Good enough to eat?

Being very unhappy (i.e., completely horrified) by the condition of my face, today I decided to try some of my old home remedies (since spending a fortune on magic potions and creams doesn't seem to be getting me anywhere but closer to the poor-house).

First I steamed my face. I threw a couple of tea bags - one chamomile and one peppermint - into a pot of water and heated it until it was ready to boil. Then I put the pot on the floor and sat in front of it. I draped a towel over my head and leaned over the pot, letting the steam drench my skin.

Occasionally a feline nose or paw would poke against the towel . . . "Hey, Mom - what are you doing in there?" The cats are always interested when I do something strange.

Next I planned a series of natural masks.

First up - crushed grapes! They have a natural acid that gently lifts the dead skin cells. Problem is, you have to peel the grapes before you crush them - first time I have ever peeled a grape! In the end, what you really end up doing is smearing grape juice on your face because no matter how much you crush the grapes, they don't end up small enough to actually put on your face . . . but the juice is what you want anyway.

Next was the banana mask. I broke up half a ripe banana in a bowl and smashed it with a fork until it was nice and gooey. Then I spread it all over my face - this is a great natural moisturizer. I sat down to wait for it to dry.

And then the phone rang.

First problem, obviously, was trying to answer and talk on my cell phone without getting mushed banana all over it. But I managed it.

The real problem came half an hour later, when I was finished with the phone call . . . and my face was covered with rock hard dried banana that now required a hammer and chisel to remove. Water wasn't doing it. My nice bamboo wash cloth barely had any effect. Here the whole point was to be gentle and kind to my skin and I was being forced to scrub it raw in order to remove the dried fruit that had permanently adhered itself to my face. The good news is - I think I may have discovered something better than super glue!! Or maybe my brother can use bananas instead of mortar when he builds my brick barbecue . . .

Onward and upward - next was the honey mask. Honey has natural curative properties . . . my face currently needs a lot of curing . . . Did I mention that honey is really really sticky?

Last of all came the egg white mask. Egg white is great for tightening pores. It's also probably the easiest of all these - just separate an egg, discard the yolk, and it's ready to go. On the other hand, putting egg white on your face can only be described as . . . slimey!

Finally, with my face acid-washed, moisturized, cured, and tightened, I dabbed some tea tree oil on the "problem areas" (aka ZITS FROM HELL) and moved on to the rest of my body. I slathered half a jar of deep conditioner on my hair and started a hot bath, complete with my favorite bath salts, lavender oil, glycerine, and bubble bath.

I don't know how much better I will actually look when I get out of the tub, but at least I will smell purty!

Reflective Poetry

One day a coworker sent around an email with a cartoon that showed a woman looking at her behind in a mirror (gee, none of us have ever done that!). The caption read:

Mirror, Mirror
Shiny glass
Tell me that
Is not my ass!

Always up for a little rhyming fun, I soon sent back the following:

Mirror, Mirror
Tell me lies
I need to know
Those aren't my thighs!

Mirror, mirror
Cold and hard
Please say I'm not
That tub of lard!

Mirror, mirror
You're such a brat
You must be lying
I'm not that fat!

Mirror, mirror
You can be replaced
You have five seconds
To show me my waist!

Not exactly what I had in mind . . .

It was on a Saturday when I decided to color my hair. I just wanted to add a nice subtle red tint to it . . .

My first clue that all was not well in my world was when I got in the shower to rinse out the color . . . and the bottom of the tub turned purple . . .

Uh oh . . .

My hair started to dry.

I looked in the mirror.

Holy shit!!!!

I walked into the bedroom, where my husband was watching TV. I turned on the light and pointed to my head.

He immediately grabbed his sunglasses.

"What the hell?! I thought you liked being a blonde!"

It was . . . quite bright . . . all I needed was curls and blue contacts and I could easily pass for Lucille Ball . . .

Waxing philosphical on the subject of aging

A friend of mine is 34 years old. She's never been married. She's never really been in love. Her issues are a bit different than mine but she is every bit as good at sabotaging a relationship as I used to be.

Every so often (say, about every 28 days), she gets depressed and despairs of ever finding "the one." One day it was one of those days and this was my bit of wisdom:

As the crow's feet become entire crows and the love handles turn into suitcases, the psyche also undergoes changes. It ages and matures. The paranoia and desperation mellow into something more comfortable and content. Your perspective changes without you recognizing the process. One day you wake up and realize that (1) you are older and (2) you are happier. And it's a whole lot easier to find your other half when your own half is complete.

I also suggested she take a pint of chocolate ice cream and call me in the morning . . .

Do You Shave Your Toes?

That was the poll question on the radio one morning.

I was shocked.

I was amazed.

I was laughing hysterically.

Why would I find this so funny?

Because for years I was sure I was the only woman in the world who had hair growing on her big toes. The horror! The shame! Of course I shave this horrible ugly patch of dark hair that some evil streak of fate had blessed me with. I never told anyone - it was too embarrassing, too humiliating, too strange!!!

And today I find out I am not alone. Would you believe 94% women who called in said yes, they shave their toes? And two who called who said they didn't said it was only because the hair was blonde and not really visible. Another one said she didn't shave because she had had the hair lasered off.

So I went to work and posed the question to three coworkers . . . and guess what? Yep - they do too!

So I guess this means I am not the freak I thought I was . . . well, at least not when it comes to toe hair . . .

So I ask you . . . do you shave your toes?

Facials

The last time I had a facial, it was nice but not outstanding. On a scale of 1-10, I would rate it about a 7. I have had better - and definitely had worse!

In particular, there was the three-visit special offer I bought from a trolling solicitor who stopped in at work one day. Each visit was for a facial plus one other service.

The first visit included a hot oil treatment for my hands . . . it would have been nice if she had given me a chance to take off my rings first!

The second visit had an introduction to microdermabrasion. I spent the next three days looking and feeling like someone had taken a blowtorch to my face. My husband told me that if I ever want to do that again, he has plenty of sandpaper.

The third visit included an acid peel. The first drop touched my skin and then I was clinging to the ceiling with all claws fully extended - was this woman some kind of sadist or just stupid?!

She also had a serious obsession with oil. She ended each facial by slathering some kind of special and unique oil all over my face and neck and then ushering me out the door. Like I really want to face the world looking like I just dived into a pool of Quaker State . . .

But I didn't have to worry about that this last time. I could relax and enjoy myself. It was going to be wonderful!!! I asked for extra steaming . . .

Which was great until the steamer ran low and spit scalding water on me. I am pretty sure they heard me yelp at least three blocks away . . .

So the search for the perfect facial continues . . . in the meantime, time cruises on . . . leaving tire tracks and the occasional pot hole across my aging visage . . .

(sigh)

Spandex in Your Forties

When I was in my twenties - and even my thirties - I loved spandex because it was tight. Form-fitting. Show off those curves!

Now that I am in my forties - and have bulges instead of curves - I love spandex just as much - because it isn't tight!

I tried to explain this to my husband one morning - he didn't get it.

I explained to him that if you take a pair of size 10 jeans that are 100% cotton, they are going to be a size 10. And if you have put on a few pounds since you bought them, they are going to be a whole lot tighter. You might not even be able to zip them! And if you do, you might spend the day wishing you hadn't!

But if those jeans have just four percent spandex, Life immediately becomes a whole lot more pleasant. You can move. You can bend over. Breathing is even a possibility!

Yes, yes, yes, I do love spandex!!!