I had a triple shot of weirdness last week. It started with SoS informing that he and his friend Andrew, when they were old enough, were going to get their own apartment and some "hot ladies." He's six. Where does he come up with this? I shouldn't have to worry about this for at least 6 more years right? When I protested the "hot ladies" reference he suggested perhaps they would all move in here. At which point I informed the little angel Mommy didn't need any hot ladies around for competition and I was selling the house and moving far away anyway. So far, no further discussions.
The next delightful event was my mammogram. You may remember I was berated at my first mammogram because I was 40 and they "encourage women to get their baseline at 35." I couldn't seem to make this woman understand that I was no longer 35, there was no way to become 35 again, and she should just get over it. This time I was chastised because I, apparently, didn't have one last year; the last recorded was in 2007. I argued with her that I had had one at 40 and now I'm 41 so I couldn't have skipped a year. Until it dawned on me that I will be 42 in a month and...well...then I shut up. Whatever. As this woman flopped my breast around, squished it flat, put me through more positions than a circus freak and flipped this machine into an orbit that Mir would be proud of, I found myself wondering, once again, how it is in the 21st century that we haven't developed a better diagnostic tool for this sort of thing. Of course this rumination comes from someone who routinely sticks her hand in other women's areas to determine whether or not they are in labor. Let's talk about developing a better diagnostic tool for that. Don't mind me. I'm just cynical and jaded after 10 years of vaginae.
Lastly, I have become thoroughly bored with shaving and/or waxing. I hate stubble, I hate have to go back every 6-8 weeks for maintenance and wouldn't it be delightful to be able to have a permanent solution to this whole grooming thing? So I bought a laser package. Woohoo! Spring time deals, employee discount and it will pay for itself in a year. What's not to like here? Especially since waxing feels like something the Viet Cong wishes they would have thought of for POWs. I had heard that there is a slight "rubber band snapping" sensation with the laser, especially on the underarms, where sensations are a trifle more intense. Not to mention the heat. Laser. Heat. This should come as no surprise to someone with a science background, but okay it did. Sue me, we are all aware I have a deplorable lack of sense on certain occasions. But, I was informed it would not be that bad as they have an air cool option during the procedure. Well, bring that on! I was warned that it could feel a little too cool and to just sing out if I needed a break, because it could get a little "achy." Actually, the cooling air and slight achiness took my mind off the electrical shocks traveling up my arm and the involuntary muscle spasms in said upper extremities. The real trouble began down below when the "cooling air" being shot at some tender places began to be slightly cooler than the winter winds howling across Antarctica. You've seen the pictures of those poor penguins huddling for survival and the immediate freezing of any unfortunate egg that falls to the ice. Yeah, that cold. If I had dangly bits they would have crawled so far up my body they would never have been heard from again. Lucky me, only 8-12 more treatments left.
I may be a bit spotty with the blogging; plan on wallowing for a while. Not to mention needing to do taxes, contemplating returning to school, ja niin pois pain. If I only had some Ben and Jerry's....although we do have a scoop shop in town. I leave you with my girl Tina. The picture is fine and the song....well...one of my faves.