Well, you have the pain control portion covered, we just need the antibiotics." Dude, did you forget I'm a nurse? Better living through pharmacology. And if those didn't work I could always let him nibble on a Perc or a Vike I have left over from my surgery.......I kid.
01 October 2008
Not too bad really. Although my usual 4th turn at Daytona style of driving was impacted because of the side rails just inches from my head. I was afraid I would take a turn to fast or something and this sucker would end up embedded in my skull:
And really, if I end up on Ripley's Believe it or Not, I want it to be for something really exciting and not for having a 6 foot piece of wood hanging out of my head like a parasitic twin.
Off I go to Goodwill, to say sayanora to some of my worldly possessions. Everything went along swimmingly until we got to the bed frame. It seems that Goodwill's goodwill does not extend to 50 year old wooden bed frames. Plan B: Pierce County Solid Waste Transfer Station. Otherwise known as the dump. That works for me too, just get this crap outta my house! The dump was pleasingly dry. I have been know to have to visit when it was soggy and slimy with a primordial soup of Zeus knows what, which does nothing for the ambiance, let me tell ya. I dumped off the bed frame as I was getting into the car felt some dump detritus slide into my Keens. Motherfucker! Had I known that I would be visiting the dump I would have worn closed toe shoes, preferably thigh high, but as it was I wore my Keens and now had to soak my foot in bleach to guard against whatever multi drug resistant organism to which I had now been exposed. Yecch.
Back to to house for another load. This load consisted of two drill press boxes full of Norman Rockwell figurines that the hubster had purchased many moons before he met me. They had never once, in all these years, been out of their original boxes. This is indication enough for me that they need to bless someone else's home.
I got home and then tackled the wonderful job of de-gunking the car and replacing the third row seats. That was only marginally more difficult than removing them, like to the 10th power, since I now had to avoid banging up my paint job.
I spent a greater part of the rest of the afternoon cruising ebay like a sweaty Chihuahua who had eaten it's owner's meth stash. The boyz are getting a Wii for Christmas. And that's all they are getting, you practically need a home equity loan for one of these suckers.
In other news: FB usually listens to country music as he falls asleep. Last night as I put him to bed, I thought, "What sounds like Metallica?" Apparently, the boy is being influenced by his mother's car tunes.