Plunged into Plucking

By Tonia

"No, no, not by the hair on my chinny chin chin." – the three little pigs

At 62, my bad hair days no longer have anything to do with my hairdo. That happened in the ‘80s …. every …. single …. day. No, my bad hair days are when the multiple hairs on my chin have grown over night like they were fertilized and I don’t have tweezers. That is my new bad hair day. So while the hair on my head is thinning, my eyebrows are thinning and, hell, even my pubic hairs are thinning, I’m growing chin hairs! Mother Nature and Father Time are fucking with me – and not in a kinky, fun way. I’m starting to remind myself of a 14 year old boy sprouting his first beard. New dating rule: No dating anyone with less chin hair than me.

I mean, just as my eyesight is going, I have single, dark hairs emerging all over my chin that I can’t see. Is this some kind of cruel joke? How am I supposed to fix this??

So I’ve purchased a 1000x magnifying mirror for my Search and Destroy missions. And I carry tweezers with me everywhere. Tweezers are no longer just for the bathroom any more. I have them in my purse, in my desk drawer at work, in the glove compartment of my car and even outside with the gardening tools. The second I feel one of those tiny little stiff hairs trying to poke itself out of my skin, I rip it out. But sometimes the hair isn't long enough to pluck, so I just have to sit and rub it, trying to get it ready to pluck (Hopefully, I just look like I’m rubbing my chin in deep contemplation).

Sometimes I’m driving along in my car and I see one that I’ve missed. Then I start to panic. How many people have seen it? Did they simply think it was a stray hair from my make-up brush? Did my make-up camouflage it enough? WHY DIDN’T SOMEONE TELL ME???

I’ve thought about shaving them but, if I shave my chin like I shave my legs, I’ll end up bleeding like I’ve amputated something. And those tiny pieces of toilet paper stuck to the bleeding spots don’t always match my eye shadow.

I’ve also considered the over-the-counter creams. They dissolve hair but they don’t always work on coarse hair and, if you leave it on too long, it can dissolve your skin. Great. Melting skin. Just blend it in with the wrinkles.

Then there’s waxing - hot sticky wax that rips hairs out by their roots leaving scarlet, angry skin behind. The trouble here (besides the angry skin) is that you have to let the hair grow out ¼ of an inch before you can remove it. Uh…..no.

I guess I may look into laser or electrolysis……..or just join the circus.

For your next girlfriends’ get together, consider checking out your area’s Groupons for spa deals! Smuggle in some white wine in your water bottles! And to those unruly chin hairs, I say, “Well, pluck it.”

My Mammogram Call Back

by Tonia

"Scientists now believe that the primary biological function of breasts is to make males stupid." - Dave Barry

I got a call back after my mammogram this year. That’s like an encore, right? Because the girls did so well? Not exactly. There had been a “change” in my right breast since my last mammogram and an ultrasound was needed in order to rule out…you know….

All kinds of things started to run through my mind. My mammogram tech and I had previously negotiated a safe word: could I use the same one with the ultrasound tech, would I have to create a new one or would I even need one at all? After all, rubbing my tit with some kind of object just seemed like kinky foreplay. Would there be handcuffs or ties on the table, too? Would I have to remove my glitter pasties? I just had so many questions!

I was supposed to make an appointment. But first I had to check my calendar to make sure there weren’t any big events coming up I wanted to be in a good mood for. Geez! I didn’t want bad news about my ta-tas to ruin a good time!  So I checked my calendar and made the GD appointment. 

As I was laying on the table flashing the ceiling, I started making promises to the Universe. “If this ultrasound is OK, I promise I’ll quit fantasizing about the lawn boy. I’ll quit texting and driving. I’ll stop posting inappropriate things on Facebook.” I’m not sure which promise worked but it turned out that the “change” was only a cyst – according to the dictionary, “a membranous sac or cavity of abnormal character containing fluid.”

“Abnormal character,” huh? Bahahahaha!

Extra “fluid”? Woo hoo! Fill me up! I just need a cyst on the other side now so I can save myself some money on implants!

Soooooo for your next girlfriends’ get together (great for breast cancer awareness month or if a girlfriend is going thru breast cancer treatment), play FREEING THE TA-TAS.

Directions: divide your guests into two (2) teams. Have one member from each team put on the exact number of bras as she has teammates – on the OUTSIDE of her clothing (for example, if there are 3 teammates besides her, she will put on 3 bras). Have the Bra Wearers stand about 20 feet away from their lined up teammates. When someone shouts “GO!” one of the teammates from each team runs to her team’s Bra Wearer, unhooks one of the bras with only ONE hand, takes it off and outs it on herself (using 2 hands this time) and runs back to her other teammates. The next woman in line then runs to the Bra Wearer and does the same thing. Continue until the one of the original Bra Wearers no longer has any bras on and the last team member has returned to her teammates. First team to accomplish this wins!

Colonoscopies: Giving a Shit

by Tonia

I finally decided to get a colonoscopy. Eleven years overdue, I’d run out of excuses. I know what you’re thinking – how come she has all the fun? Ugh. I’ve been looking forward to this about as much as a root canal or an IRS audit - even being buried alive in sand with ants crawling all over my head somehow seemed less dreadful.

But I did my research and found the cutest…..I mean, most competent gastroenterologist I could find. He had excellent reviews. Too bad he was just going to see me as an asshole.

I told some of my girlfriends I was going (BIG mistake). They joked that they couldn’t tell the doctor to go boldly where no man had ever gone before because that just wasn’t true. Dammit! I tell them WAY too much……

So the time got close and I started on my day of clear liquids. Chicken broth, tea, apple juice. Vodka. (KIDDING!) I can’t tell you the number of times I went to the pantry and ‘frig to get something to eat and then remembered that I was grounded. Grrrrrr…. Anyone who says fasting draws attention away from physical needs to spiritual concerns didn’t have MY growling stomach!

Then came the time to drink my first prep. Holy Mother of God, that shit was DISGUSTING! It tasted like some kind of salty, fermented cyanide……except that I didn’t die. I only wished I could.

And it was about then that I realized something was wrong with my car and I needed to call a tow truck. It took the guy awhile to arrive and during that “while” my intestines began to explode. Seriously. It made my most urgent urine stream seem like cute little dribbles. I can only describe it as the kind of force that one sees when testing fire hydrants. If I had been outside and bent over, it would have knocked down large pets and small children.

But the tow truck guy was knocking at my door. As soon as I could, I got up from the toilet and explained where I wanted my car to go. I said I would not be accompanying him, however, because I had to stay close to the bathroom. And THAT understatement, my friends, ranks right up there with Astronaut Jim Lovell’s, “Houston, we’ve got a problem” when Apollo 13’s oxygen tank exploded.

I’ll spare you the description of the next 14 hours but, let’s just say that at the end of it, no one could tell me I was full of shit. It just wasn’t true.

Anna drove me to the procedure. I wanted to draw a bull’s-eye around the target so the cute doctor wouldn’t mistake one of my cellulite dimples for my asshole. Or, at the very least, I wanted to write a message on my ass, “This isn’t my best side.” But, alas, it all happened so quickly that I had no time. I woke up and it was over.

So I did it. My results were good. Now everyone can get off my ass about it!

And, in honor of colonoscopies, for your next girlfriends’ get-together, have a Healthy Gut potluck. Ask everyone to bring fiber-rich foods, citrus fruits, and foods that contain probiotics (yogurt, miso, etc). Then honor the wisdom of your “gut” by talking about times when your gut feelings were accurate despite evidence to the contrary!

Weighing In

by Tonia

“Age is only a number. Weight is only a number. I’ve decided that numbers are really starting to piss me off.” - Maxine

I recently gained 10 lbs. WTF? How did that happen? Oh yea, eating, aging and not exercising. I’m trying to decide what to do with the extra flesh – (1) fold it over and tuck it in my pants, (2) hold my breath and try to keep it sucked in or (3) let it spill over like a muffin top. Can one have a birthday suit taken in?

I’d like to say that I’m just retaining water …… but I think I’m actually retaining food. What happened to the good ol’ days when I could eat anything and not gain an ounce? What cruel trick has the universe played on me? I guess I’m going to have to get one of those cones from the vet’s office and wear it around my neck so I can’t put food in my mouth. But I’m pretty convinced right now that I would gain weight simply by eating air. I do burn calories when I cook – but, wait, that just destroys the food and doesn’t take any weight off.

People say things get better with age. Maybe wine. Maybe cheese. But certainly not my waistline. Unless all that wisdom I’m supposed to have gained over the years is actually making me GAIN! Damn wisdom.

Well, maybe thin is overrated. Who needs to touch their toes anyway? Besides, at the rate I’m losing my memory, I won’t remember what I used to weigh anyway – or what I used to look like, for that matter.

But I have my girlfriends. And I think they will love me no matter how much I weigh. So for your next girlfriends’ get together I say have everyone bring their highest calorie dessert and pig out! Click HERE for a fabulous Hello Dolly recipe. I had a bite once and gained 600 pounds……..

Pain in the Ass

by Tonia

“What do toilet paper and the Starship Enterprise have in common? They both circle Uranus in search of Klingons.” - anonymous fourth grader

Recently, while finishing up the "paper work" after completing my “business” on the toilet, I discovered something growing out my rectum. Holy shit. This thing was new and it was HUGE. And I’m not talking out my ass here. Upon further investigation I decided I either had a new testicle from some kind of old lady hormone imbalance or I had a hemorrhoid large enough to serve as a third “cheek.” It was so big it almost had a life of its own - so I named it. Beelzebub. You know, like the devil - a nasty creature residing in darkness.

So I went to the drug store to buy some Preparation H. The happy, chirpy, little store clerk asked me how I was doing. Had to hold off the sarcasm – “I’m great. Just came in to window shop and ended up with this impulse purchase.” Smartass. I took my Preparation H home and covered my ass – but it did nothing. Now I assumed I had ass cancer. Next stop: the doctor’s office.

After showing my ass, seems the “mini testicle” is an external hemorrhoid – the thrombosed kind. Not to be confused with the musical instrument - although that particular region has been known to play a few tunes (CLICK HERE for Fucking & Farting blog). The doctor                                                    agreed it was a doozy. (Is "doozy" a medical term?)

I wanted the doctor to get his ass in gear and remove it, no matter how he sliced it. Unfortunately, he wanted me to just leave it alone so it would go away on its own. A pain in the ass that takes a long time to go away? Sounds like my last boyfriend – the himorrhoid.

So now I’m taking long romantic Epsom salts baths with Beelzebub and giving people lots of standing ovations wherever I go. I’m leaving for an international trip soon. You can bet your ass I’m praying for no cavity searches at TSA…..

For your next girlfriends’ get together have a Pedicure Party. Instead of soaking your asses, soak your feet and paint each other’s toe nails. Here’s a great soak:

In a pan of warm water add….

…One teaspoon tea tree oil

…One teaspoon witch hazel

…Half cup Epsom salts

…Three drops peppermint oil

Echoes in the Canyon

By Tonia

“Laughter is the best medicine …. except for treating diarrhea.” - Unknown

While summering in Santa Fe, NM, my new boyfriend came out to see me. On one of our hikes in the mountains I began to hear more than just nature - my stomach was sounding off. First as a gurgle; then as a growl; then as a brain-rattling, mountain-shaking bellow. I started to hate my own guts.

I knew it was going to be bad. I quickly looked around for a distant bush (as in, FAR away from the new boyfriend), but realized I had nothing to wipe with – except my socks - which were covered in cockleburs. (I’ve been a pain in the ass before, but wiping my anus with vicious spiny burs seemed a bit too masochistic – even for my kinky ways.) Those fuckers stick like Velcro. Oh, no. I would just hold it in until we got back to the guest house.

My face began to sweat. I’m sure the boyfriend thought it was from the physical exertion of the hike. But it was from my harder-than-a rock butt cheek squeeze restraining my descending intestinal pressure.

In the car I tried to distract myself. Music. Conversation. Lamaze breathing. Why had we chosen a trail so friggin’ far away?!

When we finally arrived at my lovely but SMALL guesthouse I burst through the door and raced to the toilet where I unleashed a tuba fart that shook the walls. This was followed by noises that no one should ever, EVER hear coming from another human being. I wanted to send the boyfriend on a walk down to the canyon behind the house but I was pretty sure the noises were echoing down there too. Watery feces and unspeakable flatulence was exploding out my ass with the force of a tidal wave.

Then I heard him outside the bathroom door.  

Boyfriend: “Are you OK?”

Me: “Yea, yea, I’m fine.”

<toot> <squirt> <splatter> <ungodly noise>

Boyfriend: “Are you sure you’re OK?”

My thoughts: “For the love of God, GO AWAY!”

Me: “Yes. I’m fine.”

I finally emerged from the bathroom. All that sexy lingerie that I brought … suddenly just seemed irrelevant. We had taken the relationship to a whole new level.

The only thing that I can think of to recommend for your next girlfriends' party from this awful story is an adorable First Aid martini shaker from RetroPlanet. Click HERE to get one! You never know when you may need one!