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.”

Unlatched

Estrofests is thrilled to host guest blogger, Rachel Reedy. Rachel is a party thrower/party attender extraordinaire. She is an inspiration to Estrofests as you’ll see from the many party awards in her bio. 

by Rachel Reedy

“Whoever said ‘there’s no use crying over spilled milk’ obviously never pumped six ounces, then accidentally dumped it.” - Unknown

After 14 months, 2 weeks, 5 days and 9 hours, my son was weaned! He quit the tit! FREEDOM!! Now I can be gone for a whole afternoon ... or a whole day ... even an entire weekend! I'm pretty sure my husband was afraid I might run away.

But instead of running away, I decided breastfeeding deserved a celebration, so I threw myself a girlfriends’ party -  "Unlatched: A Weaning Celebration." I wanted to celebrate being able to wear outfits that look good instead of outfits I can pull my boobs out of (and, BTW, what I mean by "look good" is something clean and wearable while chasing a toddler).  

I don't have to constantly have a clock running in my head of "he ate at 1:00 and will be hungry in 3 hours so I need to be home by 4:00." I can wear a regular bra with no nursing pads inside.  Someone else can put him to bed, so I can actually go somewhere after 8:00 pm! Drinking! I can drink whenever and however much I want! Well, I guess I still need to be a responsible mother, but I don't have to wait to drink that 1 glass of wine right after nursing.

For my celebration I invited my girlfriends to brunch since most of my friends are very much still "latched." I handed out goodie bags made out of my unused breast milk storage bags.  Each bag had a breast pad and candy inside.  What better way to use up the rest of my breastfeeding supplies! At the brunch I toasted my achievement and the support of my friends for not only letting me whip out my boobs in their house, but also for holding a conversation with me while discreetly looking away from my nipple.

I asked my sister how will I know when my milk has dried up.  She compared it to blowing up a balloon, letting it go, and after flying around the living room it lands on your chest. Awesome.

While there are things I miss about nursing - especially being able to eat 500 calories of Oreos - I’ll also miss starting the day leisurely nursing and ending the day quietly nursing. I’ll miss having the boob to settle him down if nothing else works.  I'm proud of my achievement.  I mean I literally grew this person! Me! My body produced the substance to literally grow him into this trotting, screaming, cat tail pulling little person! My sweet husband bought me an unlatched gift.  I think a gift should be mandatory for all breastfeeding mothers.  If breastfeeding doesn't call for a new electronic tea kettle, I just don't know what does.

I'm looking forward to being able to see my girlfriends on a more regular basis and in longer intervals and very excited to celebrate when they are finally unlatched!  I hope I have started a new tradition among my friends!

Rachel lives for themed parties, costume creations, & relay games.  Her favorite costumes include, The Artist, formerly known as Prince, Tonya Harding, Hulk Hogan, and every 80’s outfit! Her awards (of which she is MOST proud) include First Place in Get that Man Off My Back relay race, Best Pirate Name (Captain Hammer Toe), and Champion 80’s hair! In her non-party life Rachel is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker & is currently staying home to take care of her 15 month old son. She                                                            resides in Houston, TX.

Go Topless Day

By Tonia

Did you know that August 25^th is Go Topless Day? Yep. Started in 2007 as an annual event to support (well, without certain support) the right of women to go topless in public. It’s to promote gender equality since men are allowed to go topless. I would go – it’s a summer Sunday and it would be fun to hang out in a park with half naked people - but I hear that attendance is sagging in Oklahoma.

I love a good protest – takes me back to my hippie days. And this seems like a good cause. Isn’t this the Land of the Free? Shouldn’t my Ta-tas go free? And think of the benefits! No more tan lines or wrong-sized bras; Peeping Toms would go out of business; and, if allowed at work, male absenteeism would decrease significantly! But I guess the down side would be that eye contact would become nonexistent.

And, I wonder, if we were allowed to go topless, would we become fashion conscious about our boobs? Would we be trying to turn our breasts into better shapes and colors? Personally, I wouldn’t mind a little perkier. Otherwise I’m good. I’m somewhere between dollar-size and Good-God-Almighty-size.

All kidding aside, Go Topless Day is actually scheduled on the Sunday closest to Women’s Equality Day (Aug 26^th) which celebrates the passing of the 19th Amendment to the Constitution, granting women the right to vote. No laughing matter. This was the result of DECADES of effort by women suffragettes. Click HERE to see Bad Romance: Women’s Suffrage, a parody music video paying homage to Alice Paul and the brave women who joined together, protested, went to prison and died so that we would share with men the right to vote.

For this month’s girlfriends’ get together, in honor of Women’s Equality Day, consider a movie night and show Iron Jawed Angels with Hillary Swank and Anjelica Huston – a tribute to the “defiant young activists who took the women's suffrage movement by storm." It’s inspirational. 

Fellatio in Aisle Three

Estrofests is thrilled to have Candace Walsh as a guest blogger to share her most inglorious maternal moment. She's the author of Licking the Spoon: A Memoir of Food, Family, and Identity (Seal Press, 2012), which shares several generations of motherhood's indignities, along with other heartwarming, hilarious, riveting stories…plus, recipes. Follow her on Twitter @candacewalsh; keep up with her on Facebook at Facebook.com/WriterCandaceWalsh

Fellatio in Aisle Three

by Candace Walsh 

Becoming a mother is both hard and delightful in all of the expected ways. I expected to sleep less, for my body to change, and when I was pregnant, I even had the distinct feeling that my second baby would hate the 20-minute drive back and forth to town. He did, screaming bloody murder for months, until we stumbled upon the solution of singing "The Wheels on the Bus" to him, with infinite variations (a certain kind of torture). Delight was found in waking to see my baby daughter's eyes trained on mine, as she grinned adoringly, or the sensation of my son playing with my hair as gently as if it were a strand of cotton candy he didn't want to break. 

One unexpectedly hard thing was noticing how the entire population (except for most other moms) stopped seeing me as an individual, a vector in space. I became a kind of coiled rug, the kind that's oval and spirals inward and outward. When that rug is in a room, it makes the room seem cozier, more homey and comforting--or maybe it just seems dowdy and passé. People saw me--or rather, the silhouette of a woman with a child, and their thoughts turned to their associations of all mothers, their eyes got soft and unfocused, or hard and snide, depending on their issues. 

It wasn't just people who didn't know the old me. I was at a wedding when my daughter was six months old, a cute dumpling in a lavender dress. I was around all of these people I used to party with in New York City, and one guy was talking about some edgy sexual practice, trying to turn on a girl much younger than him. I said something offhand and irreverent, and he looked at me balefully. "Okay, mom," he sneered, as if I had as much to contribute to a conversation about sex as a Mary Kay lady would to a room of neurosurgeons. 

How did he think I got pregnant? 

As my children grew older and more independent, I notice that I was rebirthed in others' eyes as an individual. I also spent more time with other parents, who didn't cleave the world so neatly into parents/people worth paying attention to. The feeling of being dismissed and unseen faded away. 

Until I was waiting in line for the restroom at Trader Joe's. On the wall: a bulletin board with photographs of happy customers. One: a vaguely familiar mother with a baby in a sling, wearing an ugly calico nursing shirt. The baby was pulling her hair. Her toddler was doing her best to fall out of the wagon, as she reached for a glass jar. The woman looked run-down and frumpy, but she was smiling gamely for the camera. 

Oh. My. God. 

That woman was me. 

The memories came flooding back--I'd made sure to come to Trader Joe's on its opening day (despite what I'm about to tell you, I love that place). Without dolling myself up, I finger-combed my short sensible hair, I piled the kids into the car (my son screamed, we sang "The Wheels on the Bus"), pried, plopped my daughter in the shopping cart seat, put on the sling, slid my son into it, grabbed my big, lumpy mom purse, and entered the store, hoping not to run into anyone. As we walked down aisle three, some happy staffer in a Hawaiian shirt told me to smile, because he was taking pictures on their opening day. He caught me mid-pose, my mouth kind of open as it smiled, half a "you've got to be kidding me" grimace. 

And now I stood looking at the photo. No one would think we were the same person. My hair was long again, my figure was trim, and my kids were tall and lanky, bounding around the store. There was the ghost of motherhood past, staring back at me with bleary eyes. And then I saw something else. To the right of my face, someone had drawn graffiti on the photo: a big cartoon penis, complete with hairy scrotum, swooping toward my open mouth. 

For years, my maternal likeness had been hanging there, visible for all to see, with a crude sketch of a big dong next to my mouth. Not one customer took it down. Not one team member thought to remove the impugned mother of two from the bulletin board. It reminded me of how vulnerable young motherhood is, how it oddly makes you public property, visible, a tableau to judge, a person to advise or criticize, well-meaningly or not. It reminded me of how my formerly predictable life became startlingly unpredictable: my children had minds and bodies of their own, screaming, laughing, sleeping, waking, pooping, regardless of when it was convenient for me. And it reminded me of how submerged I used to feel, as lumpy as my mom purse, breasts swollen with milk, baby weight riding along on my back, my thighs. 

It was so shocking that I continued on into the bathroom. My first impulse was to leave the image there on the bulletin board for another five years. I didn't want to claim it, emblazoned with evidence of the lack of respect--beyond lip service, pardon the pun--motherhood is afforded. And then I began to laugh. Vulgar or not, the image was both funny and true. Despite our best intentions and expectations, hopes, dreams, and efforts, between the repetitive drudgeries and society's condescensions, motherhood can really suck. 

On the way out, I took the photo down, not sure what I would do with it. But I ended up saving it, along with photos and other mementos (lock of hair, hospital bracelet, first crayoned portraits), a time capsule with items representing the full spectrum of my experience. Along with the sweetness of early motherhood--the kissing of a belly peeking out from a duckie undershirt, the shampoo horns I formed as my son sat in the sink with room to spare, the glee my daughter felt throwing her spoon from the high chair for the umpteenth time--there were the countless bendings down to get it, the dashes of bitter.

Since this story took place in Trader Joe's, I feel led to include a related recipe. All of the ingredients come from TJ's. The pie is a family favorite. It's low in sugar and only has one crust, and it's so darn easy! 

Shameless Short Cut Pie

1 frozen pie crust
1 jar chunky applesauce
1 bag frozen mixed berries
1 box light vanilla almond granola

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Place pie crust in pie plate. 
In a bowl, mix together applesauce and unthawed berries. 
Transfer mixture to pie plate. 
Pour granola over the top until it completely covers the fruit. Pat down a tad.
Bake until done, about 45 minutes. 

Candace Walsh is managing editor of New Mexico magazine & the author of Licking the Spoon: A Memoir of Food, Family, and Identity. She edited Seal Press anthologies Dear John, I Love Jane: Women Write About Leaving Men for Women, and Ask Me About My Divorce: Women Open Up About Moving On. Her writing has also appeared in Newsday, Travel + Leisure, Sunset, Mademoiselle, & Huffington Post. 

Spanx Ain't for Sissies

Estrofests is excited to host guest blogger, Mary Sullivan Lounsbury. Mary is a stay-at-home Mimi and an old high school friend of Tonia's. Mary and Tonia recently reconnected through a high school reunion Facebook page poking fun at aging.

by Mary Sullivan Lounsbury

Menopause has had its way with me and I'm now past the size 14 I said I would NEVER grow beyond. Grrrrr. I wasn't supposed to be this size. So now I’m an overweight-sizing / weight-control-garment shopping virgin. Let me tell you my story.

I walked into “a Fat Lady Store" but was too ashamed to ask a sales person for help. Let's see,1X, 2X, 3X…. Where should I begin? I decided to just grab one item in every size. I quickly realized 1X is the smallest of the jumbo clothes. I put on some pants and a top but made the mistake of looking in the mirror. Holy s..t!!  I had a huge growth on my middle!  It resembled a tire but I guess it’s known as a "muffin top." I love muffins, but NOT on my body!

Later my husband's company was having a mandatory event and I didn’t want to be seen as the boss’s FAT WIFE which meant shopping again. This time I asked the sales associate for help. She told me about Spanx - said they were the most wonderful invention since the push-up bra. Hey, I'll buy anything that gets rid of the muffin top and shows off my newly acquired weight-enhanced big boobs!

I decided on a pair that went all the way up to my boobage but I couldn’t make myself try them on in the store. In fact, I put off trying them on until I needed them the day of the event. I opened the package. "OH NO, how am I going to squeeze my jumbo self into these little things? These were meant for Barbie, right?” But I had no time to waste.  I jumped in with both feet.  Pulling, sweating, grunting and cussing, I considered going downstairs for some Crisco or WD-40, but, like those mothers who find the strength to lift the truck off their child, I FINALLY got the Spanx all the way up! 

Then I had to reapply my makeup because all that sweating made my face look like I had just worked out at the gym in full make-up. That or I had had some crazy kind of kinky sex. Anyway, I was exhausted, but I had no time to spare. 

I jumped into the car with the hubby and thought all was well. But sitting down caused the Spanx to roll down to my waist and my muffin top exploded out from underneath. NOW what was I going to do? I could "adjust" the situation in the car, but how would I keep this from happening again?  I had it!  DON'T. SIT. DOWN. 

But then later that evening Problem Number 2 arose. I needed to pee. REALLY needed to pee. I looked for a "trap door" and there wasn't one. Crap! It took me a LONG TIME to get those Spanx up. I didn’t have enough energy to do it again. So, I did what any other self-respecting, overweight woman would do - I ripped a hole in the crotch and took care of business. 

You'd think this experience would be enough to make me lose weight, but I found another way to go.  Move up to a 2X and forget the Spanx!  The clothes drape nicely covering the bits that spill out and I'm COMFORTABLE.  No need to give up my ice cream.

So, the next time you get your girlfriends together, serve this unique and fabulous ice cream dessert. It's super easy and only uses two ingredients. And don’t worry about the calories!

Ginger Snap Ice Cream Dessert

1/2 gallon vanilla ice cream (must be real ice cream)

1 box ginger snaps

Place the ice cream in a large bowl and allow it to melt. While it is melting, grind the entire box of Ginger Snaps into crumbs. Place 1/2 of the crumbs in bottom of a 13x9 Pyrex pan, spreading evenly. Carefully pour melted ice cream on top taking care not to disturb the Ginger Snaps. Gently spoon the remaining Ginger Snaps over the entire top. Freeze for several hours until ice cream is hard. Cut, serve and ENJOY! 

Mary Sullivan Lounsbury, aka MiMi to her grandkids, lives in Southern Californa and has been married to the love of her life for 39 years. She is the proud mother of two grown children and grandmother to four of the most brilliant, beautiful grandbabies in the world. She is currently a stay at home MiMi so that her daughter and son-in-law can improve the lives of children as educators.   

Fifty Shades of Ruined

by Tonia

 “You don’t appreciate a lot of stuff in school until you get older. Little things like being spanked every day by a middle-aged woman. Stuff you pay good money for in later life.” – Elmo Phillips

If you haven’t heard about Fifty Shades of Grey you’re obviously living in some kind of cave on the top of Mt. Everest. It sold 10 million copies in six weeks and has replaced the Gideon Bible on the bedside tables in one British hotel. Bet THAT’S an interesting devotional for unsuspecting guests!

Obviously I had to read it. I knew the blog would want my review. Oh, the sacrifices I make!

It’s a story about a wealthy businessman, Christian Grey, and his kinky sexual practices in BDSM (Bondage Discipline Sadism Masochism) with the lovely Anatasia Steele who starts out as a virgin. Now, let me say that Anatasia struggles some with the role of a Submissive and, while she never states this, I could easily hear her say, “I don’t like being told what to do …… unless I’m naked.” Which sorta’ makes sense to me.

The book is poorly written and Anatasia’s conflict with her ‘inner goddess’ and ‘unconscious’ got on my nerves, but the sex scenes were hot and I needed my vibrator more than a couple times. I think Saturday Night Live did the best job showing the results of women's response to the book, though. Click here for their skit.

Earlier this year the New York Post reported a huge jump in rope sales in hardware stores - especially to women - after the release of Fifty Shades of Grey. Hmmmm. I guess after women asked clerks to show them the ropes, THEY showed the ropes to some happy partners!

Personally, now that I’ve read it, I’m ruined. If someone asks me a question that I don’t know the answer to, I can never again say, “Beats me.” When I watch CNN and hear about Wall Street – you know, stocks and bonds – I imagine brokers in various restraints. And a report about the House Whip has me seeing Representatives getting spanked (hey, maybe that would help politics!).

OMG, and if I walk into a pet store, I completely miss the dog food and only notice all the collars and leashes! And, I want to know, are “submissive wives” really just into kink?

And a new dilemma for me is my skin care regime. I now have to be concerned about the skin on my ass as well as the skin on my face. It exhausts me. Someone PLEASE give me a safeword to protect me from myself! Put it in the comments below.

And, for your next girlfriend’s get-together consider having a Food Porn Party and ask your girlfriends to bring their most decadent desserts! Here’s one of our decadent recipes:

Chocolate Raspberry Jello Shot

You'll need:

Mini candy cup mold

Ingredients:

1 cup vodka (plain, vanilla, Pinacle Whipped, etc.)

1 - 3 oz. box raspberry Jello

1 bag chocolate candy melts

1. Follow the instructions on the mini candy cup mold by using dark chocolate. Put them in the freezer for about 5 minutes to help them harden.

2. Bring one cup water to a boil and add jello. After powdered jello is dissolved, let it sit until just warm.

3. Add one cup vodka to liquid jello mix.

4. Remove your chocolate bowls from the freezer. Pour the jello mixture into the bowls

5. Refrigerate over night. Yummy!

“Kinky is when you use duck feathers in making love. Perverted is when you use the whole duck.” – Lewis Grizzard